The Queen of Swords (Villainess Book 1) Read online

  VILLAINESS #1:

  THE QUEEN OF SWORDS

  by

  Alana Melos

  The Queen of Swords

  Book 1 of the Villainess Series

  Copyright © Alana Melos

  Model Cover Photo © cokacoka @ depositphotos

  All other artwork, graphic cover design, logo art, and graphic text © Jotham “Pipes” Talbot

  Published: August 2nd, 2015

  Publisher: Alana Melos

  The right of Alana Melos to be identified as the author of this Work is asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Characters and locations are fictitious or used fictitiously. All characters are at least 18 years old. All sexual acts portrayed in this work of fiction are consensual.

  Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/cfQK35

  Author's Blog: http://alanamelos.blogspot.com

  Author's email: [email protected]

  Author's Twitter: @Alana_Melos

  Contents:

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR'S NOTES

  EXCERPT FROM VILLAINESS #2: THE PRINCE OF CUPS

  LINKS TO OTHER WORKS

  Prologue

  Most people when they get to know me a little and realize what powers I possess, are surprised I like wet work so much. I don’t need to get close to someone to kill them. I could suffocate them, bleed them, or rip them limb from limb with my telekinesis. I could make them kill themselves with my telepathy if they weren’t especially strong-willed. If I really wanted to, and I worked hard enough at mastering marksmanship, I could be like anyone else with a gun and kill from a distance that way. I like the wet work. If I can, I like to slip up behind someone quiet as a shadow and stab them through their heart. Slit their throat. Hamstring them, and watch them crawl away, begging for their miserable, pathetic little lives. Distance killing takes the fun out of it.

  It’s a dark world I live in, made only darker yet by the bright light of the heroes. It’s not easy evading capture all the time, but it’s fun. It’s a Game. It’s like playing real life chess where the stakes are your life. Supers, metahumans, mutants, freaks… whatever you want to call us is up to you. Most of us don’t care, and those that do hide behind a secret identity. I wear a mask, true, but it’s to protect my face from injury, not to hide. I skulk around in shadows, true, but it’s not because I’m a coward… it’s because making your prey run while you stalk them creates a greater high during the kill.

  My name is Caprice, otherwise known as Capricious Whim. I have goals and motivations, but I do try to keep them secret so the capes can’t track my moves. If it makes me look like a lunatic, so be it. Those few who know me well know that everything I do has a reason, even if it doesn’t always make sense at first. Mostly, for right now, I’m a killer for hire. It pays the bills. I could steal money, but I don’t really hold too much with that. It’s beneath me. It’s also a lot easier to be hired muscle than a mastermind. You want to draw just enough attention to yourself, and no more. Being on a wanted list is good… being one of the top ten wanted is not.

  Fortunately for me, there’s a lot of black hats around who want to be the number one crime boss, ruler of the world, mad scientist, or what-have-you. Take any super villain trope and fill it in. I suppose if this were a movie or a book, I would be the femme fatale. I don’t have a problem with that.

  What do I look like? Think of perfection, and then double… no triple it. Seriously! I’m tall at five foot ten, with long blonde hair, thick and lush. I keep my body in perfect shape, though I do tend to be on the too-thin side if I have to rely on my telekinesis since it burns a lot of calories. My breasts fill a handful and a touch more. Sorry, fellas. Those fantasies about super huge breasts are just uncomfortable for women for a few reasons. One, most women aren’t built that way. Two, that’s just a fantasy perpetrated by men for men. Three, big breasts, so I’ve been told, cause a lot of lower back pain. I like pain as much as the next girl, but not that kind of pain. That’s just tedious and boring.

  Where was I? Oh yes. Eyes as blue as the sky, and very expressive. Cupid bow lips, high cheekbones, flawless skin… Like I said… perfect. Just happens that I had a good genetic background for the Doctor to start working with, but perfection is never cheap. I’m actually still paying off the bills. Doc’s a metahuman who has the ability to mold flesh like someone would mold clay. He’s not a person you want to piss off since if you fall behind in your payments, he’ll take his changes back, and then some. Most of us just call him the Doctor, and ‘ware if you get on his bad side.

  I generally wear all black when working. Leather’s good--it’s for light protection, against minor cuts and scrapes mostly--and I’m not foolish: I wear Kevlar when I have to. Most of the time, I can use my teke for a shield, but it never hurts to be cautious. Since I tend to fly most places, I wear heels too. I took a man’s eye out with one of them once, early on in my career. I guess I consider them good luck rather than a fashion statement. I keep my hair back, braided if I have time, ponytail if I don’t, to keep it out of the way in a melee. And the mask. Of course the mask. I have several, depending on the mood I’m in. Some are plain, some have decoration, some look like they’re made up, and so on. All of them are porcelain, though, with expressions blank and empty. In a lot of ways, they’re truer faces than my designer one.

  I’m empty. Blank.

