Blood and Sorcery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 2)

by Candace Wondrak

  If that was the case, she was more powerful than he first thought. Just as he wondered if he’d made the right decision all those years ago, right when he pondered whether or not he should’ve told the truth and had her locked up and executed for her crimes, he shook the terrible thoughts off.

  No.

  He loved his little one.

  He loved Celena.

  But…he didn’t love her like that. He was not in love with her.

  Bastian shouldn’t have kissed her. He had to apologize more, he decided. It could never, ever happen again. To do so would be wrong and unwise. He would have to constantly remind himself she was his little one. Like…a sister. Or an adopted child.

  Yes, precisely like that.

  He heaved a giant breath, spinning on his heels to go back. Night was starting to fall anyway. He did not know these woods; getting lost on his first night back was not something he wanted to do. However, the moment he turned around, he did not recognize the area he’d just come from.

  Because it wasn’t the forest.

  It was…a hazy place, free of grass and leaves and trees. There was only dirt below. Dirt and flat ground. The sky above him was not a dusky blue-black, as it was the last time Bastian had glanced up; it was an orange. An orange with veins of blue, as if the blue sky was right behind the strange hue, cracking it, trying to break through.

  Bastian took a hesitant step forward, blinking as he surveyed the area. Dirt, for as far as his eyes could see. Miles and miles it went, the landscape so clear of hills and trees and brush that he could see the curvature of the horizon. He spun in a circle, looking behind him. The forest he’d walked out of was completely gone. When he finished turning, he froze.

  A table sat before him, a few feet ahead. A marble table that was most certainly not there before. Pure white, long and clean, despite the dirt. Only two chairs sat near it, one on each of its shorter sides, the heads of the table. One of the chairs was occupied by a tall, white-haired man.

  Bastian had no sword, no armor. He would not be able to defend himself, should the man attack him. Though, judging from his elegant and refined appearance, the man was not going to attack.

  The stranger wore a black suit, red ruffles around his neck. The sleeves were sleek and fit to his arms, which he held over his lap, his fingers intertwined. His white hair was long, pulled back into a low ponytail behind him. There was a calming appearance to his face, his features smooth and pale. His eyes, though, were a startling hue. They were a bright, vivid silver, and they stared right at Bastian, almost unblinking.

  “As soon as you are ready, sit,” the white-haired man spoke, his voice soothing, almost hypnotizing. “We have much to discuss.”

  Bastian did not move. “Where are we? Who are you?” Even though the man seemed tranquil, there was an air about him he did not like. Danger; pure and undiluted danger.

  All the man did was gesture to the seat on the opposite side of the long, marble table.

  He was slow to move to the chair, even slower to sit down. Sitting across from the white-haired man was unsettling. A coolness radiated from him; perhaps it was those silver eyes. “Now will you give me answers?” Bastian’s voice sounded too harsh, too grating, especially compared to the other man’s.

  “We are,” the man began, “someplace you’ve never been.” He lifted both arms, palms upward. Above them, the orange sky cackled. “Welcome to the other side of the Veil, Bastian LeFuer.” He brought his arms back down, hands resting on the armrests of his chair. Before he was able to open his mouth, the man continued, “I know who you are, chevalier, because you belong to me. Everything that lives always dies to be under my authority.”

  That…didn’t sound good.

  Deep down, Bastian already knew, but he still found himself saying, “You’re…”

  “I have many names. Most have been fortuitously forgotten over the eras. You already know who I am, though, so do not feign ignorance. Ignorance is a hideously human trait.” Right. Because the white-haired man was no man at all. He wasn’t human.

  “Why am I here?” Bastian asked, confident the creature before him masquerading as a man was in fact Zyssept, the old god of death who was after Celena. On his lap, his hands curled into fists. He wanted to attack the man, as unwise as it would be.

  “Why are you here, chevalier?” The man crossed his long legs, resting his head back on the marble chair. “I think you know, but if you must hear me say it, then I will say it. You are here because you are ungrateful, because you have acted on impulses of which you should have ignored.”

