The Mad King

by Jovee Winters

  Danika inhaled. “If it is meant to be, it will all work out in the end, Alice. You just wait and see. Trust in this, in him, make him love you, make him see you, and it will work itself out.”

  A cold chill nipped at Alice’s nose. She shivered, startled to notice Danika beginning to turn amorphous. She hovered like a ghost surrounded by light.

  “Love him, Alice. Only love him,” the ephemeral ball of light whispered before disappearing in a sun-fire burst.

  Alice hugged her knees to her chest and started rocking, staring at the door as if she’d divine an answer from it.

  Three days.

  She stood up, and before she could second-guess her decision, she went to the door, turned the knob, and stepped out into the hall. Empty portraits stared back at her. Vines, not there before, crawled like green fingers through cracks, covering the wall in a living canvas. She walked; as she slid her hand along the wall, a trail of tiny purple flowers blossomed under her touch.

  It’d only been a short walk from the living room earlier, but now she found herself walking through a maze of twists and turns.

  “Hatter,” she called quietly, afraid to speak too loudly, afraid she’d lose her nerve.

  “Alice.” That deep voice, like a fiery caress, made her gasp and turn.

  He leaned against a wall. The jacket he’d worn earlier was gone now. A white shirt, top three buttons undone, tapered to his body, outlining taut curves and giving her a tantalizing peek of tanned male flesh.

  She licked her lips. I am woman, hear me roar, became a thunderous backdrop to the wild beating of her frantic heart.

  “I... I wanted to...” She cleared her throat, realizing she was still staring at a sliver of his nude flesh. Her fingers clenched.

  He smiled with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He knew. She lifted her chin. So she found him attractive. She didn’t care if he knew. Three days, three days to stop being mousy, shy Alice. Three days.

  “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

  He shoved off the wall and gave her a smile with no heat. “I’m assuming you’ve finished your cozy tête-à-tête with a certain fairy?” Disgust laced his words.

  “How did you...” Then the lightbulb came on, literally, a ball of silver light flashing above her head. Talk about weird. For a second she wondered where clichés had originated and if, perhaps, they’d come from a place like this. A place where words had power.

  Of course he’d know. She wasn’t his first. Alice buried her nails in her palms.

  A moon, heavy and round, materialized, flooding the hall—which now looked more like a garden than a hallway—with light. A gentle breeze, redolent with the sweet smell of fresh grass and rich earth, surrounded her.

  She looked around in awe. “What is this, Hatter?”

  He was silent so long she didn’t think he’d answer. “It’s me, Alice. It’s my magic, my moods. I create all this”—he tapped his head—“with just a thought.”

  She wanted to tell him she knew that, that she’d wanted to know what the place was and if it held any significant meaning to him, but words failed her. Suddenly she wasn’t standing before him in boy shorts and a cami but a frilly blue dress with thigh-high striped stockings and large, chunky heels.

  She planted hands on her hips, fighting a smile, and tapped her foot instead.

  He grinned. “Though I find I prefer you like this.”

  For a second, she thought she’d be naked. But she was once again wearing her boy shorts and cami. His look, his voice, it did something to her. Curls of heat spread between her legs, tightened her belly, made her nipples tight. He was so beautiful. Like a gothic devil with his shaggy dark hair and sensual lips that promised wicked delights..

  “Are you searching for me, Alice?” The teasing glint fled, and his voice went empty and hollow again. Almost like he didn’t want to have fun with her, didn’t want to be easygoing.

  She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  His hard gaze was steady. Such a short distance between them—it would take nothing to close the gap.

  She’d had boyfriends in her life. Losers. Winners. None of them made her feel what she felt in that moment. Heat. Fire. Longing so profound she wondered if it were possible to die from it.

  She wondered how her great-grandmother had acted. Alice could only picture her as she was now—hunched over, an old, old woman well past her prime. How had her great-grandmother seduced him?

  Because she wanted to be just the opposite. Alice never wanted him to see her grandmother again.