  It’s really unusual being in the position I’m in. I can see people’s emotions, I can sense them, feel them… let them wash through me, coloring a black and grey world in a myriad of colors. When I want to, I can manipulate them. I’m very good at manipulating them, shifting the threads of color around in precise movements, arranging them to make a pleasant pattern, pleasing to the eye and mind. Once I withdraw, everything is grey again, except for the most basic things: want, anger, frustration, satisfaction... but that’s about all. The term for my mental quirk is “antisocial personality disorder”. You’d know it better in pop culture as sociopathy, even though that’s an incorrect term.

  You’d think being a killer that mindset would be an advantage. It took a long time to understand it wasn’t. Matter of fact, it was a disadvantage. Bosses want stability and reliability. They want hired thugs who understand how to take orders. Plus, the mind control thing freaks potential employers out. To this end, I follow a certain set of rules which make me reliable and hireable. First, I never lie. I may not always tell the truth, but I never lie outright. In some ways, I think this causes me to be even more deceptive, but so long as people know a falsehood never crosses my lips, they think me honest. Second, I never use my mind control to take away choices. There’s a few reasons for this, and while people are toys to be played with, it’s too easy doing it with telepathy. I always ask for permission amongst coworkers when I contact them telepathically, and never delve deep.

  Of course, I used my ‘pathy in combat. Blasting someone with mental force, making them stand still or turn their weapons against themselves… those are outside the limits of the rules. It’s life or death then. What I’m talking about is the fundamental change to a person’s personality, making them do th
ings they would never do. Choices like that were taken away from me when I was younger. I don’t feel the urge to manipulate people in that way because of those experiences. It’s not a weakness, it just makes the Game more fun to play.

  That’s all, but those two rules make me trustworthy in the Underground. The Underground is where all us “super villains” go to hang out, find jobs, or cut loose a little. It’s a club, a place to make connections, and my favorite haunt. Every once in awhile, some white hats will come in too, but the rules are the rules: no violence in the Underground. It’s just that with all the people dancing naked in cages, sniffing crank in the corners, and the anything goes attitude, they generally don’t like it. It’s a vile place of scum and villainy, and that’s the way we like it.

  That’s the lay of the land. Now I begin my story.

  Chapter One

  I leaned on the railing on the balcony overlooking the main dance floor in the Underground. Some demon or something ran the place and he kept it dark, but I could still sense people around. I was rarely surprised thanks to my telepathy. Keeping a look out was second nature to me, even in a relaxed environment like this. There was nothing in the club which actually inhibited people from using their powers. If they used them to create unwanted violence, they would be banned for life. No one wanted that since this was a major hub for us black hats, and the rules were obeyed.

  Dancers filled the floor beneath me, and I let the wash of emotions run over me, staining my point of view in varied shades of lust and excitement. The distraction didn’t last long: I needed a job. I was dressed in work clothes, which sometimes crossed over into play clothes: tight, black leather pants, high heeled boots, silk crimson blouse over which was my black leather vest. I liked coats and vests. I usually wore skirts or tight pants which didn’t have pockets, so coats were vital to keep my stuff organized. I had my sword strapped across my back. If I could help it, I never went anywhere unarmed and my sword was my friend.

  Hot breath tickled my ear, “What are you doing later?”

  I didn’t turn. I knew who it was: Michael, or Nosferatu, which was his handle. He enjoyed trying to sneak up on me, but for him it was impossible. He was one of the people I ‘listened’ for, especially since he was as dangerous as I was. I always sensed him coming long before he was close by. “Ramming my sword through your chest?” I replied.

  He ground himself against me, and I could feel he was hard. He wasn’t easing into it today at all. He didn’t usually, but most of the time there was a little more foreplay. His leather pants and mine made that soft squeaking sound leather does. I would be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on. It did. I liked it when I knew people wanted me. All the same, I shoved my elbow back into his ribs, and he half laughed and half coughed. He was in his human form right now, and could breathe and be hurt. When he vamped out, he was much harder to kill.

  Once he backed off a step, I turned around so I could see him. He wasn’t a handsome man. Far from it in the traditional sense: his face was rough around the edges, scarred, and his grin was too wide to be attractive. He had a black mohawk, and tattoos along the sides of his head, a primal pattern which reminded me of fire. The rest of him was gorgeous symmetry though. He never wore a shirt, even when it was below zero outside, to show off his huge pecs and perfect six pack. I actually had picked up wearing a leather vest from him since he was never seen without his. His skin was dark shade of mocha, a monument to his Latin heritage. He was the perfect biker, complete with a belt made from bullets with a skull for a buckle. “What’s shaking, Mike?”

  He stepped forward, kneeing my legs apart so he could stand between my thighs. I let him. It meant nothing to me, and he seemed to think I was his in some way. It was far better to encourage that idea since I wasn’t sure I could take him out. “You, underneath me, in five minutes,” he said, his dark eyes laughing.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “You know I’m not going to sleep with you… yet.” I smiled at him, canting my head to the side coquettishly. “I’m saving you for when I have a bad day, handsome.” I grabbed his vest and tugged him closer, almost throwing both of us off the railing. He grabbed my waist with one hand and the railing with the other as I whispered in his ear, “You know I want to break you.”

