Spells and Necromancy: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 1)

by Candace Wondrak

  A camouflaging spell wasn’t too far off from invisibility, but invisibility was an enchanter-level spell. Though her friend knew how to do the former, Lena didn’t. She was still stuck in initiate-level classes with children who were years her junior.

  If Ingrid knew one of the men was the terrible Tamlen Grey, she would refuse, so Lena said, “I’ll tell you later. I promise. Do you need my help with the clothes?” A stupid question, really. But even though she knew no cloaking spells, she could serve as a distraction so the nobles didn’t see any clothes floating randomly away.

  “No. Will you be fine here with them? Will you be safe?” She handed Lena back her dagger.

  “Like you said, they’re my thralls. They can’t hurt me.”

  That was enough to pacify Ingrid for now, and Lena exhaled loudly as she watched her walk away, un-summoning her wolf familiar.

  Tamlen watched Valerius. The supposed hero was looking mighty villainous as he glowered at everything, even the butterflies in the sky. Somebody wasn’t too thrilled with their predicament. “It appears as if we’re going to spend copious amounts of time together,” he remarked. “May I call you Vale?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to call you Vale regardless. Much shorter. You could call me Tam, if you like.” Tamlen stretched out his toes, wiggling each one. How odd it was to be so fascinated with life after he’d snuffed out so many others. Gods, was he hungry, too. It made sense that his stomach growled, for the last time he’d eaten was years ago.

  “No,” Vale spoke again.

  Tamlen gave him a look. “Why are you so grouchy? We’re alive! Isn’t that grounds for excitement?” He went on, “Are you imagining all the food you want to eat? What about the women—or the men—you want to lay with? Yes, it’s good to be alive. I can’t wait to stretch my muscles, maybe with our new Master.”

  “You should not call her that,” Vale muttered, barely glancing his way. His blue eyes were far too serious. “I have no master.”

  “You’re right. You only listen to her because of magic.”

  “Shut it.”

  “You and I get along so well, don’t you agree?”

  It was a moment before Vale said, “I hate you.”

  Tamlen chuckled. Earning hatred was something he was accustomed to in his old life. His first life. Everyone hated the revolutionary, the civil war starter. Everyone loved to loathe the man who only wanted to better mages’ lives. No, Vale’s hatred was nothing when compared to the hatred of entire kingdoms. “You wound me,” he said. “How it hurts.”

  “I want you to die, and this time, I want you to stay dead,” Vale added.

  “How lovely and charming. I can see why Midas kept you so close…or, hold on, perhaps he kept you close for another reason. Before you disfigured yourself with those runes, I bet you were a dashing fellow. Bedding a king is everyone’s dream, isn’t it? I wonder if history remembers you as the hero who slew Tamlen Grey or the non-mage who bedded a king who was already on his third wife?”

  Without warning, Vale tackled him. It was a good thing Tamlen was already on the ground, so his back didn’t hurt too badly as it collided with the dirt and the grass, and a few stones, too. A hard fist, coupled with a few zaps of electricity, met with his face, and for a moment, all Tamlen could do was laugh.

  Vale was always so easy to rile up, even on the battlefield.

  Tamlen was about to blast him with a fireball to throw him off him, but a voice cut in, “Stop! What are you guys doing? I leave you for five minutes and you’re at each other’s throats.” Lena suddenly was there, her hands in Vale’s hair, tugging him off Tamlen. “You fight like children.” Her voice was strong, commanding.

  Tamlen sat up, smiling up at her with a cracked lip. He rather liked it when she took charge…but he liked taking charge better.

  “He—” Vale didn’t get a chance to say his peace, for he shut right up when Lena glared at him.

  “You will not fight each other. You won’t hurt each other.” Her words were a command, one that neither man wanted to follow, but Tamlen knew they had to. Lena shook her head. “I can’t believe I have to talk to you both like you are two brothers. You’re not, right? You’re not brothers?”

  Tamlen laughed, while Vale shot another glare at them both. “No, we’re not brothers,” he said as the light-haired man glowered. “But we are as close as men can be without being brothers. Were you hoping for a set of brothers—twins, maybe?”

