Power of Five: Reverse Harem Fantasy, Book 1

by Alex Lidell

  “To join your . . . quint?” said Lera.

  “Yes.”

  “Of deadly immortal warriors.”

  “Yes.”

  Coal didn’t know what exactly he expected next—panic, a stream of babbling questions, crying—but it wasn’t this calm silence. The mortal seemed to be considering, thinking. Plotting all their deaths, if she was smart.

  This silence, broken only by the soft beat of the horses’ hooves and the occasional equine snort, was not kind to Coal’s body, making him all too aware of the female’s presence. Her softness pressing into his pelvis and stomach, her thighs lining the inside of his. Her scent, which somehow bypassed his nose and went directly to his cock. Yes, Coal was going to kill River for this.

  “This Citadel,” Lera said finally, halting Coal’s thoughts with a violent jerk. “How does it work?”

  “The Citadel trains, tests, and commands the quints. That is where we head now. The Elders Council will be able to sever this mistaken bond and set you free of us.”

  He’d meant that last part to be soothing, but the female’s body remained tense, as if she didn’t dare believe him. “Do fae apply to the Citadel?” she asked finally. “Is there some kind of selection process?”

  “No. The original elders set up the magic to select the warriors. It keeps the Citadel neutral and prevents any court from planting its allies in the quints. For the fae, once the call comes, there is no physical choice but to answer it. The magic always calls beings from different courts into one bond; that, too, the elders made by design. Most of the quints are male, though a few female ones exist. There are no mixed-gender quints, save the Elders Council itself.”

  “The Elders Council and us, you mean,” the mortal said.

  “No. He means only the Elders Council,” River’s voice interrupted, the commander pulling his horse up beside Coal’s and narrowing his eyes at them both. “We aren’t a quint—we are a mistake. There can’t be a human in a fae warrior bond.”

  Lera flinched and Coal’s arms tightened around her reflexively. The fact that River was right didn’t make Coal want to punch the male any less. That was the luxury of not being in charge, of not being the one to carry responsibility for the whole quint and more—you could be as pissed as you wanted at the one who made the calls. Coal bowed in his saddle and veered far enough away to let Lera breathe again.

  That proved to be its own mistake. The moment her heart slowed, the mortal started talking again. “Where are you all from?”

  Coal’s jaw flexed. He should have just kept his mouth shut, but it was too late now. “River is from Slait. Tye is from Blaze. Shade and his twin Kai were from Flurry.”

  “And you?” Lera gasped as they headed down a hill and the stallion’s gait became choppy. The saddle was chafing the inside of the female’s knees and thighs, the copper scent of her increasingly bloody wounds making Coal’s heart pound. She wasn’t complaining, though, even if her questions came through gritted teeth. “Which court are you from?”

  Instead of answering, Coal kicked the stallion into a gallop. The sooner they got to camp and moved the female off horseback, the better.

  5

  Leralynn

  I swallow a scream as Coal sends our horse into a gallop, his patience with answering my questions plainly exhausted. The horse’s powerful muscles flex and extend under me, the chill wind making my eyes water. After years of wishing to ride these magnificent beasts, the reality is crushing. Rolling pastures race by in streaks of yellow and green, while Mystwood’s forbidding gloom gets ever closer. The saddle chafes my legs raw, and my body, which rises a bit into the air and lands hard with each mighty thump of the horse’s hooves, is pounding with pain. I’d be tossed to a certain death if not for the hard arms bracing my waist in cold silence.

  A parasite, that’s what I am to him. An unwanted growth attached by a magical mishap. The males might be civil enough now, but that will change once they, like Coal, realize how pathetic I am beside them, how little I know of things they take for granted. Like sitting atop a moving animal without breaking my neck.

  River’s words grind like sand into my flesh, working themselves deeper with each of the stallion’s strides. I’m a mistake of magic, a set of shackles clamped onto four immortal beings.

  After an hour of freezing pounding, my endurance reaches its limit and I let the tears welling in my eyes spill onto my cheeks, my shoulders trembling from cold and pain. I try to hold it in, but I can’t stop the wet gasps as each jolt opens the skin on my thighs further.

