Rose: A Fairytale Reverse Harem Romance Series (Happily Never After Book 4)

by Plum Pascal

  I’ve never claimed to be unselfish.

  I sling first one leg and then the other around my waist. She clings on, urging me forward with little nudges at the small of my back. The tip of my cock slides through her slick folds and I sink, inch by inch, into the warmth of her pussy. It’s my turn to bite back a moan. She clamps down on my cock hard, almost as if she’s unwilling to let go. Her hips buck into mine and again, it’s all I can do not to spill inside her.

  Bracing my hand near the side of her face, I rock my hips into hers, thrusting experimentally.

  “Harder,” she pants.

  I draw back and thrust in as hard as I can and she screams. She screams so loud and long, I’m almost sure any survivors from the church will find us and end us. Nothing comes bursting from the underbrush to attack us, but even so, I claim her mouth in an almost bruising kiss to muffle the sound. Her moans trickle into my mouth instead, and it’s so fucking hot, I can’t fucking think straight.

  I pump into her, over and over again, rutting her like an animal. Bestial grunts escape me, screams escape her, muffled by my mouth. She only clutches me tighter, pulls me in closer, scoring my back with those wicked nails. No longer claws, thank the Gods. But still, the sensation is incredible.

  Her back bows into a perfect arch and her walls flutter around me in a tell-tale sign before she comes, clenching down hard. My own release comes a few seconds later. We stay like that for a second, maybe two, staring at each other. Unspoken truth crackles between us.

  We shouldn’t have done it, no matter how badly we wanted to. Draven will be fucking livid. What’s more, I spilled inside her. What the fuck will we do if she gets pregnant?

  I slide out of her and she winces, finally coming back to herself. She’s fully human now. Good. Crisis averted.

  “Titus...” she begins, then falls silent. She doesn’t know what to say. Frankly, I don’t either.

  “Let’s get going,” I pant, picking up what remains of her clothing.

  She nods.

  NINETEEN

  CARMINE

  It takes us ten minutes to find the others.

  Ten minutes in which I have to ponder my rash decision.

  I can barely recall anything but desire. Desire for blood, desire for him. I feel wretched, even as a pleasant ache radiates between my thighs. It’s almost as if I can still feel Titus between my legs. He’d been more beast than man as he fucked me against the tree.

  And I’d loved it. Even thinking about it now makes desire coil tight in my belly. I hope Titus doesn’t smell it. Perhaps it’s masked by the scent of the sex we’ve just had.

  But there was more—I felt something dark taking over me, something roaring through my body that scared me. And Titus… he was able to stop it. He was able to help me control myself by giving me his body. I still don’t fully understand how or why, but the fact remains.

  I can’t stop thinking of him. Can’t stop imagining what it might be like to be taken by him again, from behind this time, with him tugging my hair.

  Stop it, I snap at myself. What is wrong with you, Carmine? What will Draven say?

  Thoughts of Draven instantly douse whatever lust I’m feeling for Titus. Oh Gods above, he’s never going to forgive me for this, is he? Not so long ago I was pining for him, only for him. And now that I’ve been his, I’m leaping into the arms of his brothers. And regardless of whether or not they are truly related, they are brothers, all the same.

  I’m almost afraid to step out to meet the others. Their voices filter to us through the mushroom forest. Low, anxious. Neva’s is almost strident, balancing between a shriek and a sob. She’s begging someone to take her back. Where to? I’m not sure. Up ahead, I can see a slice of brilliant whiteness cutting through the gloom. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s the moon reflecting off pristine white dunes. Shadows puddle between them, violet against the pale expanse. It’s strikingly beautiful. Almost stark when contrasted with the riot of colors that is the Wonderland landscape. I’m grateful for it. I’m sick of all the chaos.

  I frown. Now that isn’t really true is it? If I want less chaos, I shouldn’t add men into my bed and on a whim.

  Titus emerges from the forest first and I follow close behind, almost hiding in his shadow. Cowardly, cowardly Carmine. There is no way in Avernus I can be Chosen. I can barely scrounge up the courage to look the man I love in the eyes and admit what I’ve done. With his brother.