  Lena was so utterly naive, innocent and pure that it was cute. “Why would I want a set of brothers? Actually, why would I want anyone as my thrall? I’m not power-hungry. I don’t like being in charge. I don’t handle things well. Magic is…foreign to me.”

  “You are a mage,” Tamlen reminded her. “Magic runs in your blood. You can’t deny it.”

  She folded her legs as she sat, her back hunched. “Just like you both don’t want to die again, I wish I wasn’t a mage.” Her bright, dazzling eyes closed. “I wish I was a non-mage. Everything would be…better.”

  Tamlen noticed that Vale was studying her differently, watching her without a single shred of malice. “It always seems that we want what we cannot have,” Vale said.

  How disturbing. This was turning into a deep conversation.

  Tamlen dropped the bag. “I would like that dagger. That’s not too much trouble, is it?” He ran a hand across his face, instantly noting Lena’s scowl. “Not to murder and maim, I promise. We passed a stream a ways back—”

  “If you see anyone, you must come straight back. Just to the river.” She heaved a sigh, standing to hand it to him.

  As his hand grabbed the dagger from her, Tamlen snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her close, holding her against him harder than he had when he carried her while she was unconscious. Such a small woman, unassuming in every way. Who would’ve known the magical power that dwelled inside her?

  “Don’t worry,” Tamlen spoke quietly, “you’ll like me better when I’m clean.”

  The look she gave him—angry, annoyed, and slightly intrigued—made him want her even more. He felt himself growing aroused at their closeness, so he quickly released her and turned, heading away from the camp.

  After realizing that he hadn’t had sex in years, Tamlen simply couldn’t get it out of his mind.

  Lena watched Tamlen go, shocked at herself for allowing him to touch her like that. Who did he think he was, holding her so close? He was no one to her, even if his naked body was nice to look at. He was nothing but infamy in the guise of a man, a villain who’d lost centuries ago. He was a nasty, vile man who…

  …oh, who was she trying to kid? He was attractive, even with that scar on his face, even under the mop of knotted hair on his head.

  Her stomach twisted; she felt the urge to…do something. She wanted more. Lena had never felt like this before going into that crypt. She brought a hand to her head, undoing the bun and running her fingers through her hair. She bit her lip, wondering how long it’d take for him to get back, how long it would take for Ingrid to find clothes. Maybe they could do it fast, be done before she got back—no. These were not her thoughts.

  They were strangers to her. Lena didn’t think thoughts like those. She wasn’t a kinky girl. Still very much kiss-less and a virgin, nightmare Bastian or no.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” Valerius spoke behind her, standing near but nowhere as close as Tamlen did. “He’s always been like that. An ass, through and through.”

  Lena would be a liar if she told him that she liked Tamlen’s alpha attitude. She’d also be a liar if she said she hated it. She was just a bundle of confused feelings. There were so many things she wanted in that moment, a lot of things she shouldn’t want. Slowly, measuredly, she turned to face him.

  Valerius was not as tall as Tamlen, but he was wider. His body was stronger, and the runes on his skin—she wanted to touch them.

  “Who are you, Valerius?” Lena whispered, stepping closer to him. She gingerly
lifted a hand, touching one of his arms, tracing the runes that were slightly risen from his flesh, almost as white as the wyvern’s scales and feathers.

  He didn’t stop her, nor did he move away from her, though his skin did tense beneath her touch. Valerius said, “I am the one who killed Tamlen Grey on behalf of King Midas.”

  Lena wanted to tell him the truth, that history did not remember it quite like that—that King Midas had been the one to slay the usurper himself. But she knew history had a way of warping on itself as time went on. The Era of the Dragon was over; they were well into the Era of the Rabbit.

  An exciting era, she knew. Great name.

  As her fingers moved to the runes decorating his shoulder, Valerius whispered, “And who are you, Lena?”

  She thought about it, not truly knowing what to say. She was no one, nothing of importance. Both Tamlen and Valerius were used to playing high stakes with royalty. Lena was nothing in comparison. Just a girl, a mage who was afraid of the magic inside her. So she settled with saying, “I’m no one.”

