Stiltz (Once Upon a Harem Book 3)

by C. M. Stunich

  “And what about the one percent who leaves?” I ask, kicking the covers off and standing up, sword and gun in hand. There’s a moment there where I get so dizzy, I can’t see anything but the glowing neon Dog Town sign out the window. It’s dark out which doesn’t seem right. I’ve been passed out for long enough that it should be day already. Unless…? I shift Ethel to my other hand, clutching her awkwardly along with Ricky—a total not-battle-ready move—and check my cell, also sitting on the nightstand.

  Well, fuck.

  I lost a whole day and most of a night. The sun’ll be coming up soon.

  “We don’t talk about that one percent,” Sorrow says as I head for the bathroom and heel the door closed behind me. I even piss with my sword and gun in my lap. Better safe than sorry, right? I’m a firm believer in the whole ‘not getting caught with my pants down’ thing. “One of the Stiltz kin will wipe their minds and send them on their merry way.”

  “Memory magic is a tricky thing,” I call out through the closed door. We’re both vamps, so hearing each other isn’t an issue, even with the horse race sized piss I’m taking. TMI? I thought so, but whatever. “You can’t be sure you’re erasing the memories of House Stiltz and only House Stiltz.”

  I wipe—really awkward with the sword and gun, I have to say—flush, and then open the door to glare at Sorrow and those gorgeous chips of arctic ice he calls eyes.

  “That’s why we don’t talk about the one percent,” he replies, and I sigh. Whatever. We both know I’m signing the contract. Last night…and his uh, demon-afflicted ass doesn’t change what I want.

  Respect. An escape from poverty. A throne that I can use to make ripples of change. Fuck, maybe this whole selfish endeavor could turn altruistic by the end. I could make a court where all dhampirs are welcome, gather their numbers and create not only a better life for them, but a loyal army, too. And then maybe I’ll escape Harry’s premonition about dying on the throne?

  Eh, it’s a long shot, but I’ll take it.

  “So, are you a demon then?” I ask, moving back over to my cell and pulling up the Dog Town delivery app so I can get some Chinese food brought upstairs. I place my order and then hand the phone over to Sorrow. The look he gives me is priceless. Half-disgust, half respect. Probably because I’m eating food of very indistinct origin. It’s a gamble, but I’m a risk taker. What can I say?

  Sorrow takes the phone from me and closes the app.

  “Really?” I ask with an eye roll as he holds it out of my reach. “Very mature. Let me have my greasy Chinese food. I almost died.”

  “And yet you didn’t.” Sorrow taps the phone against his palm and looks up at me. “Let me choose the food, and I’ll tell you about Red XIII.”

  My turn to cock a disbelieving brow.

  “Red XIII? The creature from the Final Fantasy VII game?” I ask in disbelief. Hadn’t I just compared this dude to that game? And now here he was using a reference of his own? “Well, he’s substantially more cat than your demon. Yours looked like a cross between a wolf and a hyena.” I snap my fingers as Sorrow raises his brows and smirks. “Like a maned wolf? Have you ever seen one of those? They’re weird as fuck, and you were twice as strange.”

  “Gee, thanks?” he growls out in a low, playful tone that sets all my nerves on fire. My body is aching fiercely, and not because I was almost bitten in half. No, those wounds are gone and I’m all fired up from vamp blood. My moment of dizziness has passed, and I feel like a billion bucks. “But to answer your earlier question, no, I do not have a demon inked into my skin. I am that demon.”

  “You’re Red XIII?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. Sorrow ignores me for a moment, tapping his fingers on my phone and ordering our food.

  “Address?” he asks, and I give it to him. “Quick: likes and dislikes?’

  “Uh, I like dicks that are long and wide, chocolate ice cream, ladybugs, and things in leopard print even though I know they’re tacky. Dislikes? Misogynists, Donald Trump, and two-pump chumps.”

  Sorrow snorts and gives me this once-over that has my nipples so hard, they actually hurt.

  “I meant food wise, but that, uh, that was informative. At least you know for sure that I both meet one like and definitely do not meet one dislike.” He grins at me, clearly reliving the sex we had. Doubtfully in as much detail as I did in my dream, but enough that I can see those leather pants get extra tight over his crotch.

