Crossdressing Villainess Novels & Stories

I owned salons then, the kind where men spilled politics between glasses of red wine, never realizing the red I tasted wasn’t from the bottle. Isabella Swan in 1920, flapper dresses and smoke curling from long holders, dancing in clubs until dawn. I fed on soldiers then, the broken ones who came back from war, already half-dead in spirit. They hardly noticed when I drained what was left. And now, Valentina Morsoon. The philanthropist. The patron. The founder of Cross. The leash around the throats of hunters too blind to see the hand that held them. Every century, a new name. Every century, the same hunger.

The exact polar opposite of herself. I'd heard of the training she'd undergone to be the perfect queen and wife. I wondered if it was true. I heard her gulp hard, like she was unsure what to do. I stared at her in amazement. Why was she acting like an innocent fawn? Where was the devil in red earlier at Henry's party? That one was confident in herself, oozing with womanly appeal. Femme fatale. She was finally acting her age instead of regressing to match Henry's pace. I frowned, making the princess feel uneasy.

He motioned for the men in front of him to move to the side. Bending down, he sneered, "I really hate when I get blood on me. People already consider me a dastardly villain, I try not to look the part." He grabbed the sack of bones in front of him by the hair and bashed its face into the floor. Blood splattered over his suit. "Now look what you've done, you've ruined the suit too," Alexander pretended to pout. Johannes Chevalier looked up at him, tears, blood, and mucus covering his once pretty face.

Ryder asked her. "I… I… I.. Is kind of true" Lily replied. Jax looked at her in shock. "And then you drugged her to attack you so you could thoroughly spoil her reputation in Jax's eye and in Creekwood pack. Is that true?" "Yes, that's true" Lily said with her head lowered in shame. "Lily!" Jax exclaimed. "And here during the general werewolf meeting, you somehow lured her out of the apartment where she was and drugged her yet again and then you provoked her again, you insulted her and then she attacked her and then you acted like a victim again. Is that true?" Ryder asked.

Three sisters from a southern ducal family who moved in practiced unison. Seraphina Velmere entered sixth, in robes of deep ivory embroidered at the collar and sleeves with her family's crest in gold thread, her pearl-and-gold cuff bracelet catching the torchlight, her composure so controlled it read almost as serenity. She moved to her designated position with the grace of someone who had spent her entire life learning to move through exactly this kind of room, and her eyes swept the assembled nobles with the calm assessment of someone who has also spent her entire life understanding that she belongs here.

What he shared with Noemi was nothing but platonic love. A great love story always needs a villainess to make it burn. And that villainess was me. Gianna Milano. The plot called for me to discover the emotional affair and go to war against Noemi: petty cruelty, jealous rages, one humiliation after another, all of it making Noemi shine brighter by contrast. Renato's contempt for me would grow until he handed me the divorce papers himself. Then I'd run to my father, try to use the family to tear them apart.

For the past year I’d found the hidden invitations, the faint scent of expensive perfume on his collars, the way he came home with a satisfied, distant look in his eyes. Tonight, I wasn’t going to be the perfect, untouched wife anymore. I was going to become his fantasy. The gown I wore was pure sin — deep emerald velvet that clung to my full breasts and wide hips, with a plunging neckline that barely contained me and a high slit that flashed thigh with every step. A matching velvet mask covered the upper half of my face, adorned with delicate gold filigree and black feathers. My dark hair was pinned up, lips painted blood red. No one would recognize Isabella Vale tonight.

I was going to use them and turn the tables. I would not let Matthew win over Gabriel’s pack this time. At any cost. These days, while the study smelled of ancient parchment and the bracing scent of Gabriel’s intent, the courtyard smelled of damp earth and manual labor. Lily stood knee-deep in the mud of the pack’s communal wash-pits. Her silk dress, once the envy of every debutante in the kingdom, was now a tattered rag, stained with the gray grime of the pack's laundry. Her manicured nails were chipped and raw from scrubbing the heavy, scent-soaked tunics of the warriors.

I was dressed in a way I had never been dressed in my life. The cloth that fell around me was heavy and beautiful, a deep gold with threads that caught the light and held it, flowing from my shoulders to the floor in long, perfect folds. My throat, wrists, and fingers were covered in diamonds – not just a few small ones. I mean the kind of jewels that look like they weren't made by human hands, clear and cold and shining with their own light. My hair was arranged with a neatness and care that I could feel even in the dream, pinned and styled in a way that made the back of my neck feel both bare and grand at the same time.