Goldy: A Reverse Harem Fairytale Romance Series (The Happily Never After Series Book 2)

by Plum Pascal

  Leith’s face softens, and Nash’s eyes have returned to their normal, russet shade. Even Sorren watches me with interest. I note he’s hard, just from watching me with Nash. Sorren is as huge as the others, and he strokes himself absently through the fabric of his pants, as though he isn’t aware he’s being watched or, maybe, he just doesn’t care. I shiver. If I’m going to do this, I still want to save Sorren for last. Someone physically incapable of care or compassion should not be the one to take my maidenhead. I need someone gentle the first time—I need Leith.

  “I understand your plight, I truly do. But this quest is madness. It will only get you killed.”

  “That’s not… your concern,” I interject.

  He shakes his head. “If you truly want to return to your people, just complete the Rite and go home.”

  Anger courses through me. My pride smarts as much as my ears. I don’t know how many indignities I can take, but I’m not letting this one stand. I’ve proved not once, not twice, but three times that I’m capable. It’s only Sorren’s intervention that’s kept me within these walls. Nash and Leith can’t contain me if I have my powers.

  “Take this damn… necklace off me… and I’ll prove to you… I can handle… myself in a fight… since you obviously… don’t believe me,” I challenge, jerking my chin up defiantly. “I’ll… fight Nash.”

  Titus would tell me not to look a predator in the eye—doing so only provokes the predator in question. But, at the moment, that’s what I want. I want Leith to come after me without reason or restraint. I want to prove him wrong. I almost beat him once before, and I was injured and exhausted. I can do it now at full health.

  “How do I know you won’t just drain us and flee if I free you from the necklace? You’ve done so before,” Leith responds.

  “My word as a Guild member, I won’t. I’ll win this fight using minimal magic and I won’t drain a single one of you.”

  “Werebears rarely fight alone,” Leith says.

  I nod. “If anyone else comes at me, I’ll defend myself against them, as well.”

  Leith is quiet as he considers it. If I know anything about shifters, especially machismo ones, it’s that they can’t turn down a challenge. “What is it that would be on the table when I win?” Leith asks as Nash scoffs at his wording.

  I smile at him and he smiles back. Yes, I have Nash right where I want him. I face Leith again who frowns at me. “If I win, then you agree to come with me to Discordia’s palace on the quest I mentioned earlier.”

  “And when you lose?” Leith demands.

  “If I lose, the first one to reach me can do what he chooses with me.”

  Nash draws a blade from the sheath at his waist. “Sounds fair and reasonable to me.”

  “I agree,” Sorren concurs.

  “No,” Leith answers as I face him with a frown. “If our kind wins, you remain here with us,” he finishes.

  “What do… you mean?” I demand.

  “I mean, you make this your home,” he answers as I wonder what his aim is. Why would he want me to stay? I’ve caused him nothing but headache.

  “Deal,” I say, figuring I have nothing to lose.

  Leith expels a breath and comes to stand behind me again. The heat of his body against mine is intoxicating. The castle is drafty and I’m standing barefoot on the flagstone. When his breath tickles the hairs on the back of my neck, I have to restrain a sound. My nipples harden painfully, and I realize, with a rush of mortification, that my dress is still very much untied which means everyone can tell how much I like having him there.

  Leith’s fingers deftly twist the clasp open and he slides the chain from around my neck. The second it parts with my skin, I feel alive again. Strength seeps into my limbs like the rush one gets from a good ale—warm and pleasant, dissolving all worry. A strangled sound of relief catches in my throat. I never, ever want to go without my powers again. I hate feeling like a fragile doll, just begging to have my face smashed.

  I expect Leith to take a step back and let Nash rush me. Instead, he shoves a hand into the thicket of my hair and seizes it at the roots. The sting in my scalp nearly brings tears to my eyes. Bastard. He’s trying to end this early, just to make his point. Well, fuck that. And fuck him! I’m not going down that easily. If I end up with a bald spot, so be it.