  Every eye swivels our direction, relief sponging the mixed panic and anger from the faces of all assembled. Neva lurches from Reve’s arms and launches herself at me, arms flung wide. She almost sends us both to the ground with the force of her embrace. I can’t bring myself to pull away from her when she wraps me in an enormous hug and squeezes me for all she’s worth.

  “Gods, I thought I’d lost you!” she sobs, almost hiccupping the words. They’re coming through tears now. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

  “I won’t,” I mumble. “And I’m sorry.”

  To my surprise, Sabre drags me in for an embrace the second Neva releases me. His arms are stronger, holding me more securely to his chest. There’s a tremor running through his body.

  “Forgive me, Carmine,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to...”

  “Don’t worry, Sabre. Titus caught me.”

  Only then does Sabre draw in breath and when he does, he stiffens. I cringe inwardly. Titus’ scent must be thick on my skin. If Sabre can smell it, Draven most certainly can. Sabre draws away slowly, a pensive look on his face. My heart sinks a little further.

  Gods, what have I done?

  “We heard a crash,” Herrick says, craning his neck back toward the Wonderland forest. “What happened?”

  “Carmine tangled with the legs of the church. It’s down for good and most of the fae were killed or fled,” Titus explains. Then he turns to look at me. “She was amazing."

  Maybe I’m imagining it, but I think I hear a double entendre in that statement. My cheeks flame, in any case. I stare at the sand at my feet, unable to take the praise, knowing what I did immediately after. What we did. I can feel eyes on me, one set in particular heavier than the others combined. I don’t want to look. I think I’d rather stare at the sand the whole way to the Anoka mountains than see the look of anger or worse, profound disappointment on Draven’s face.

  “Carmine.”

  One word.

  His voice is soft.

  His boots enter my field of vision and his gentle fingers tug my chin up. My vision hazes. When had I started crying? I struggle to swallow around the lump in my throat.

  His face is sweet, some unknown emotion in his eyes, but I don’t see condemnation.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I’m sorry. I just... the other half of me emerged. The night hag and…”

  Draven’s mouth covers mine in a tender kiss, cutting off my babbled explanation. He coaxes my lips open and takes me, tastes me until I’m breathless and the tears have stopped. He strokes the side of my face with his thumb.

  “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t cry, Carmine. I told you. If you want him, you can have him.”

  “It’s not fair to any of you,” I mutter.

  “Any or all of us are lucky to have you. Stop castigating yourself. We can’t have you mired in guilt when the time comes to fight.”

  “But…”

  “I love you, Carmine. I always will. But that doesn’t mean others can’t love you too.”

  I stare up into his face, stunned by the naked and unwavering devotion he’s showing me. Gods, how did I ever get him? I don’t deserve him.

  “We don’t have time for this,’ Malvolo snaps impatiently.

  His dark eyes are fixed on a faraway point. I follow it, not catching sight of his target for almost a minute. All I can see are the dunes, a pattern of waving white sand and dark shadows. The mountains loom in the distant, a byzantine purple almost blending with the dark, spangled banner of the sky.

  Then I sp
ot it. A small pinprick of orange light at the base of the tallest peak. It flickers, and I see a host of black shapes flitting around it, like moths drawn to a flame.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Bacchus’ revelry,” Sabre says, and for the first time, I hear a hint of his beast in his voice. There’s a note of gravelly bass undercutting his words.

  My pulse speeds, and I can practically taste my anxiety in my throat. All the illicit pleasure from the clearing is gone, the guilt a pale echo of itself. This is what we’ve been searching for. Our goal is perhaps only a few days’ walk away. A shorter trip still if we fly. The answers to saving our people could be within our grasp very soon, indeed.

  So why do I want to flee back into the damn forest?

  “What’s our plan?” I ask, daring a glance toward the rest of our band.