  “As far as food, I’ll eat basically anything except dog meat.” I point at the floor and then wrinkle my nose. “Or cat, seal, baby lamb, and guinea pig. Oh, and no tofu. No green beans, slimy textures, or mushrooms.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Sorrow purrs, finishing the order. He doesn’t quite ask me what I want, but I get that he’s trying to surprise me and he’s paying, so I’ll take it.

  “Where are you friends anyway?” I ask, but all he does is lean back on the bed on his elbows, eyes surveying me from head to toe.

  “On business. Once you sign the contract, you’ll be the only business we need for quite some time. Until then, they have other clients to attend to.” Sorrow pats the mattress with his palm and I grudgingly join him, lounging back in my silk nightie until it creeps absurdly high on my hip. His eyes watch me with such intensity that I swear, I can feel his hand cupping my ass and pulling me close.

  Deep breaths, Cam, deep breaths.

  “How the hell are you demon when you smell, look, and taste like a vampire?” I ask, but then I remember that fire and ash taste of his blood. Ah. The plot thickens.

  “Rumpel spelled my demon side into this tattoo,” he tells me, leaning in so close that I can feel his breath on my mouth. I still have Ricky and Ethel with me, and I’m not afraid to use them, but holy fuck, this guy is tempting as hell. Maybe after we eat, we could take part in a little quickie? I mean, if it was just a short, no-strings coupling before we started talking contract details, who would have to know? “He knows how hard it is for half-breeds.” Sorrow sighs and looks me straight in the face. I’m positive he doesn’t know about my past or else I’d have been hauled before Rumpel already, but the way he’s staring makes me wonder briefly what life would’ve been like if my mom had simply turned me over.

  My human side burned into my flesh via ink, trapped, hidden.

  Fuck.

  Maybe I should’ve asked for that from the Stiltz? But it’s too late to go back now; I can tell by the expression on Sorrow’s face.

  “What you see here,” he continues, gesturing at the long, lean length of his body. It’s a serious effort to keep my eyes off of the bulge in his leather pants. “Is pure vamp all the way. Smell, touch, taste.” He points to his crotch and I roll my eyes. “At least that particular taste. Some people notice a slight smoky flavor to my blood. But otherwise, impossible to tell. I’m only a demon when I want to be. And then, I’m as pure blooded as I am now.”

  “It’s like he split your DNA in half or something,” I say, finally sitting up and putting my weapons aside. Nah. I’m not going to thrust my sword into this dude’s neck. The only thrusting that’s going to be happening in here is Sorrow’s cock thrusting into me. Ahem.

  “I don’t know how he did it, and I don’t really care,” he continues, leaning toward me and tucking blonde hair behind one of my ears. “The point is, Rumpel Stiltz is a powerful vampire. Undead, immortal, just rife with magic. He can grant most any wish.”

  “For a price,” I sigh and nod, pulling slightly away from Sorrow so I can think more clearly. “Obviously, I’ll have to look over the details in the contract, but give me the rundown.”

  In an instant, Sorrow goes from playful to seductive, lids drooping, mouth curving up just enough to flash a single fang.

  “Firstborn child, yes, you predicted that part,” he whispers, reaching out to tease his fingertips along my arm. Our eyes meet and I suck in a sharp breath. “But I bet you didn’t guess that Rumpel would want the three of us to give it to you.”

  The food that Sorrow o
rdered is fucking boss. Like, it’s the best I’ve eaten in a while: a full steak dinner with sides delivered. The meat is fresh and almost bloody, the mashed potatoes creamy, the rolls crisp on the outside and soft on the in. I’d be in heaven if I didn’t have such mixed feelings about this whole give me a baby thing.

  I mean, I can’t have a child, so there’s that at least.

  But by agreeing to this contract, I’m agreeing to let Sorrow, Vyce, and Wolfe try. And try. And try. Holy mother.

  “This is a little like prostitution,” I tell him as I stab another bite of juicy steak and pop it between my lips. “And I’ve never heard of Rumpel making a deal like this ever.” I narrow my eyes on the handsome vamp/demon lounging on my bed, plastic fork teasing what’s left of his mashed potatoes.

