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

by Plum Pascal

  Sabre seizes my hips with a savage growl that raises goosebumps all along my body. My nipples harden to painful points. His nails dig furrows into my hips as he thrusts himself up harder, rolls my hips so I drag along the length of him. I keen, arch my back, and cry out.

  He guides me so I’m riding him hard and fast, not releasing me until he’s sure I have the rhythm. And when he is sure, his nimble fingers slide up my stomach to cup my breasts. He plucks at the nipples hard enough I choke on a sob of pleasure. They’re still tender from Titus’ recent ministrations.

  I’m patterned with bruises and bites and I can’t seem to care about any of them. I just want this feeling to keep going, unending, forever in this moment with Sabre. Bliss washes over us, and I’m certain the magic of the revelry takes us over for a time.

  All I can feel is the harness of him in me, warmth everywhere he touches me, the bliss of having my mind sponged away so all I care about is the music, the bodies around me, the one under me, and the wonder of not thinking.

  Even the air smells wonderful, the reek of spirits somehow transforming into a spicy perfume. The fug of sex, spirits, and magic in the air is so intoxicating, I could sing, perhaps dance. I barely register when Sabre pulls out of me, except to mourn the loss of his hard length for a moment. Then he’s guiding me onto my knees, seizing a handful of my hair and pulling, even as he sheathes himself inside me again.

  He’s so forceful. I want this, want him. I never want to let go...

  I’m chorusing words I don’t know, in some primeval tongue that far predates me. May predate the stars. But it only drives the frenzy up higher and higher, until even the points of light in the night sky seem to cavort in dizzying jigs. Illusion, or coming madness, I can’t tell.

  The spell is broken when Sabre stills behind me, hips jerking one final time as he spills his seed. I can feel it all over my thighs. Has he spilled several times? Have I been that unaware?

  I can tell reason has returned to him because he draws out of me slowly, with more care than he’s taken with me this entire time. Eventually, I want him to take me, no holds barred, but this isn’t the night for it.

  He leans over my back and to the others it might appear he’s whispering more filth into my ear. His breath tickles the nape of my neck when he places a gentle kiss in the hollow just beneath my ear.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Fine,” I murmur. Then louder; “Let’s find a place a little less crowded, lover.”

  I squirm out from beneath him and turn, knees squelching in the mud. Sabre flashes me an almost wicked grin for a few seconds, and then it evaporates when we both recall where we are and what we’re here to do.

  He slides his hand into mine and tugs me up. He hikes the trousers up just enough to cover his cock but doesn’t bother to button them. I stoop to retrieve my coat and use it in a lackluster attempt to cover myself, eliciting more interest from the crowd.

  We’ve nearly made it to the outskirts of the circle now. I think I can guess Sabre’s plans well enough. Edge around the base of the mountain and take out whatever guards might be waiting, fucking ourselves silly along the way if need be.

  But that plan is thoroughly scuppered when a large pair of hooves impacts the ground just ahead, sending mud and dark wine sloshing in every direction. I follow the line of the creature’s body up and up, swallowing hard when I see the enormous, dark-skinned centaur with a broadsword.

  “Halt,” he rumbles. “Who are you?”

  Sabre’s lips are pale and pressed into a tight line of rage. I know precisely what he’s going to do the second before he does it. Because there’s no one else this man can be.

  “Your end, Arcadius,” Sabre growls.

  Then he plucks the feather from the end of his sullied, half-done braid and breaks the tip off before he plunges it deep into the centaur’s gut. Almost at once, skin begins to balloon as gas fills Arcadius’ abdomen. Black lesions spiral out from the wound site and the centaur’s legs buckle slowly. The broadsword topples to the ground, and I heave the heavy thing into my arms. I have a feeling I’ll need it soon.

  Arcadius’ body falls sideways, almost crushing another centaur flat. Heads turn and finally locate us standing over the felled monster. All goes still and silent for a terrifying half-second. Then the howls, the yells, the caterwauls begin. The drums begin again, this time deep, booming war drums.

  We’ve been outed.