  Neva’s men huddle around her, each with a hand on her somewhere. Herrick braces her shoulders. Malvolo has a hand on her ass. Reve’s hand rests just above on the small of her back. Hattie and Ia stand a little way off, stark contrasts to each other. Hattie is a patchwork of color. A red velvet top hat, a green overcoat, yellow shirt, brown breeches, and striped stockings stuffed into penny loafers.

  Ia is an amalgam of greys. Slate hair, ashy pale skin, a tunic the color of pewter, similar breeches and calf-high boots. She looks like a literal shadow standing next to Hattie.

  “We fly,” Ia says simply. “A little camouflage will be necessary. I assume you can oblige, Ms. Trilby?”

  Hattie smiles for the first time since leaving her home, the lopsided grin gleeful and utterly, utterly mad. “Of course,” she purrs. “I live to play dress up. Could our dear little birdies shift for me please?”

  The huntsmen exchange uneasy glances.

  “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Draven grumbles, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

  “Because she’s fucking batty,” Titus answers. He has an easier time of it, simply shrugging off the coat, letting it pool on the ground like a scarlet bloodstain.

  But I find my attention fixed on Sabre, insatiable curiosity making me peer more closely. He’s the only one I haven’t seen nude. A glance at him when he divests himself of his trousers makes my throat go dry. Good Gods.

  Sabre cuts a glare to Hattie that would cause me to shrink away from him. Her enthusiasm doesn’t dim.

  “You better not turn us into toads or something,” he warns.

  “Not toads,” she assures him with a manic grin. “Rocs.”

  TWENTY

  SABRE

  Hattie’s glamour makes my skin itch.

  I dislike the tan and beige appearance of my wings. I miss the vibrant blue and black pattern. I don’t know how Titus fucking stands the bland colors.

  Hattie digs her heels more firmly into my sides, even as we glide above the sands. The sand is cooling rapidly as the night progresses. During the day, the thermals resulting from the desert heat would be phenomenal. As it is, I’m having to work hard to keep myself and my passengers aloft.

  I drew the short end of the stick and am carrying the two mad witches on my back.

  “Stop complaining, jay,” Hattie clucks. “This is working, is it not?”

  I grimace inwardly. The second component of the fucking spell was necessary, but irritating. Loud thoughts or thoughts directed at an individual allowed my brothers and I to coordinate. It also made it easy for the mad bitch to eavesdrop, especially when making contact with my bare back.

  Still, I can’t deny the effectiveness of the spell. Not a single one of the archers we’ve passed are trying to fell us with arrows. They know better. The Rocs are a feared bird from a kingdom across the Anoka desert. Even Bacchus won’t risk attacking the Rocs, won’t risk their retribution. Not when his infiltration is already going so well.

  The Church of the Seven Joys had been cropping up like weeds in every kingdom in Fantasia, excluding the cordoned off portion guarded by Maura LeChance. They’ve been here for a few years, slowly amassing power and we’d never suspected.

  Were we blind or were they simply that good? Neither bodes well for our fate in the coming war.

  The camp is nearer now, and what had once looked like a pinprick of light on the horizon has resolved itself into a massive bonfire. The scent of spirits rides the wind, so strong it makes my eyes cross. The wine at Bacchus’ revelries never stops flowing. Chalices brim with it, spilling to the ground during spirited jigs or when one of the maenads is taken to the ground to be rutted by a libidinous satyr or centaur. Fucking and fighting and sheer, uncontrolled chaos reigns wherever Bacchus goes. The magic is so potent, it often lures humans, who are either crushed or fucked to death during the unending merriment.

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a half second as I try to keep the pictures from flitting to the forefront of my mind. I don’t want to relive them, and I don’t want to broadcast them to Neva, Carmine, or the dragon generals. But they come anyway.

  “Gods,” Carmine breathes as she faces me. “Gods, Sabre, I’m so sorry.”

  Shit. I haven’t kept the memories to myself. I’ve broadcasted them for all to see—the death of my mother.

  “We’re nearly there,” Draven says in a tone that’s meant to be cavalier. Linked as we are, I know it’s a lie. His stomach is roiling, faint nausea tinging his thoughts. “This can end tonight. We’ll land, dance our way through, and we’ll get the stones. Bacchus’ people will never know what happened. At least, not until the revelry ends.”