  Valerius shook his head once, surprising her by bringing his hands to her face, reminding her of Bastian in her nightmare—only this was real, and the man before her was no rotting corpse. He was very much alive and warm and solid. “That is not true, otherwise neither of us would be here.”

  His words caused her to inhale sharply. His hands did not leave her face, cupping both cheeks. Calloused and rough, a warrior’s hands. Lena stared into his blue eyes. “I fear I’m not myself…” She meant it in more ways than one.

  Lena was not who she should be, not who her potential said she could be, nor was she in her right mind. All her inhibitions were gone, the crippling anxiety that came with flirting and talking to attractive men had vanished. She only felt hungry, wanton, lustful.

  So hungry it deserved a capital H.

  Valerius spoke, his breath hot on her face, “I haven’t been myself in a long time.” The way he spoke it, like he knew precisely how she felt, how she wanted to throw all caution to the wind. How could he understand when she didn’t?

  His eyes—those brilliant blue orbs—fell to her lips when her fingers danced across the runes on his chest. He was just as dirty and bedraggled as Tamlen was, but Lena didn’t care. She didn’t care about the knot of hair on his head or the unkempt beard on his jaw. She wanted him, and so she took him.

  Lena stood on her toes, snaking her arms around his neck, bringing her mouth to his. Her eyes closed the moment their lips touched, and she let out a small whimper. Like a burst of energy, a pulse of magic. She was warm and at ease, but she’d never be full.

  She knew it was wrong, but it felt too good to stop.

  The moment Valerius burst through what he now knew was his coffin, he never would’ve guessed he’d end up like this before his first nightfall. He definitely wouldn’t have imagined kissing the woman mage who brought him back to life; after learning about Midas’s treachery, kissing and anything of the sort was the last thing on his mind. And yet, that’s exactly what he was doing with Lena.

  And, surprisingly enough, Valerius was enjoying it.

  Gods, the last time he remembered somewhat enjoying a woman like this was before Midas. Shit—he should not think of his murderer and his ex-lover while he was tangled up with someone else.

  Someone whose skin was undeniably soft. Someone whose lips parted for him ever so slightly. Someone who moaned into his mouth, the sound coming from the base of her throat. A mage, as ridiculous as it was, the mage who’d given him life after his first was stolen. Lena.

  His hands dropped from her face, moving to her neck and then her back. He gripped her tunic tightly, pulling her closer. She needed no help to press against him; her small body leaned into his as far as it would allow, her fingers running through his hair.

  Valerius knew this feeling, this hunger. It wasn’t simply any hunger. It was the Hunger. It wasn’t inside him—did it travel inside of her? Was Hunger clinging onto her mind, lowering her walls? Was that the only reason she was pressed up on him as only a lover would be?

  Fuck it. Valerius didn’t care.

  Hunger died hard.

  He wanted to rid his body of the pathetic amount of armor he still wore, but he did not want to pull away from her. Hunger had them both; Valerius might’ve been Lena’s thrall, but they were both slaves to the spirit of Hunger.

  The heat that rose in his gut, the maddening arousal that lengthened his cock—he could stop neither. He didn’t want to. Right now, he only wanted one thing, and that was to bury himself between Lena’s legs.

  One of the hands grasping her shirt moved beneath it, running across the small of her back, making her shiver. Lena pulled back enough to speak, her gaze heavy with wanting, and he thought she was going to say something, tell him to lay her down and have his way with her, but they were interrupted by a deep cough.

  “Wow. And I was only gone a few minutes. Perhaps I should’ve waited in the shadows and watched,” Tamlen spoke with a sly grin, carrying the dagger near his hip. His black hair was shorn to the sides of his scalp, the top of it an inch longer, jagged in its cuts. His face was stubble-free and washed of all dirt. The scar resting there was more prominent now, its garish pink hue revealing that it was not a simple flesh wound, not a clean injury like the one on his stomach, where Valerius had stabbed him.