  “How so?” he asks, watching me with those pale blue eyes. They’re so much less saturated than mine. Well, my one eye anyway. The other is gray, more like Wolfe’s. Pale blue and steel gray are two of the more common vampire eye colors, followed by red and purple. You never see brown or green ever. Catch sight of a gaze that color in court and you know for sure you’re looking at a dhampir.

  “Uh, you’re offering me something in exchange for sex?” I query back at him, finishing my food and closing the container lid. I toss it onto the floor next to the bed to deal with later and Sorrow grimaces, taking his own trash and picking mine up on the way before he disposes of it all in the kitchen trash can.

  “No, we’re offering you something in exchange for a baby. But this time, Rumpel wants it to be one of ours. We’re the three best performers in the house with the highest number of clients, the highest number of successes.” He comes back over to stand in front of me, hands on hips, and smirks. “He can’t decide who to name as the head of House Stiltz, so the first one to have an heir of their own gets the throne.”

  “That seems a little silly, coming from a guy who’s just stolen babies his whole life.” Sorrow must hear something in my tone because he sighs, the smirk slides away, and he comes over to sit beside me. “Besides, why would he give up acting as head of House Stiltz anyway?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that,” Sorrow says, his voice low and soothing. It’s deceptive, beckoning me with long fingers to lay down beside him, relax, spread my legs. Ugh. My hormones are going to get me killed one day. One day soon probably, seeing as I’m sitting in my apartment with a complete stranger capable of tearing me limb from limb. “Why don’t you tell me why you had two hellhounds on your ass?”

  “Just lucky, I guess?” I quip and Sorrow sighs, smiling and scooting a bit closer to me. Our bodies are lined up, faces close enough to kiss if we were so inclined.

  “So informative,” he says with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. “Well, if you’re not willing to talk about that, let’s talk about the contract again. You don’t have to have sex with us, you know. It’s specifically written in there.”

  No, I don’t have to sleep with them. I can elect to have an embryo fertilized and implanted, a sure way to reveal my infertility. Besides, looking at Sorrow now, it doesn’t seem like such a chore.

  The question now is: what happens when they figure out I’m never going to give them a firstborn child? House Verenim is one of three houses on the North American continent that’s considered more powerful than House Stiltz. Can I use my new throne to crush them and get out of the contract?

  Mom did it.

  So why can’t I?

  “I’ll sign the contract,” I tell Sorrow, and his white-blond brows raise up his forehead, “and then…shall we get started?”

  “Started?” he asks, mouth quirking up on one side.

  Reaching out a hand, I cup the side of his face and bring him in close for a kiss, one that reminds me how deliciously low-cut my nightie is.

  “Let’s sign it and get to work; I don’t like doctors and I really don’t like them looking at my snatch, so let’s try this the old-fashioned way, shall we?” Swirling my tongue inside Sorrow’s mouth, I manage to coax his hand to my hip, his fingers chasing my nightie up and exposing my bare flesh to the cool air of the apartment.

  “Now, this is a plan that I like,” Sorrow growls, yanking me against him, the entire length of my body pressed to his. I can feel the hardness in his pants grinding against me as we kiss, but if he thinks this is going any further without a signed contract, he’s got another thing coming.

  I like Sorrow, and Vyce, and…Wolfe is hot, at least. Having sex with them is no chore to me. I’d do it for free. I did do it for free. But if I can convince Sorrow to let me sign without getting an exam then …

  “But to make the contract official, we need to get you seen by a healer.”

  “A vamp healer?” I growl out against his lips, and he nods. I pretend to be irritated, but in reality, I’m fucking thrilled. Vamp doctors don’t know shit about dhampirs. That, and besides a few blood tests, they’ll use magic and magic alone to diagnose me. And yet magic bounces right off.

  Lucky me.

  “Yep,” Sorrow says, pressing closer, sliding his hand higher and…

  I pull back and slap his hand away, sitting up and smirking down at him.

  “Contract first and then we’ll see about this.” I swirl my finger in the air between us.

  The look of frustration on Sorrow Stiltz’ face is priceless.

  7

  My appointment with the vamp healer goes exactly like I thought it would. She stares at me like I’m some sort of monstrosity that should’ve been culled at birth, takes a few samples of blood that she then sniffs like some sort of serial killer, and then casts several spells on me. When none of them come back with any negative information, she declares me fit for the bargain barring any unusual results from the blood tests.