  Bastian’s hazel stare widened. Was he here, speaking to Zyssept, because he’d kissed Celena?

  “You hurt her,” the white-haired man added, his pleasant features twisting into a scowl. “Out of the three of you, you were the last one I expected to do such a thing. After all, was it not you who saved her life all those years ago? Was it not you who visited her every time you returned to Rivaini? You have spent countless hours with her.” A frown turned his lips downward. “Yet you have hurt her.”

  This wasn’t about the kiss, but about running away from it?

  “Now that I am here, I will not take kindly to anyone who hurts her, even if she should care for you.” The white-haired man blinked, and suddenly his eyes were not simply silver. The whites around the irises were black, a startling contrast to a human eye. Bastian felt fear rising in his stomach, a fear he could not quench.

  Shadows coiled around the chair Bastian sat in, curling and snaking their way around his arms and torso. He could feel their cold through his clothes, could not move against their grip. They were only shadows, tendrils of energy, but they were strong and solid.

  “The void is always hungry,” the man spoke, his eyes unblinking as they stared at Bastian. With another blink of his eyes, the blackness faded into white, his stare only odd in that its color was silver. No more blackened eyes. “Of course, I do realize it may be an adjustment for you. She was only a child when you saw her last. She is a child no longer, chevalier.”

  “I know,” Bastian whispered, watching as the shadows holding him slowly retreated, dissipating into thin air. “But I—”

  “She wants you, and my goddess will have everything she desires.” The man studied Bastian, a look of disgust gracing his face for a split-second, before it was replaced with a calm expression. “Whatever inner battle you have raging inside you, it will end here and now, or I will welcome you once more in the maw of death.”

  Bastian was baffled. Was Zyssept doing this for Celena? Was this some kind of odd, godly intervention? He didn’t quite know what to think of it. He only knew he was confused. “Why do you care?”

  Zyssept tilted his head ever so slowly. “I care because she is mine, and I take care of what is mine.” The way he spoke of her caused Bastian to ruffle with…jealousy? As if this god had any claim on her. As if Celena belonged to him and him alone. The god had no right to her. “Her blood is my blood. Her will is my will.”

  “You truly are an old god, then?”

  As Bastian spoke the question, shadows rose behind the man, growing taller and wider until they blocked out the orange sky and the dirt below, until all that was left was them and their table. “I am timeless, not old,” he replied. “And when she weds me, she will be timeless, too.” His serious demeanor gave way to…to a thin, tiny, nearly nonexistent smile as the shadows dispersed, fluttering away like butterflies. “Now, tell me about her.”

  Blinking, Bastian did not know quite how to answer the question.

  When he remained silent, Zyssept added in a deadly serious whisper, “Let us start somewhere simple. What, chevalier, is her favorite color?”

  Lena cleaned the house. She didn’t know what else to do, given the fact it was nighttime and Bastian hadn’t returned yet. When morning came, she got water from the nearby well and washed the sheets on the beds, hung them outside to dry. She would not go back to the city until she knew Bastian was safe. And, even then, it
was going to be a fight, she knew.

  The night before, she’d broached the topic with Vale and Tamlen, who each told her immediately it was a stupid idea to return to Rivaini, even dumber to march back into the College and tell them of Gregain’s blood magic use. They’d told her they could go anywhere, do whatever they wished, as long as she didn’t go back.

  But they didn’t get it. She had to go back. She had to make sure Ingrid was all right. Plus, as long as her hair and eyes were any unnatural color, they’d never be able to blend in anywhere. And if they had any hope of fighting this Zyssept, the College was probably the best place to do research. Everything had a weakness; it was the law of nature. Even gods had to have a weakness.

  Tamlen and Vale were busy moving buckets of water to the bathtub; it’d take them many trips. Lena had just finished hanging a rather thick sheet on a line she had strung from the house to the nearest tree, and she sat near the graves of the old owners.