  Valerius hated to admit it, especially since the man was his enemy, but he looked good. Tamlen looked good. It was a harrowing thought.

  Valerius could not formulate a response, for he wasn’t exactly feeling guilty of his actions with Lena, but she was the opposite. Clearly, Hunger hadn’t tainted her much. Lena immediately stepped back, dropping her hands to her sides, her pale skin flushed. All from a kiss. Granted, it was a heated kiss, desperate and hungry, but still just a kiss. He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d look like while doing other things…

  “It’s…it wasn’t—I don’t—” Lena was nothing but a ball of nerves, her skin reddening with further embarrassment. “We just…”

  Tamlen tossed her a smile as he strolled up to Valerius, offering him the dagger. “It’s my turn with our master, Vale. Make like a rat and scurry.” Though he spoke to him, Tamlen’s gaze remained on Lena, who was yet too flustered to pay heed to his words.

  Valerius snatched the dagger from him, thoughts of murder crossing his mind. They were thoughts rooted in times long past, due to their shared history, for he’d spent years fighting the Grey Revolt and its leader. But as soon as the thoughts entered his mind, they vanished as quickly. It was as if his mind was not even allowed to think such things.

  His thoughts weren’t his own; not fully. Being an unaware necromancer’s thrall was going to be miserable.

  He said nothing as he stormed away, past Tamlen and Lena, away from the pathetic excuse that was their camp. He recalled seeing the stream, and his legs took him there mechanically. Valerius did not look forward to spending all his time with his enemy and an untrained mage whom he could not disobey, even if, somehow, he wanted to bed her.

  That was not something he had thought about in a long time.

  A woman.

  Yes, he’d always found certain women attractive, but there were just as many men out there who were equally as attractive. Valerius knew his preferences were not the norm of society, at least not in Rivaini—if that’s what this land was still called. He’d heard of stories from Sumer, where the Empress would host balls where everyone was naked and enjoyed each other, men and women alike, almost interchangeably. For most of his formative years, he thought he was born in the wrong nation.

  And then he joined the King’s forces and met Midas.

  Becoming a soldier was all he could do, for he was the seventh son of a low-born family. No lands, no titles or riches to his name. His chance of inheriting anything was slim to none. Fighting seemed to be his destiny, until the day when Midas had stood on his balcony and addressed his new recruits. Their eyes met, and the rest was history.
Quite literally.

  It was foolish of Valerius to hope to remain Midas’s lover after taking care of Tamlen and destroying the revolt. He could not have glory and love together. It was one or the other, and because he’d been so greedy, he paid the price. Only, years later, some unsuspecting necromancer rose him from the dead. What were the odds of that?

  Valerius found the stream, kneeling on its bank. He worked to clean himself off—he slid his body out of the decaying armor. Lena’s friend would return with clothes soon, anyway. He did not want a single reminder of Midas or his past. If he had any hope of living through this, of having Lena release him from her thrall and let him live on his own, he had to let it go. He had to live in the now, look toward the future.

  Why, then, if he wanted to be on his own, could Valerius not stop thinking about Lena? Why couldn’t he picture himself free of her and her soft, supple lips? It was a single kiss. He might’ve been a hopeless romantic before, but in this life, he swore to himself he wouldn’t be.

  He’d try his best, anyway.

  Chapter Four

  How mortifying, Lena thought despondently, watching as Valerius sauntered off. Tamlen just had to come back at that precise moment, didn’t he? It was her awful luck at work again. He probably thought her some city-born working girl who opened her legs up for anyone who was interested. That was so not what she was. Not even close.

  At this rate though, if the fires in her belly were any indication, Lena wanted to be one of those girls. That kiss was not enough to sate the flames in her gut.

  Lena clenched her thighs together as she sat down, pointedly looking in the opposite direction of Tamlen. If she looked at him, she was afraid of what she would see. He joked when he saw them together, but would he expect a similar treatment? She wasn’t the sort of girl who could flick from one man to another…even if said men were both muscular and attractive in every way—even if both men were cutting off their long, unkempt hair and beards. She’d hold herself back.