  A soft growl escapes Coal’s mouth. Without slowing the horse, the male spares one arm from the reins to clamp around my abdomen like an iron band, which keeps me from bouncing about. Within a minute, he is clicking his tongue and urging his horse into an even faster gallop, as if determined to outrun the setting sun.

  Shutting my eyes, I bury my hands in Coal’s forearm, feeling his muscles tense and relax with each jolting step. I try to breathe deeply, to inhale his scent of leather and salt, and imagine a bard’s tale for myself. In my tale, I’m not a prisoner on horseback but the one urging the beast into a run, while the strong arms keeping me in the saddle are a lover’s embrace instead of a tether to counteract my incompetence. In my tale, these males who make my chest tighten are not trying to get rid of me.

  “Tye.” Coal’s voice cuts through the icy air and I realize that we’ve stopped moving. The horse’s flanks heave, and steam rises from his sweaty coat. “Get over here and take the mortal.”

  I blink at what looks like a small inn of rough stone. A smoking chimney and a fire glimmering through the common room’s windows promise blissful warmth. My stomach growls and I realize I’ve not eaten in some time, the once-warm roll Mimi stuffed into my pocket now squished into crumbs—though possibly still salvageable. The thought of Mimi makes my heart clench. I never said goodbye to her before leaving. Though given her hopes for Zake and me, I think she’d have called me a fool. And she would have been right.

  “What the bloody hell are we doing here?” Tye asks mildly as Coal hands me down to him. I fall gracelessly into the male’s arms, my feet on the ground but my shaking legs unable to support my full weight. “Not that I mind an inn with fair maids, but River may have a comment or two.”

  “River certainly does,” says River, pulling up beside us. “We’ve brought enough attention to ourselves as it is.”

  “Desire and reality aren’t melding for you tonight,” Coal tells River curtly. “We can go no farther today.”

  Tye’s nostrils flare delicately above my neck. As if . . .

  “Are you sniffing me?” I ask, craning my neck to look at the green-eyed male.

  Instead of answering, Tye slips a hand beneath my knees and lifts me off the ground, cradling me against his chest as he starts toward the inn door. “Coal is right, we need to stay here tonight,” he calls over his shoulder. “For the record, the lass was whole when I handed her off to that bastard.”

  I squirm in Tye’s grip. “Let me down. Where do you imagine I’ll run off to?”

  “You’ll fall, Lilac Girl,” Tye purrs, ignoring my struggles while River demands rooms from a wide-eyed innkeeper. Even without the pointed ears and the wolf trotting beside the horses, my quint males would never blend with human men. From fierce-eyed Coal to towering River, they are too tall, too chiseled, too beautiful to be anything but immortal.

  The innkeeper bows low, rubbing his wrist. “I would most love to oblige you, my lord, but you see, we are all sold out. Not one room—”

  “Then become vacant,” River says in a voice that sends a shudder down my spine, each violent story of the fae vivid in my mind.

  Blood drains from the innkeeper’s face, and he bows so low he trips over his own feet. “Of course. I’ll . . . I’ll shift some guests. They can double up in beds with no trouble, I’m certain. Please, my lords, follow me. It’s an honor to have you here.”

  Tye snorts softly and tightens his hold on me as he
carries me further inside, leaving River and the sounds of coin changing hands behind us. River is paying, it appears, and very handsomely.

  I wonder how I’m going to repay whatever the males are spending for my upkeep, but I can’t bring myself to protest. My body needs sustenance and a place to sleep too desperately to consider the costs. Tye follows a serving girl up a wobbly wooden staircase and into a large room with a plush green featherbed, a small dresser with a washbasin, and a wide leather armchair tucked into the corner.

  “You aren’t our prisoner, you know,” Tye whispers into my ear, sending a shiver all the way through me. His perfect face hovers inches away from mine, the heat from his cheek seeping through my skin and teasing my flesh. Dismissing the servant with a flick of his hair, Tye lowers me gently onto the bed.

  The down mattress sinks luxuriously under my weight, hugging my sore body. I fail to contain a small moan before blinking myself back to reality.