  Be yourself. The echo of her mother’s gentle words flooded her mind.

  He stared at her, waiting for something. For some sign. A truth to pass between them, a kindred sharing. Some awareness of who he was.

  Alice remembered an elective she’d taken in high school. Who knew the meaningless English lit class would someday come to good use? Since he seemed to love Edgar Allan Poe so much, she’d start there.

  “The true genius shudders at incompleteness—”

  He closed his eyes and his breathing hiked. She took a timid step forward.

  “—and usually prefers silence to saying something...”

  He recited the last part with her. “Which is not everything it should be.”

  He stepped forward. The air shivered between them, a tremble, a kiss of wind at her temple. Her hand was on his cheek, the whisker-roughened skin tickling her fingers.

  Haunted eyes stared back at her.

  She pulled his face down until their lips nearly touched. “I’ve known you all my life.”

  He gripped her fingers, squeezing hard.

  “I discovered you when I was ten.” She looked deep into his eyes, peering into the mad soul, and poured out her truths. “I saw more than pages or a name in a book. I saw a brave man. A kind man. Even then I knew, even then I craved that which I could not name. And when I was thirteen...” She swallowed, wanting to share, wanting to see a flare of recognition in his eyes, a remembered memory.

  He looked at her, brows drawn, waiting for her to finish. She couldn’t, not yet. If he didn’t remember, if he hadn’t cherished it as she had, it would be a wound.

  She shook her head and smiled. “And when I was thirteen, I knew. I always knew, Hatter.”

  “Alice, don’t. Don’t say these things. They aren’t true.” Wine-tinged breath stroked her lips and she sighed. And though his words begged her to stop, his hands wrapped around her waist like a vise, defying her to step out of the circle of his arms.

  “I wish I was lying. I wish I didn’t feel this. Do you have any idea how hard it was to be in love with a man in a book?” She closed her eyes, aching as the memories flooded her. “It’s always been you, Hatter.”

  For a weird second, she was sure the grass beneath her feet trembled. She looked at him, his gaze riveted to her face, searching her like he was trying to peer into her soul.

  He shook. “Three days, Alice. Three days and you’ll be gone, just like your wicked great-grandmother. She also gave an oath of love.”

  “I. Am. Not. Her.” She shook her head. “Three days to prove to you that I”—she grabbed one of his hands and forced him to cup her cheek—“am real. Three days to make you see me. Not her. But me, little Alice Hu. Lover of all things Hatter.”

  He didn’t yank his hand away. “No, Alice.”

  He smelled of sweet smoke and wine. Such a delicious combination, it made her want to purr and curl her toes into the dewy grass.

  Alice stopped thinking, stopped wondering right from wrong. She wanted this. Always had. She laid her head against his chest. The muscle flexed beneath her cheek.

  How would she ever be able to leave?

  Chapter 8

  Alice slept. Her silky black hair trailed along the white pillow like cracks in the earth, and he ached to touch her. To kiss her gently awake. To watch her eyes grow soft and liquid with lust, with love.

  Hatter gripped the doorframe. Once he was certain she’d fallen asle
ep, he’d tiptoed back to her room and stood outside, watching. Hoping. Dreaming. Hating.

  Hating his existence. Hating her for coming. For looking so much like the other one. Hating her because he needed her so much, knowing she’d leave him like all the rest.

  Each Alice had been an adventure. Each wild, unpredictable incarnation had imprinted an indelible mark upon his soul. He remembered one who’d loved to fish out treasures from the sea and another who’d spun dresses from the cotton candy orchards. Some had sat three days locked away in their rooms, never venturing out, never trying to know him. He’d enjoyed some more than others and at the time had mourned their not staying.

  In the end they’d all left, ripping out a piece of his soul. For a time, he’d grown excited knowing another Alice would come, dreaming the next one would be different. But after several years, the constant parade had lost its appeal and he’d yearned for the moment they’d leave him to his solitude.

  She sighed and rolled over. Her outstretched arm pointed toward him. A wild sleeper, she’d moved from one corner of the bed to the other as if seeking something, even in sleep. Her fingers curled and her mouth tipped down.