  “That could be hours or days away,” I think in response.

  He nods. “Enough time to get the fuck out of here.”

  It sounds simple, though we know it will be anything but. Even if we make it to Bacchus’ camp undetected, we still have to blend with the crowd. Difficult, when Hattie and Ia are so instantly recognizable. Draven, Titus, and I can mask our scent with the mud or blood that’s sure to be thick on the ground. But Carmine? Even with a glamour, she’s damn distinctive. The recent emergence of her night hag self makes her reek of blood, death, and fear. I miss her floral scent. It’ll come back in a few days, I believe, but until then? It’s not going to go unnoticed.

  Bacchus’ revelries only result in the fear of the victims and so far as we can tell from this distance, there don’t appear to be any around Mount Vallis. The desert people are nomadic and had there been any, I think they’d have had the good sense to get the fuck out when Bacchus’ revelry approached them.

  “Ia, Hattie, and Carmine will stay on the periphery while the rest of us proceed into the camp,” Draven continues.

  There’s a wave of mutinous denial from Carmine.

  “I’m going.”

  Her voice sounds distant and tiny through the roar of the wind, but I still hear it.

  “No the fuck you are not,” Titus growls. “You’ll only get yourself killed.”

  “I’m a Chosen One. If I’m not built to do this, what good am I?”

  “You’re good, Carmine, but not this good. You need training. We can’t have you getting killed,” Draven says, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers. “A dead Chosen One is no good to anyone.”

  It doesn’t work. Out of the corner of one eye, I see her fold her arms beneath her breasts, glaring down at Draven’s sleek, dark head. Somehow the muted colors suit him more.

  “Neva is going.”

  “Neva has had training and can shift into whatever she damn well pleases. She can even mask her own scent. You can’t. Stay with Hattie and Ia.”

  “That is such tripe,” she snaps. “I can go. Just let me…”

  “No.” All three of us say in chorus.

  Carmine’s lip juts in a petulant pout, and even though my focus should be on the upcoming mission, I can’t help but think what it might be like to tug that lip between my teeth.

  A flash of hot desire sears across my awareness and I have a brief glimpse of a reciprocal vision. Carmine laid out beneath all of us, taking a fair amount of pain with her pleasure, drinking in the
illicit thrill of it. The thought of being filled so fully has her painfully aroused. She shifts on Draven’s back uncomfortably. I’m more than a little pleased to know I’m in her fantasies.

  Neva is just behind her sister, and I catch the scrunch of her pert little nose.

  “Thanks, sis. Really needed the visual.”

  It’s hard to tell in the midnight dark, but I think a light dusting of pink coats Carmine’s cheeks.

  “Sorry.”

  “Hush, all of you,” Ia snaps. “We’re nearly there. Let’s not alert them.”

  Chastised, we all fall silent. The wind whistles beneath my feathers, cool and stinking of spirits. We’re nearly on them now. We circle slowly, keeping out of the glow of the bonfire as best we can. The flames dance almost twelve feet tall, and scattered before it is a revelry. A small one, compared to the one that sacked our hometown. Are we fortunate or about to be made fools? I can’t help but feel this has to be a trap. Morningstar wouldn’t leave the cache so lightly guarded. Even with an ego to match his giant’s size, I don’t think he could be that stupid.

  A particularly high dune provides us with enough cover to shift back to our human forms. As soon as our passengers land safely on the sand, I’m shrinking down, eagerly retaking the bipedal form. Anything to get that itchy glamour off my skin. The mental connection will remain, though less potent now that we have tongues to speak with.

  Another wave of arousal hits me like a fist to the chest, knocking the wind out of me. A glance at Carmine shows me her attention isn’t on my face. She’s studying my cock with fascination. If I press, I can feel the momentary thought of having it inside of her.

  “Later,” I murmur. “For now, there’s work to be done.”

  “Right,” she says, cheeks very pink now. It will never cease being cute, no matter how dire the situation.