  Fuck.

  TWENTY-TWO

  DRAVEN

  A pile of glittering stones lies at the base of the huge bonfire. They’re mundane rock at the moment, though I can see a few beginning to glow as we approach. Neva’s camouflage is incredible, but blood will out. Those stones sense a fraction of Morningstar’s power nearby. I can only hope the orange glow of the fire will disguise the stones’ response.

  We appear to be a group of dark fae and a centaur approaching the inner circle. We’re conspicuous enough on our own. The centaurs seem to keep to the outer circle, fucking with wild abandon while the inner circles seem to be more involved in chanting. I think this hedonistic revelry has to be leading up to something. There’s a sort of tension in the air, like the crackle of ozone just before the storm hits. Something is very, very wrong...

  “They’re casting,” Neva murmurs, stepping over the wriggling form of a maenad who barely seems to notice her. They’re all so consumed with what they’re doing.

  “Yes,” Hattie agrees. “They’re working on… something large.”

  “Any idea what?” I ask.

  Hattie and Neva exchange a glance then finally shake their heads.

  “No,” Neva says. “But odds are, it’s not good.”

  I don’t say anything to that, feeling a cutting remark about the uselessness of witches wouldn’t help our cause at the moment. We’re finally at the edge, and Hattie seizes me by the hand with another of those manic grins, spinning me like a top before looping her arm into mine.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “We are dancing. Don’t you want to get close enough to snatch the stones?”

  Of course I do, but making myself sick in the process wasn’t part of our plan. Still, I let the Mad Madam pull me into a reel. We dance closer and closer, until my head is spinning and the heat of the fire seems to sink through my skin and down into my bones. The damn thing is so hot, one could probably fry an egg on the ground near it. Every instinct tells me to get as far away as I can.

  Then, with a suddenness that startles me, Hattie releases me. I windmill my arms, try to catch myself before I can fall, but it’s no use. I land on my ass... right on the pile of stones.

  Ah, there was the method to the fucking madness. Now I just look like a clumsy oaf, instead of a thief. I grab a handful of the stones, shoving them into one of the seemingly endless pockets the coat has to offer. Then I stuff in another. Three is all I think I can manage without giving the game away.

  I stand, brushing myself off and bow toward the figure reclining on the chair near the fire.

  Deianira is quite beautiful. I’m sure she has men and women who worship her as the pinnacle of perfection. But I’ve seen Carmine bare and laid out on the grass before me, so I know what true perfection looks like.

  Still, her milky skin is unblemished and glows in the light of the fire, so she’s painted in golden light. Her legs are long and lean, the juncture of her legs bare and glistening. She rubs small circles into her pearl, smiling idly at her lover. She flicks a glance to me after just a moment. Her dark curls tumble artfully around her shoulders and her dark eyes smolder in the low light.

  “Go. Find your master, you fool. Tell Septimus we’ll have no need of his roaches soon. The seal is beginning to crumble. Can’t you feel it?”

  I still, ice sloshing through my veins, the horror of those two sentences freezing me in place.

  The seals are breaking.

  They’re not fucking, fighting, and bloodletting at the base of this mountain for the plea
sure of it. They’re trying to break down the last of the seals. If Septimus gets out, that means the rest should be coming as well. They’re going to release the other six.

  I open my mouth to scream at Neva. Surely, with her newly found powers, she could find a way to slaughter every single reveler in one go. Stop the ritual in its tracks. But by the time I can find the breath to form the words, it’s too late.

  There’s a colossal boom, like the gates of Avernus themselves have been knocked off their hinges and brilliant lights and colors shoot over the mountain, streaking like comets into the far distance.

  Green for Vita, a red-orange for Sol, a silver-gray for Lycaon, crimson for Hassan, white-gold for Bacchus and finally, an oozing black ribbon that’s so dark, it blots out the stars as it travels along its path.

  “Gods,” I breathe, too horrified to do anything but stare at the point where they disappeared. “The crazy fuckers did it. They released them. Morningstar’s out.”