  Bed. I am on a bed with a fae male who technically kidnapped me and is now so close that I could bathe in his pine-and-citrus scent. Tye’s red hair flops over his eyes, and my fingers long to brush it away, to tuck it behind that exquisitely pointed ear of his. I wrap my arms around myself. “So I’m free to leave whenever I wish?”

  Tye’s normally sunny face tightens and he retreats from me, his triceps flexing as he rises. He perches on the far corner of the bed. Even then, he is so large that the mattress shifts beneath his weight. “Is that what you would like, lass?” Tye asks, his voice even.

  “It little matters what I’d like, does it?” I snap, fatigue taking the reins of my tongue. A parasite. A set of shackles. A mistake. “Coal explained the basics to me. I’m stuck with you four until the Citadel elders sever the bond, thus freeing the magic to choose someone else for you. Someone more male and immortal than I am.” Someone who can contribute. “The faster we can make that happen, the better. Am I right?”

  Tye studies the floor for a long moment before shaking himself and rising to his feet. “You are. I’ll see about some food and a bath being sent to your room.” The male offers me a slight bow and strides out the door without looking back, leaving me with an emptiness that has no business blossoming in my chest.

  The food arrives, as promised—a mouthwatering beef stew, thick with carrots, potatoes, and onions. The heel of bread beside my bowl is thick and soft. I’m using the last bit of crust to mop up the remains of the delicious broth when servants appear with a tub, buckets of steaming water, and a set of clothing. They give me as wide a berth as the room allows, casting glances that range from pity to fear when they think I’m not looking.

  Drawing my legs up to my chest, I push myself into the corner of the bed. My body is one large bruise, and with the males gone, a chilling emptiness settles around my shoulders. Pulling Tye’s cloak closer to my face, I take a deep whiff, the lingering pine-and-citrus scent calming my nerves until the servants leave and the steam from the tub tickles the air.

  Right. Laying Tye’s cloak carefully on the bed, I strip off the rest of my clothing and sink into the blissfully hot water. Someone added drops of lilac oil to the water and left a cake of lavender soap on a thick towel beside the tub. It’s many times more than a lifelong servant like me deserves, but there is nothing to be gained by leaving the soap alone.

  I’ve just finished working up the thickest lather I’ve ever seen when the door creaks open and soft feet tap against the floor. I sink beneath the soap bubbles, turning cautiously to find a pair of yellow eyes staring into mine.

  The scream that starts deep in my chest spills into my mouth, and I clamp both hands over my lips to keep the sound in check. The last thing I want is the world running into my room to find me naked. As for the yellow-eyed wolf . . .

  “Hello, Shade,” I say to the giant predator prancing toward me, his tale high up in the air. Now that he isn’t snarling over Zake’s form, he looks more like a gray plush toy than a deadly killer of Mystwood. I’ve no notion as to whether he understands human speech, but I might as well be polite. “Would you mind closing the door?”

  Shade cocks his head, flicks his right ear, and proceeds to sniff the base of the tub, then the room itself, and finally leaps smoothly onto my bed to curl up into a large ball of deadly fluff.

  Grabbing the towel that the servants left for me, a thick woven terrycloth with just the right amount of softness, I wrap it around myself as I step out of the tub. My thick hair drips in darkened brown waves down my shoulders as I pad to the door and push it closed again. My back now to the wall, I assess the situation. Namely, the presence of a large sleeping wolf in the middle of the mattress that I’d fully intended on occupying.

  “I’ll share the bed,” I tell Shade, “but you are not evicting me to sleep in a chair.”

  Shade’s ear flickers but his eyes remain closed and his considerable bulk shows no signs of relocating.

  Body still wrapped in a towel, I climb onto an unoccupied part of the bed and tentatively push Shade with my foot.

  The wolf growls without opening his eyes. The rumbling sound echoes through my body, failing to insight fear. I know this wolf. Somewhere deep in my soul, if not my head.