  Leith tries wrenching my head to the side, to get at my neck and shoulder. If he can get to the flesh there with his bear teeth, it’s all over. He doesn’t even have to tear my throat out to ensure victory—he just has to snap my collarbone. An injury like that will lay me low for a while without healing Ambrosia or the stolen health of another.

  Hooking my calf around his, I throw my whole weight backward into him, using a portion of that stolen strength that still remains in me. It’s hard to do, because he’s so much taller and more muscled than I am, but the move surprises him. He’s knocked off-balance and I exploit the momentary confusion, bringing us both to the ground with a hard smack of flesh.

  And the ground is exactly where I want him because it evens out my odds a little better. When your opponent is three times your size, you want him on the ground.

  Leith’s back takes the brunt of the injury and the breath explodes from his lungs on impact. It’s enough to loosen his hold on my hair. I squirm off him in mere moments, taking a half-second to recover from the jarring fall. A quick scan of the hall shows Nash is in motion, watching me and coming closer. Sorren, meanwhile, lounges against one wall, watching the proceedings with a caustic little smile. One way or the other, Sorren will be pleased by the outcome of the fight.

  “Guards,” Leith calls as I face him with surprise. The door opens and two armed guards enter. He smiles at me and then motions them forward. “Attack her,” he says. “But don’t kill her.”

  One of the guards reaches me before Nash can, and I flatten myself to the floor, ducking beneath his swing, rolling and coming up to lodge my fist into his gut. He doubles over, and I take the opportunity to splay my fingers on his torso, soaking in some of the massive reserve of strength he possesses. As promised, I only take what I need, like skimming the cream off a pail of milk. He’ll barely miss it.

  I ram a shoulder into him as well and spin him just in time to shield myself from the other guard who joins the fray. I shove him lightly at the second guard and they both go toppling into the table. A chair dissolves into a pile of kindling beneath their combined weight.

  It’s finally Nash’s turn. With speed that seems impossible, he’s in front of me, striking before I can react. He hits me with an open palm instead of a fist. It’s probably the only reason I remain conscious. When Sorren had done the same, I’d gone down like a sack of apples. It helps that I’m not exhausted and injured this time. And I had the advantage of knowing the blow was coming. Still, pain ripples through the left side of my face and I stagger back a few steps.

  Nash has his knife at the ready, a short thing only a few inches long. Unlikely to kill me, unless he severs an artery. It will still hurt like a son of a bitch if he manages to stick me. He doesn’t have to kill me, just incapacitate me with pain. If I yield, I can be healed. And once I’m healed...

  Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, but I lock down every other part of me. I’ve been through worse. Draven hits a lot harder, and Nash has a vested interest in not battering my body too badly. He wants me and everyone knows it. Can I count on that to win this match? I’m not sure. As much as Nash wants to fuck me, he also believes in truth in battle. So, no, I don’t think he’ll throw the tournament.

  I turn, as if to run. Leith is regaining his feet as I sprint past him, and I barely escape his grasping arms. I vault the table, landing with a clatter among the dishes. The centerpiece is dashed to pieces, drawing a gash into the bottom of my foot. I kick the shards off the table and then leap upward, employing a favorite huntsman maneuver. The Guild is very given to acrobatics and feats of strength. It really is a shame I can’t turn into a jay at the zenith of the jump
and fly straight out the window.

  Instead, I latch onto the chandelier that’s suspended above the table and grin as the chain holding it tugs free under my weight. I bring the whole thing crashing down on Leith’s head, knocking him flat to the floor once again. His arm folds beneath his body this time, and I’m afraid it may have broken. No time to be too concerned, though. I rise to my knees, seize the lax stretch of chain in one hand, and then whip it upward.

  Chains are Titus’ favorite long-range weapon. He has a whip fastened out of small links, and I’ve been on the receiving end more than once. This thing is huge and unwieldy, but it’ll do the job.