  She wondered if they were together in death. Of course, such thoughts led her mind to think of other things…like Zyssept. And death. What did death feel like? Did it hurt? Was one aware when one was dying? What came after? Most believed in an afterlife of some kind, but she was not one of those people. She wasn’t quite sure what she believed in. Being a mage, being locked up in the College for most of her life, learning and believing a religion was one of the last things on her mind.

  Zyssept being a real entity opened the doors for any and all old gods to be real creatures. Were they spirits? Were they higher-level demons? Surely, an old god must’ve started from something.

  Lena sighed, leaning back and gazing up at the sky. Above the patch of farmland, the sky was a clear, crisp blue, a few shades lighter than Vale’s eyes. She thought of the Noresh tome, and it was not the first time her mind had wandered to it. She wondered if she even needed the book, or if she could simply raise the dead whenever she wished.

  Not that she would, but she still pondered it.

  For a strange text written in blood, in a language she did not even comprehend, it was odd how much she longed for it, how badly she wanted it, even just to hold. The book held power of its own; it had to. If the spirit of Hunger hadn’t been inside her, forcing her to read from it, it had to have been something else. But what?

  Hunger was another reason Lena had to get back to Rivaini. The spirit had gone somewhere, probably was already inside a new host, watching from the inside, reveling in bad decisions. She had to find a way to end the spirit for good so it could not tempt and change anyone else.

  What a hero she pretended to be. What a savior she wanted to be. Ironic, given her history with magic. A terrible thing, truly, for Lena could never be a hero, a savior, not when her hands were already stained with the blood of her parents.

  After a while, she was no longer alone. Vale sat by her, giving her a lopsided grin. “You looked a little lonely,” he said, placing a quick peck on her cheek. “I thought I’d check in, make sure you’re alright.”

  She smirked. “And make Tamlen finish filling the bath.” The mages of today would be able to use levitation on multiple barrels of water to fill the tub, or maybe even control the water in the well and bring it all up at once. Lena wasn’t certain what kind of schooling Tamlen had hundreds of years ago. The College wasn’t around, she knew. The only magic he seemed capable of wielding was his fire.

  It was just as well. The less magic the better. Lena had to keep reminding herself of it, for it seemed like lately, her views on magic had been changing, morphing towards acceptance. Idiotic, really, for she of all people knew how awful magic could truly be.

  She felt Vale’s hand on her lower back, and she sighed as she leaned into him.

  “Putting Tamlen to work,” Vale mused, a twinkle in his gaze. “I like it.”

  Lena giggled, whispering, “He certainly knows how to put you to work.”

  He shot her a mock glare. “And what, exactly, do you mean by that, Lena?”

  Though she was resting on his shoulder, she could feel the hard look he gave her. Beneath her robe, she squeezed her thighs together at the memory of the day before. It always got her so worked up, imagining them together, even more so when she was able to watch them. So freaking sexy.

  She lifted a hand, running it down his arm, resting it on his knee. “You know exactly what I mean, Vale. Don’t play coy.” She felt him chuckle softly. “I suppose I’m just a naughty girl who likes watching her men play together.”

  Gods. Did she really say that? Not once in her life had she ever spoken something so…well, naughty.

  “You certainly are,” Vale agreed in a hushed whisper. “And you know what? I love that about you.”

  The hand she had placed on his knee started traveling along his inner thigh as she murmured, “I bet you do.” Why wouldn’t he? He got the best of both worlds, so to speak. A relationship where everyone could do whatever they wanted with everyone else, and no one was jealous or unhappy about it.

  When she was just about to cup him over his pants, Vale said, “Looks like the girl wants to be naughty right now.” And then without warning, he pulled her onto his lap, holding her back to him. She let out a giggle, wiggling her backside against him, enjoying the feeling of his growing hardness on her lower back.

  “She does,” Lena said, letting Vale take charge, surrendering herself to him. It was made ten times hotter because this was so unlike Vale’s typical demeanor.

  “Then she’s going to get it,” Vale whispered into her ear, kissing her neck as his hands grabbed the bottom of her robe, tugging its lengths up, revealing her bare legs once he pulled it past her boots.