  “Fine.” I curl myself into a ball and slip under the covers, a calm finally washing over me despite the invasion of my privacy and space. The room, still warm from the steam, sways as fatigue claims me. After a few heartbeats, the mattress shifts as Shade rises and circles in search of a better spot. When the wolf settles again, I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck and a solid mass of muscle and fur pressing against my curved spine.

  “I dreamed about you, wolf,” I murmur, my eyes closed. My hand reaches back, caressing the wolf’s soft fur, and the beast purrs beneath my touch, the sound a rumble that vibrates his body. I smile. “Before I ever met you, I knew you.”

  6

  Leralynn

  I wake, as I usually do, before the sun rises. Shade groans his discontent as I extricate myself from his warm body, but he tucks his nose under his tail and goes back to sleep quickly enough. Slipping into the clothes the servants brought for me last night—a long-sleeved green dress that brings out my eyes and a pair of warm stockings, which all fit wonderfully beneath Tye’s cloak—I slide out of the room and make my way down the wobbly staircase. My mind spins with yesterday’s news, and I’ve always done my best thinking while working.

  The inn’s small stable is right beside the main house, and the familiar scents of leather, hay, and horse greet me like old friends. Of the eight stalls, six are occupied with the males’ stallions—the horses being so big as to require stall partitions to be temporarily lifted to create larger quarters. Finding a set of currycombs, brushes, and hoof picks on a dusty shelf, I bring Coal’s horse out of his stall. The black stallion follows me with his ears forward and his nostrils flaring in excitement. He reminds me of his master—proud, quietly strong, with more than a touch of untamed wildness under the surface. A preternatural beast that is too great and beautiful for this world.

  “Sorry, boy—we’re not actually going for a ride. Best I can offer is some grass while I brush you,” I inform the horse, who is already pawing the ground. Bringing him outside, I let him graze on a patch of lush grass while I work the toothy currycomb through his glorious velvet coat.

  I’m working on the horse’s hooves when a stable lad of about ten appears, a heavy saddle balanced on his hip. “You’ll be wanting his tack, then, mistress?” the boy says, eyeing the horse appreciatively.

  I’m about to say no when a new thought strikes me. If I’m going to be riding with the fae, it would little hurt to get comfortable in the saddle. Given my body’s protest at the mere thought of mounting the horse, I would rather conquer that bridge without an audience present. “Do you think you could help me?” I ask the boy. “I’d just like to ride him around the paddock here, but I could use a bit of instruction from a horseman like yourself.”

  The boy nods sagely, freckles shifting with his gro
wing grin. “I’ll fetch you a mounting block, mistress,” he calls, racing to retrieve a small stepstool while I ease the saddle onto the horse’s back and tighten the straps.

  By the time the boy returns, I have the stallion saddled and bridled. The horse’s excited whinny adds courage to my plan, especially when he walks eagerly to the mounting block and stands rock still as I haul my aching body into the saddle.

  The next three heartbeats are the most glorious of my life. My head, spine, hips, and heels align together, the perfect power of the horse beneath me rising through my core. It’s as if the whole might of the world has been condensed and made into a stallion and, through him, into me.

  “Looking fine, mistress,” the boy says approvingly, removing the mounting block. “Take up the reins now.”

  I reach for the leather. Sensing a shift of weight, the horse steps forward, the saddle moving beneath me. My heart quickens and I grab on to the pommel, my legs clamping around the stallion’s sides to keep me in place. “Take up the reins,” the boy calls, a hint of alarm entering his voice.

  I snatch up the leather strips with due haste, pulling them tight to my body.

  The stallion shakes his head angrily, pulling the rough leather right out of my fingers. I make a grab for my target again, this time holding fast against any further attitude. As my grip tightens on the reins, the horse brings his weight onto his hindquarters, throwing me against the tall back of the saddle. I yelp, my body tightening just as the stallion lurches forward with a speed to rival a storm. The stable boy shouts something I can’t make out over the rushing wind and my own pounding heart.

  Terror rips through me as the ground and trees race by in streaks of color and stone. My hands, still clutching the reins, claw into the horse’s mane, my feet losing the stirrups as my rear rises and crashes. The stallion turns sharply and my stomach sinks as I lift off the saddle, crashing back onto it through sheer fortune.