  So damn beautiful.

  Skin the color of wild spring honey with hair like shadow, hanging long and low, with the tiniest widow’s peak on her forehead. A short thing, this Alice, barely reaching the top of his chest. Petite, but full figured in a ripe, luscious way. Her hips flared out, and his heart pumped harder. She was the perfect size to hang on to while she rode him, passion gleaming from the depths of her big doe eyes.

  Heat pooled in his groin. It grew stiff, frustratingly so. But he did not touch himself. He’d stopped doing that a long time ago, when the other Alice Hu had left. After her, he’d sworn never again. Never again would he allow himself to care because to do so would weaken him.

  It’d been years since she’d left, and with time, he’d realized he’d not loved that Alice at all. He knew because he’d survived, but it was that knowledge that made him fear to love. Because though he’d not loved her, the weeks that had followed had been some of the worst in his life. Only Danika’s stubborn willfulness had brought him back from the fog of his mind.

  The episode had so frightened Danika that she’d stopped bringing him Alices for a while, and he’d reveled in the peace and quiet, thinking surely Danika finally understood there was no match for the Hatter.

  Hatter leaned against the door, his eyes drinking her in. His body trembled, remembering the rush of heat and fire that’d blanketed him when she’d touched him and forced him to touch her. This Alice was more dangerous than any of the others because not only did he not mind her presence, he sought it out like a man parched for a drink. She needed to leave. To forget him in the hopes that he could forget her. In the hopes that, someday, he’d not be plagued with night terrors, with the dreams of having a life he was never supposed to have.

  He was the Hatter, a lunatic, a madman. His life was nonsense and mayhem. Everyone within Kingdom said so. So had the other Alice Hu—she’d hurled the words at him like a blade, cutting him to the quick. He ground his jaw.

  This Alice whimpered. He wanted to rush to her, soothe her. Touch her fine skin and inhale the sweet scent of her body.

  His mouth tipped, remembering her startled look in the hall. The shorts that had exposed a long expanse of thigh. He’d nearly come undone. It had been all he could take to stand there and watch, his throat working with a need to yank her to him, to beg her to end his madness.

  And he couldn’t stop the queer feeling that they’d met before. But she hadn’t looked like this. He frowned and grabbed his head. Why couldn’t he remember?

  All he knew was that when he looked at her, he heard the haunting strains of a repetitive beeping noise. But then the sound vanished, and he was left with questions.

  She mumbled.

  She’d quoted Poe. So different than all the others, even her grandmother had never done that. Evil Alice had never tried to know him. But this Alice made him want to know her.

  Other Alices had lied before. Some had claimed love, others kindness. None of it had been true.

  His jaw flexed.

  Why did he want to believe her?

  “My Hatter,” she murmured, pink lips curling into a slow smile, and his heart turned over. Lovely. Deadly. Peril. He closed his eyes and backed slowly out.

  ***

  Ignore her. Make her want to leave.

  The room trembled as a thousand clocks rang loud with the new hour. He stared at one in particular—a simple clock, no adornments. Nothing about the small, round pocket watch seemed particularly valuable.

  He traced the grain seam, fingers gentle, the wood smooth from years (or was it decades? centuries? he could never remember anymore) of touching. Time. Always too much of it and never enough.

  It ticked on, endless, unceasing, unmerciful.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  Unable to roll the hands back, unable to make it stop. Moving, always, always moving on and on and on. Marching forward in an endless cycle of time, time, time...

  He drew his hand back, squeezing his eyes closed. Beautiful brown eyes filled his head. The scent of vanilla was so strong, he swore he could still smell it.

  Satin skin, buttery brown, smooth and delicate. Hair as black as midnight. His body strained and he hardened. It made him sweat. Made him need.

  He would not surrender. It was madness. Wonderland would say no, and she would leave. As it’d always been.