  Oh, yes. She wanted to be naughty.

  As Vale’s hands soon discovered, she’d thought about being naughty earlier, when she got dressed. Or rather, when she took off her underwear.

  “Gods. You wanted this from the beginning.”

  Lena laughed. She could not deny it, nor would she affirm it.

  “You’re wet already,” Vale murmured, his lips against the skin on her neck.

  “Make me wetter,” she begged. Her eyes flicked to Tamlen across the field, watching as he got a few more buckets of water from the well. He was far too entranced in getting the tub filled to notice how both she and Vale had slacked off.

  His other hand went to her chest, cupping a breast as his fingers slid easily between the pink folds of skin between her legs. “Oh,” he said, kissing her neck, “I plan to.” His fingers worked her, gliding around her sex. Just from watching Tamlen do it, from having the other man instruct him, he was already good at it, and he’d only get better with practice.

  She let out a soft moan, head falling back onto his chest as her eyes fluttered closed. Somehow, it was even more sensual because her clothes were still on, made even better by the fact they sat out in the open. It’d only be a matter of time before Tamlen realized something was happening between them and joined in.

  For the next few moments, she forgot all her worries, all her questions and her wonderings. She forgot about how conflicted she was about Bastian, losing all sense as Vale ran his fingers along her, paying special heed to the small nub of flesh at its top. She let out a moan when he slipped a finger inside of her.

  It was not long before a tall shadow blocked out the sunlight. Tamlen stood over them both, arms crossed over his chest. A lone eyebrow was risen, and all Lena could do was stare up at him and smile. “I see you two are busy,” he remarked.

  “Very busy, so if you wouldn’t mind, get back to work,” Vale said.

  “The tub is full, and I’d rather be here, anyway.” Tamlen knelt before her, slowly taking off her boots. Vale did not withdraw his finger from her; he kept pumping it in and out until Tamlen added, “Let me.”

  Lena whimpered a little, missing Vale’s hand the very moment it disappeared from her mound, but it was soon replaced by something wet and slick—Tamlen’s tongue. He buried his face between her legs, just beneath her bunched-up robe, tasting h
er, eager with his tongue play. Vale moved the hand that had been touching her to her other breast, now cupping both as her other lover teased her.

  Up and down, around and around, his tongue explored every crevice of her sex. Lena arched her back, pushing harder against Vale’s chest, opening her legs wider. Pleasure shot through every nerve of her body, causing her to tense up, building and growing as the moments wore on and his mouth worked harder, more frantically, until she had no choice but to let the orgasm take her. Her body shook as she came, a breathy sound escaping her throat. Her whole body felt as if it weighed nothing. It was an amazing feeling, all thanks to that blasted tongue.

  Tamlen was measured in sitting up, her wetness coating his chin and lips. “You come for me so fast, Lena,” he whispered, drawing both his hands at such an agonizingly slow pace up her inner thighs. “Do you want more?”

  All she could do was nod.

  He slid two fingers inside her, gliding them in and out with ease. The sounds of her wet sex rose through the air, slick and juicy, skin sliding together. The pleasure built up fast. Vale caressed her breasts through the fabric, smirking at Tamlen over her shoulder.

  “Oh,” Tamlen muttered, “I’m mad at you, too. You were both going to have fun while making me work. Here I thought we were all equal.”

  Lena sighed, “Time to kiss and make up.” She watched as Tamlen, whose fingers never stopped pumping her, leaned over her, mouth meeting Vale’s. She loved watching them together. There was something so thrilling about seeing two strong men entangled in each other. It was beyond erotic. And to have them making out over her—noticing how, when their lips broke for a split-second, their tongues were in each other’s mouths—it drove her mad.

  Soon enough, Tamlen broke away from Vale, moving his lips to hers, sharing the warmth of his magic, the roughness of his kiss, with her. Her body grew hotter, but it was a pleasant heat, a heat she wanted more of. Lena yanked out Tamlen’s fingers, her hole aching to be filled once again.