  I whip it once around my head and then let it fly, rattling through the air toward a startled Nash, who realizes his mistake too late. He starts a retreat, but not fast enough to avoid the blow. The tip of my improvised whip strikes him right between the eyes and he goes down hard. He lands on his ass then tips backward, his eyes going out of focus.

  I wait for someone else to attack me, but no one does. They’re all watching me warily.

  Sorren brings his hands together in a slow, mocking clap. “Well done, little dove.” Then he faces his chieftain. “Is it enough, Leith?”

  Leith stirs beneath the knees dug into his back, and I obligingly stand. He shrugs off the chandelier and idly brushes at the hot splashes of candle wax on his skin. With a sort of grudging admiration, he peers up at me.

  “Yes, I think that’ll do, she’s proven herself.”

  “So, we leave tomorrow then?” I ask, quirking a brow at him.

  “End of the week,” he corrects. “We’ll need to prepare. There are disguises to be made and a regent to be selected in my absence. But yes, we will attend you.” He looks over at Nash who is completely unconscious. Leith sighs. “A bloody band of fools, all of us.”

  “But you’re my band of fools, aren’t you, Chief?” I ask with a coy smile.

  “Yes, that we are, thief. That we are.”

  TEN

  Nash

  She’s bested me in battle. Knocked me out cold. That sealed things for me.

  No woman has ever been able to defeat me.

  And, now I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in recent memory.

  I’m not the only one who wants her either. Her bravado in the fight has made the three of us desire her even more than we already did. To be so teased with the Rite of Three—to come so close to being able to claim her, to mark her with our seed, and yet have it stripped away in the next second?

  It makes me want to stake my claim and it makes me want to do so now.

  But, alas, I can’t. I’m not the only one of us with a claim to her, after all.

  Leith wants her. I was shocked when he made the agreement that should she lose, she would have to make her home with us. But, as soon as he made the stipulation known, I agreed with it wholeheartedly. I don’t want her to leave. None of us do.

  Yes, Leith wants her, probably more than he should. But any dullard with eyes can see that she wants him, too.

  She gravitates toward him without thought, staying near enough to be comforted by his presence, but not so much that she shrinks in his shadow. Not a hothouse flower, this little thief. She’s a hardy thistle—stubborn, deeply rooted, prickly, and here to stay. If she does manage the impossible and restore Sorren to us, Leith will never let her go.

  A soft growl builds in the back of my throat as he lifts her onto the back of his horse. Of the three of us, it makes most sense for me to act as her protector. I train with the men at arms every day, while Leith has grown indolent in his role as king. I don’t trust her with Sorren, even if this mission does serve his ends. His interest in her disturbs me as much as it disturbs Leith.

  But Leith is the Chief, the King, and we’re traveling under the guise of an ambassadorial party. Fewer people will fuck with us that way, and disguised as his consort, the little thief won’t raise many eyebrows. No one except her dearest friends will recognize her now.

  She’s fucking radiant, mounted on horseback, looking like the Barbarian Queen Oliviette herself. Her wild golden curls have been pulled into a tail at the base of her neck, with the more unmanageable bits braided tight to the side of her head to keep them out of her eyes as she rides. The muted browns and reds of her outfit suit her, and I’m more than a little intrigued by the way the light leather armor she wears clings to that compact little body of hers. The cloak hides the belt of knives she’s tucked into her waist, so that the only weapon an unwary highwayman will spot is the jeweled scabbard of her sword.

  “This thing is fucking ridiculous,” she complains, kicking at the hem of her dress. “If we get caught in a fight, I’ll have to tear it.”

  “Or take it off. That’s always an option,” Sorren adds unhelpfully, chuckling at the stern look she levels at him in response.

  “If all goes well, we should be safe on the road until we reach your friends. Where are we meant to meet them?” Leith asks, diverting her attention from the smirking Sorren before a fight can break out.

  “Denfur,” she answers. “It’s a town that borders Grimm to the east. Once we have the siphoning stone, we should be set to take a detour through the edge of Sweetland and make it into Grimm in less than a week.”