  But he’d never wanted another the way he did her. The moment he’d seen her, something inside him had quickened. Finally, he’d thought. Finally here. And that had confused him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Her with the vanilla sunshine-y smile.

  The widow’s peak, alluring, sexy, devilish. Beautiful, dangerous creatures, black widow spiders were. Luring you in with their beauty. Killing you without remorse.

  “Dangerous creatures. Dangerous.” He closed his eyes, resting his head against the mantel. “Dangerous, dangerous beauty. Beauty. Beautiful. Alice.” His voice cracked.

  She’d leave him. Like all the rest. He must make her go.

  His spine stiffened, fingers clenched against his thigh. Did she think of him at all? Even a little? Beautiful, sane, wicked little Alice?

  Tick.

  Tock.

  Time moved on.

  Chapter 9

  Alice jerked to a sitting position, tired and just this side of pissy. Sunlight poured in through the window. She glanced around—her room was the same as it’d ever been.

  Just a dream. Maybe she’d call in sick. A horrible thing to do to Tabby, and it was only the second day of her grand cupcakery opening.

  With a loud sigh, she got up and headed to the shower. But when she reached the bathroom door, there was no bathroom. It was the most enormous and empty walk-in closet she’d ever seen. It stretched for miles.

  Not a dream. Or a dream within a dream. She thought of Hatter and her pulse sped. Where was he? Was he thinking about her?

  She glanced down. She didn’t want him to see her in the same clothes, but there was nothing here. She wished she had some clothes, something sexy, something that would forever erase any memory of her great-grandmother from his mind.

  And this time when she glanced up, a crushed velvet gown hung from a hanger in a shade of burgundy so deep it almost resembled blood. Velvet dresses had always made her think of fake wigs and hideous dollar-store Halloween costumes. Plus it looked several inches too long, but... She shrugged and slipped it off its rack. Beggars couldn’t afford to be picky. It was either this or wear the same thing for three days.

  She wrinkled her nose at the thought, took her clothes off, and was pulling the sleeves on when she grumbled, “Give anything for a toothbrush and shower right about now.”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than her tongue tingled with the sharp nip of mint. Her body shone
with a wet sheen, and the scent of flowers filled the room.

  She hadn’t bathed, and yet she was clean. Man, if she could patent this back home, she’d make a killing.

  The dress was a perfect fit. But she didn’t question it—it was Wonderland, and nothing seemed to follow any conventional rules of reason. Most especially when it came to the Hatter.

  The dress fell to midthigh. Thankfully, she had great legs. Her stomach fluttered, and she wished she had a mirror.

  A displaced shiver of air brushed against her back.

  She turned and there was a mirror. Suddenly she wondered, was Wonderland responding? Was the wind right now humming and the land rolling? She strained to listen, but there was nothing but empty silence.

  Her heart sank, and she shook her head. Silly Alice... hoping for what couldn’t be. Of all the Alices in the world, there was no way she’d be his perfect match. The odds were more astronomical then winning the lottery ten times straight. In all of history, she was his Alice. The thought gave her a pang, and she had to take several deep breaths before she could shrug it off.

  Alice studied her reflection. The dress was tight but comfortable, though she didn’t like the sleeves. Instantly they vanished, exposing the long, lean muscle of her bare arms.

  “It would look a lot better with a choker collar.” The fabric moved, sliding up her neck until it resembled the choker she’d requested.

  She pointed her toes. He’d put her in heels last night. “Thigh-high boots.” The softest black suede she’d ever felt in her life suddenly hugged her legs. A stupid, wide grin covered her face from ear to ear.

  This was crazy. She was crazy. Paris Hilton, eat your heart out. Free clothes—it was enough to make her head spin with dizzy possibilities.

  Alice had gone through a Goth phase in a high school, much to her mother’s everlasting shame. She’d even managed to sneak an Alice-dress replica to prom. She’d poofed her black hair and touched up her face with a light tint of lip gloss and a few strokes of mascara. A large black-and-white-striped bow was the only accessory she’d worn. Rather than make her look like a Lolita, the effect had been stunning.