  Then, at some signal that I seem to have missed, the crowd falls silent. A good half-second passes, and at first I think it’s a moment of respectful silence for their liberated comrades. But, I’m wrong.

  “Intruders!” Deianira shrieks. “Find them! Kill them!”

  Chaos erupts in the camp and there’s only one thing to do now.

  “Run!”

  TWENTY-THREE

  CARMINE

  Sabre slashes our way free of the first row of legs, arms, and wings, toppling several centaurs as we go.

  It’s not enough.

  They swarm us like angry bees, and from every side there are new elbows, knees, hands, and more to batter us. Every part of me hurts, and not even in the deliciously pleasant way my men can illicit. Every second threatens to bring us down to our knees and from there, to be trampled underfoot.

  Only Sabre’s hand in mine keeps me upright. He drags us forward, seeming to keep on his feet out of sheer contrariness.

  “I’m sorry, Carmine,” he pants. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

  “Just get us out of here.”

  All the apologies in the world don’t change the fact we’ve been caught. If by some miracle we wrestle our way free, I fear we’ll be the only ones who survive this night. The others must be deeper inside, trying to locate the stones. So close to the goddess and her lover? I doubt they’ll survive.

  The thought makes my breath catch and fresh agony ripples through me. Titus and Draven, gone? Neva, trampled to death, her beautiful face only so much bloody meat on the ground? No! No! I can’t lose any of them. Not when I’ve only just gotten used to having them in my life.

  Up ahead, there’s a break in the crowd and beyond that, the white desert sands. I’m alarmed to see the moon is sinking lower in the sky, hovering just above the line of dunes. How long were Sabre and I lost in the revelry’s magic, fucking each other senseless?

  We burst from the crowd like spurts of blood from a jagged wound. Sabre sweeps his sword into guard position, finally releasing me now that I’m not in danger of being trampled. Then he stops dead, skidding to a halt in the mud.

  Now, I see why the crowd parted. It’s not a break in the line after all, but a pocket to trap us on all sides. There are centaurs and satyrs at our backs and a lone female figure blocking our egress just ahead.

  She’s incredibly beautiful, putting even the maenads to shame. She seems to have swallowed moonlight, and the luminescence shines through her skin. Her hair is wild disarray, like it’s been fisted in the hand of a man while he rutted her. Every inch of her is flawless ivory, except for her lips and cheeks, which seem to have been rouged with blood.

  It’s like looking at a mirror image of Neva, cracked and distorted. Beautiful but wrong. The resemblance is passing and when I blink, I can spy still more wrong with the picture. Her eyes are dark, pitiless pools of black, the teeth behind her lips needle-sharp, like a blood drinker’s. Those night-dark eyes flick between us, running contemptuously over me in particular.

  “So this mewling little kitten is meant to unseat my father?” She laughs. “I couldn’t believe it when Thilde reported back to me, but it must be true.”

  I feel about three inches tall as she stares me down. Power fairly radiates off her. How in the name of Avernus am I meant to defeat something like her, let alone her father, who is no doubt worse?

  I draw myself up to my full height. No matter how frightened I am, a refuse to cower. I won’t mewl or cry, the way she clearly expects. If I’m to die here, I’ll do it putting up a fight. I’ll do it honoring the memory of my mother and father, who had both tried to protect me in their own ways.

  “Watch who you’re calling kitten,” I snap. The crowd has quitted to a dull roar, so my words can be heard above the general din.

  I step forward and Sabre automatically tries to cover me, tries to put his body between me and the goddess, hate blazing in her eyes. I nudge him aside, shaking my head.

  “This is my fight, Sabre. Find the others. Get them out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving your side!”

  “Fine. Shield yourself then. This is going to get ugly.”

  There’s not much time for him to respond.

  I draw inward, prodding at the beast that lays beneath my skin. It’s been cudgeled into submission by my mother and uncle most of my life. Now all it wants is blood and terror. The ground runs red with blood, which is a good start, and now it wants a feast of fear. This time, I don’t let it overwhelm me, I just ride the tide as it comes.