  He growled, low and deep. “You’ll make the vamp come out, babe.” He nipped at my neck, his hand on my hip digging into the leather.

  I laughed and pushed him off of me. I wasn’t strong, and so when I pushed, he acquiesced and stepped back to not-quite-out of my personal space, but close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades. “I can take Nos,” I said.

  “We’ll see, one day,” he said with a smirk plastered over his ugly, broad features. I could see the red hot lust for me coloring his every action right now. As always with Michael, there was a second mind underneath his… hiding from sight, like the vampire hid from the sun. I didn’t pry. His secrets were his own, and I respected that, though I was deadly curious about the undead he kept hidden. I’d seen him often enough when we did a job together, but every time fascinated me. His mind was so different, he might as well been from a different dimension. Maybe he was.

  “We’ll see,” I repeated. “What else is going on?”

  “Interested in a job?” he asked.

  I raised both of my brows. “What kind of a job?”

  “What other kind is there? Someone needs to be killed.” He shrugged, haphazardly. “Or something needs to be robbed. There’s a need. You ready to fill it?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Where’s this job from?”

  “Sadowski,” Michael said.

  With that, I nodded. Sadowski was a fixer. He fixed people up with jobs, employers with employees, and in general found out what people needed and fulfilled that need. He wasn’t bad looking, though a bit short and scrawny. The important thing was that he was reliable, and he worked out of the Underground. He preferred not to have an office, instead doing business over the phone or in person on neutral ground. It made sense to me. I had a few hideouts throughout the city; all the better not to be found, my dear. “Is he here?” Michael nodded and pointed across the way to the other balcony. “Then, shall we?”

  We both walked down the stairs, Michael right behind me probably staring at my ass, and across the sprawling dance floor. There were always people here, any time of day or night, either metas or people who wanted to be near metas. Like any powerful group, we had our groupies. I tended to avoid them, though other black hats used them to boost their egos from time to time.

  Sadowski must have seen us walking over. He met us on the stairwell to go upstairs. He looked much as I remembered him: glasses, slacks, decent shirt, and a suit vest without a suit, all in blue today. “Hello, madame,” he said.

  “Sir,” I responded, not unkindly. I wondered for the hundredth time what he was like in bed. You know what they said… small guys try harder. “Michael said you might have work?”

  “Private room,” he replied, gesturing towards the side. Mike and I followed the scrawny man to one of the many private rooms in the Underground. I tried to avoid going in them if I could help it as I could well imagine what other sort of “business” went on in these places. I hoped they washed them down good before the next occupant’s use. It was pretty much guaranteed privacy though, which made them popular for clandestine meetings of all sorts.

  Once we got settled and the door closed, I turned my attention to the fixer and waited. He reached into his vest and pulled out a small manila folder. “A client of mine wants a device stolen,” he said. “Corporate espionage from what I can tell. This is what it looks like.” He spread out a couple of photos for us to look over. I had no idea what the device was, but memorized what it looked like all the same. It was about a foot tall, with a tube in the middle, wiring running through the tube and what looked like plug-ins on either side. Probably something with energy, I supposed, but even figuring that much out was straining my technical know-how. “He wants as much damage done as pos
sible as a cover, so that they’ll think it was destroyed.”

  I glanced at Michael and he nodded. We’d worked together before and if you wanted people killed or things trashed, we definitely were the two to hire. “Sounds easy enough. What do they have for security?”

  “State of the art systems, professionally trained security staff… who are, shall we say, enhanced?” the fixer replied. I frowned at that. He was telling us in a polite way their security staff were super powered. It wasn’t uncommon anymore. Anyone could get implants for extra strength and speed, or genetically modified for a lot of different effects. Expensive, true, but worth it in the long run. Then, of course, there was the magic users. I had always scoffed at magic, but even I couldn’t deny their effectiveness. No modification needed there… just a long time studying the so-called dark arts.

  “You have the layout of the place?” Michael asked beside me. He put his hand on my leg and slid it up and around until he was cupping my thigh. I shoved his hand down towards my knee as I kept my attention on Sadowski.

  He nodded. “I’ll be going with you, too,” he stated, which caused me to blink in surprise. As far as I knew, he had no powers whatsoever and merely served as a broker between deals. “I’ll lead the way with Caprice here, while you set the distractions.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I have no idea what your capabilities are. I don’t want to go into battle with someone untested.”

  “Trust me,” he said with half a smile. His cheek dimpled cutely, and I smiled in response.

  “Never,” I laughed. “Give me some reason why I should reconsider.”

  His colors edged into a bit of unease around the sides, but he held his hands out and curled them into fists. A soft green glow surrounded them for a moment. It faded and he opened them once more, palms up. “Trust me,” he said again. “I’ve been doing this on the down low a long time, but this is going to take a delicate touch. I need heavy hitters who can move fast and quiet… not a lot of people who fit the bill, but extracting the item is going to take know how you just don’t have, and the job’s tomorrow. Not enough time to teach you.”