  After sending all of Sorren’s doves with messages pinned to their legs, we finally received a response from the theif’s friend, named Peter, that he had the stone she was asking after. It was at that point that we decided to make this trek.

  It’s going to be a month or more in travel, and I can tell the idea bothers Leith more than he’s willing to admit. He says nothing, just swings his leg over Stellan’s back and comes to sit astride, pushing our little thief to the back of the saddle. She looks comically small juxtaposed against his bulk.

  “Are we ready?” he checks, as Sorren settles onto his own mount.

  I’m already astride Zahn, who’s pawing bad-temperedly at the ground as we wait. The mounts are only a necessity for the thief and Sorren, who can’t resume his bear form with his false heart still in place. But we’ll be traveling in a pack to avoid any opportunistic thieving—except for the larcenist already in our midst.

  “Not just yet,” I say.

  I bring Zahn to a stop and lean across the gap to reach for the thief. She stares at me and jerks backward a little when I offer her the small golden circlet I fish from my bag. She peers at it cautiously.

  “What’s this?”

  “A coronet. It was our great-grandmother’s. She had three consorts, as well. Take it.”

  The ripe, little thief takes it from my hand and regards it with a collector’s eye. She traces a finger over the fine latticework of ivy that climbs along its base, brushing the facets of the red gemstones reverentially. They’re set in the midst of the golden foliage like brilliantly colored fruit waiting to be plucked.

  “Garnet, ruby, and red diamond,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Why three different gems?”

  “For the three different men she loved.” It seems blatantly obvious to me, but perhaps I’m too steeped in our ways. Many of them seem to horrify the little sneaky thief.

  She settles the small coronet on her head where it blends seamlessly among the burnished shade of her hair, the scarlet stones standing out like drops of blood against the gold.

  Leith shoots me a look over his shoulder as he urges Stellan forward. Goldilocks may not understand the significance of that crown, but Leith does. Three for one. A mistress for three of the Nord Clan. The message can’t be clearer.

  I want a fighting chance, and I am willing to share her affections if I have to. But I’m not letting her go. Not without tasting the forbidden fruit at least once. The memory of her kiss still scalds my lips, leaves me hungry for more. Leith may be her king on this journey, but I’ll be her knight. Sorren will be her monster.

  I can only hope it’ll be enough to keep this infuriatingly stubborn woman alive.

  ***

  “You don’t have to
sleep alone.”

  Goldilocks jerks in surprise as I approach, tucking herself more deeply into the shadow of a beech tree. Faint patches of moonlight pattern her face in shimmering silver to contrast with the gold of her hair. The slow pace of our travel worries her. She’s looked pinched for a week now and I’ve noticed she isn’t eating. She shivers most of the evening on her bedroll, rather than doing the sensible thing like scooting closer to the fire or—Gods forbid—asking one of us to share our beds.

  Her reluctance to bunk with Sorren, I understand. But as for Leith or me…

  She leans her chin pensively on her knee, staring into the gathering gloom. The trees form a shady bower over the neighboring portion of wood. She tells us she was raised by huntsmen. Not knowing what’s out there in the dark must be killing her.

  “You’d do everyone a favor if you decided to sleep with one of us, thief. Your rattling teeth are going to scare off any prey in the area.”

  Her bleak expression barely flickers. “If you don’t like it, you all can move further away from me, then.”

  “Bloody fucking hell! It’s a joke! I recall you had a sense of humor once. What’s gotten into you?”

  She curls her other knee beneath her chin as well and examines her toes with the solemn interest of a prospector.

  “They’re all going to think we’re… having sex—the three of us.”

  The statement catches me off-guard. It’s not what I’m expecting to fly out of those pretty pink lips.

  “Who is?”

  She gestures vaguely at the bower and beyond. “Them. The people in Denfur. The people at the inns, the taverns, the towns we pass through. Hell, even Peter and his friends. They’re all going to think I’m… having sex with all three of you.”

  I sigh and try not to laugh. “That’s what this is about then? You don’t strike me as the sort who cares much for people’s good opinions.”