  Claws sprout from my nail beds, hissing and spitting sparks when I run them along the edge of the heavy broadsword. My strength rises with the hag’s emergence, and I’m able to heft it onto one shoulder. My eyes itch, and I’m told they fill entirely with silver that will eventually bleed onto the rest of my face.

  Cold fear rides the breeze coming off Mount Vallis and stirs every person in the crowd. Nervous knickers go up from the centaurs, bleats from the satyrs, and small shrieks from the maenads.

  Instinctually, I reach down toward the ground, dredging up what the soil will allow. Vines spring into my hands, already budding with flowers. They wind up my arms, over my shoulders and then lash around my torso, covering me as thoroughly as any chain mail. I don’t stop calling for them, feeding more and more into my hands until I’m fully girded in verdant armor, and a strand as thick as a bullwhip heaves my sword aloft. It reminds me of Titus’ chain scythe, though far more unwieldy.

  More and more, I draw life from the silty ground, and flowers and vines sprout with incredible speed. Aconite, hemlock, nightshade all bloom and perfume the air. Drecaine vines wind upward and knot together above our heads, forming a deadly cage around us. There’s perhaps six feet total between the goddess and me. Anyone who tries to approach will die a very lingering death.

  Unfortunately, Sabre might as well, if I’m unlucky. He’s trapped in the cage as well and I don’t have time to release him. Deianira may use the opportunity to escape. I’ll have to trust he’s capable.

  Deianira’s lips part to reveal those needle fangs. “Ah, that’s more like it. Let’s see what you can do, little hag.”

  “That’s Princess Carmine to you, bitch,” I huff, flexing my control over the vines holding the broadsword.

  Beside me, Sabre shifts into a ready position as well. Feet apart, saber at the ready, his chin held high. Something in his face has relaxed and it makes him somehow more attractive. I hadn’t realized there’s been tension in his body since that day in the cabin, when we discovered we’d be facing Bacchus’ revelry. Perhaps now that he’s slain his mother’s killer, he can have some measure of peace. I’d like to know what he’s like without that weighing heavy on his shoulders.

  I don’t see Deianira move. One moment she’s standing six feet away from me, the next she’s so near, I can smell the wine she’s been drinking. It saturates her skin. Too close to swing the sword and too awkward an angle to allow for a thrust into her back. The sword is huge, built for a cre
ature much larger than I, and would probably skewer me as well.

  Her fist slams into my breastbone with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. Agony lances through my chest and I swear I feel bone grind beneath her knuckles.

  My back hits the net of Drecaine vines, and they’re supple enough that I’m able to take the impact with minimal injury. I twine my fingers around the nearest and, imitating a move I’ve seen Draven execute, swing my legs upward, using the heel of one bare foot to bat her head to the side.

  If I’d been wearing a boot, I might have been able to break her jaw. As it is, she rocks backward, baring her needle teeth again. She produces a blade (I’m not sure from where, since she’s not wearing a stitch of clothing) and comes after me again. A trail of silver fire follows her blade. I duck the blow in time to avoid having my throat slashed, but the fire follows in the wake of the blade, striking at me like a bullwhip. The spell finds its mark, wrapping around my throat and pulling taught like a noose.

  The spellwork begins to burn almost at once, eating away at the vine armor I’ve made for myself, trailing agonizing heat down my front. She’ll burn me alive. Or maybe the fiery noose will end me first. Already black spots are bursting like leaden bubbles in front of my eyes.

  Then Sabre’s sword flashes down, cutting through the flaming spell like it’s made of tissue. The pressure finally lets up and I’m able to gasp in a breath. Through streaming eyes, I see him advance on Deianira, sword raised. My heart hammers against my ribs and I want to shout at him to squirm through the bars and run. I can’t watch him die on my behalf. Even if he does manage to end Deianira, there’s still a host of creatures that will come after us. We could simply be trampled underfoot by accident.

  And then an enormous shape looms over us, blotting out most of the orangey glow of the fire. I crane my neck, though the very action feels like it should separate my head from my shoulders. I’ll likely have a brand there for life.