  Lucky me, again.

  “This is your last chance to back out,” Wolfe tells me, voice gruff and distant and cold. His gray eyes stay locked on mine as he puts a palm on the contract. It’s sitting on the desk, this ancient piece of vellum—that’s paper made of lambskin—and ink just dripping with magic. It looks pretty goddamn weird sitting next to Wolfe’s laptop and cellphone, a throwback to another time. But there’s just no magic in technology; they’re anathema to one another. So a contract between Rumpel Stiltz’ kin and his clients is signed the same way now as it was in 1812, when the Brothers Grimm first penned Rumpel’s story. Of course, the vamp himself is much older than that.

  “I understand that,” I say, taking the tiny hollow point needle and pricking the tip of my finger. Blood runs up the small tube and the eyes of all three men track it, pupils dilating slightly. “I sign this contract of my own free will, and to the terms and conditions I find myself bound.”

  Magic swirls through the room, ruffling the decorative bouquet of flowers, teasing my gold hair, Sorrow’s red and white, Vyce’s rainbow of blues and greens. Wolfe’s dark hair is too short to ruffle, but his long brown trench does sway slightly with the rush of power. Thing is, the magic doesn’t bind to me the way it should, just like it didn’t bind to my mother.

  Bending low, I make sure to show off my ass in the tight red leather pants I picked out specifically for this meeting. I can feel all three men watching me as I sign my name in blood. It glimmers gold as I write it, mocking my wish.

  When I’m done, I stand up and move aside so Sorrow, Vyce, and with great reluctance, Wolfe, can sign the contract next. There’s a clause in there in case the blood tests do come back with something, but I’m not worried about that.

  Mom was the only woman to ever fuck over Rumpel Stiltz. Like mother, like daughter, right?

  “This oughta be interesting,” Wolfe grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms. I can’t stop thinking about him with those double revolvers, firing shots into the hellhound. He might be a dickhead, but he’s also a bit of badass. I’ll remember that if he ever unfreezes enough to fuck me.

  “So how do we do this?” I ask, rubbing my hands together. The contract is pretty specific about cert
ain things…like how many times we have to, uh, try to make that firstborn child in the first three days. What happens if we don’t. But as far as turning my wish of spinning straw to gold, into becoming the vampire queen of House Verenim, that’s up to me.

  “We give you the magic,” Vyce says, looking down at me with this mischievous sparkle in his eyes that makes my throat feel tight. I can already imagine him in my bed again, his warm hand gliding up my side, his hot breath on my throat. Are these guys sure I’m not getting the better end of this deal? “You make the rest happen.”

  “And how exactly does this magic work?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and watching the three of them with interest. I wondered if they’d act different once the contract was signed. Vyce and Sorrow look much the same; Wolfe looks like he’d rather crawl into a hole and die. Wonder what that’s about? “Do I get the Midas touch or something?”

  “Not exactly,” Vyce says, his lids drooping, his mouth curving into the most wicked of smiles. “You asked specifically to turn straw into gold, so that’s the skill you’ll have.”

  “I don’t know how to spin shit,” I tell him, raising an eyebrow. “Or even what one uses to spin. That shit is ancient tech.”

  “You want a straw-to-gold spinning app, you millennial?” Sorrow asks with a grin. There’s a tightness to his jaw though, an edginess to the way he moves that says I definitely got to him last night. Not sure if he’s pissed or just sexually frustrated. The contract specifically denies all three men and me the right to sleep around during our arrangement. So while Sorrow could’ve gone out last night and found another girl, I doubt it. Nah, he’d be in a much better mood if he had.

  “Technically, I’m on the cusp between being a young millennial and an old Gen Z’er.” I grin broadly. “So, yes, I would like a straw-to-gold app, please.”

  “Aw, well, unfortunately technology and magic don’t mix,” Sorrow says, picking up a small glass bottle from the edge of the desk. As soon as I see it, my heart freezes inside my chest. Flickers of childhood memory race through my mind in dizzying speed. I can see that tiny heart-shaped bottle with the gold stopper tied to the rearview mirror in whatever car my mother happened to be driving at the time.