Realms and Rebels: A Paranormal and Fantasy Reverse Harem Collection

by C. M. Stunich

  “What is this? You are not dead!” he roars, dropping my arm and pushing me away so that I fall backwards onto my arse. This time Maro doesn’t catch my fall. Arsehole.

  “Hey, watch it,” I retort, scrambling to my feet.

  “She does not belong here, take her back,” Charon repeats, his voice changed back to the usual creak and groan of a voice box well used.

  “I am not going back. I need to cross the river. You’re the ferryman. You can take me across.”

  He ignores me entirely, stepping past me and up to Maro. Charon leans in and whispers something into his ear. He is so quiet I can’t hear what he says, but whatever it is Maro doesn’t look too happy about it.

  “I shall find my own way then,” I say striding towards the water with the intent of getting into his boat and paddling it across the river my damn self.

  This time warm hands grasp my arm pulling me back sharply against a firm chest. “One step in that water, and you are lost forever. No one ever rises from the River Acheron.”

  “Then let me in the boat.” I grit my teeth against the strength of Maro’s hold and the desire to remain in his arms forever.

  “No, you cannot pass this way.” Charon steps before me once again, waggling his finger. “This boat is for the dead, for the sinners. You have no place here, but if you are intent on crossing over, then a lighter vessel is required.” He looks pointedly at Maro, who stiffens behind me. He mutters something under his breath.

  “Where can I find a lighter vessel? Are there more boats further along the shore?”

  “Stick with this one. You’ll soon find what you’re looking for,” Charon smirks, then winks at me before walking into the water and hauling himself back in the boat. Maro still has me gripped firmly in his arms as Charon rows away.

  After a few minutes I lose sight of him in the swirling, grey mists. Maro loosens his arms from around me and I twist on my feet, shoving my hand against his chest in anger.

  “Well, that’s just perfect! How am I supposed to get across now?” I shout, frantically looking both ways down the beach. Not that I can see much given the darkness seems to be getting darker, and the mists, well, mistier.

  I start striding down the beach in the hope that at some point I come across another boat that will get me across the water. I don’t hear Maro follow, and frankly I am beyond caring. I’d tell him to go to Hell if we weren’t already there.

  “I can tell you’re going to be a pain in my arse, Cookie.”

  “What the fu-” I scream, the words are snatched from my mouth as I am lifted into the air, my legs dangling beneath me until I am manoeuvred into strong arms and settled against an equally strong chest.

  “Listening isn’t your strong point, is it?” Maro grumbles, not bothering to give any eye contact as he flies me over the mist covered water below.

  “Shit! Fuck! Damn it to bloody hell! You could have given me some warning.” I can’t help but clutch at his shoulders. If he dropped me now... I push the thought out of my head. He wouldn’t dare, would he?

  “Stop fidgeting. I prefer my passengers to sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  I stiffen in his arms, the way his tongue rolls around the word ride has my stomach doing stupid backward somersaults, and heat pooling in a place which is distinctly inappropriate.

  “So, you’re the light vessel? I should have known. It makes perfect sense,” I ramble trying to ignore the fact that I am exceptionally close to a man who is both incredibly attractive and acutely annoying at the same time.

  “The one and only. Wings come in handy every now and then.”

  “Yeah don’t I know it,” I mutter, my fingers running over the cut on my neck.

  “There have been many times I have wished not to have these wings. They represent both the good and the bad in my life.”

  “The bad?”

  “Isn’t there always darkness? You of all people should understand that,” he says, silencing my retort. He’s right of course. I do understand it. I do bad things for the right reason even though it is wrong. Charon had said that I had no place in his boat, that I wasn’t a sinner. Whatever he’d seen in me, it wasn’t the whole truth. I had sinned. I’d done terrible things for Luke, and my sister being taken is the consequence.

  Silence descends as Maro flies us further across the water. Minutes tick by and I find myself relaxing into his hold as I watch his wings move up and down through the air. They are mesmerising. He is mesmerising. My eyelids begin to droop, the sudden comfort I feel luring my body into a false sense of security. In his arms, I feel safer than I have done in a very long time. It’s not a good sign, not at all. I can’t allow myself the fantasy of thinking that this is anything other than a means to an end. Tris is my priority.

  I hear the sound of a child crying. “Tris!” I call out, my eyes snapping open. “Can you hear that?” Twisting as much as I can in Maro’s arms, I peer downwards into the inky darkness, trying in vain to see below us.

  “That is not your sister, Ciera. What you are hearing now are the sounds of those lost in limbo.” He suddenly swerves in the air, forcing me to clutch him tighter and preventing me from asking him the question that is on my lips. A moment later we have landed. Maro gently drops me to my feet.

  I hear the anguish of the people before I see them, but am too afraid to look upon what I hear so clearly. With my palms still pressed against Maro’s chest, I look up into his golden eyes once more, somehow I find strength from his gaze.

  “Where are we now?” I whisper.

  “This is the first circle of Hell. Welcome to Limbo,” he replies.

  6

  I look around the cliff we landed on, grateful to be back in the safe embrace of gravity. I’ve never liked heights, and especially not when I’m carried by someone I don’t quite trust yet.

  I carefully approach the edge of the cliff and peek down to what awaits us below. It’s too hazy to see anything. The valley beneath must be deep, or the air very thick with smoke. The fresh smell of the sea has disappeared now that we’ve left the River Acheron behind, and has been replaced by something else, something thick and smoky with a hint of sweetness. It’s not the most unpleasant smell but it feels heavy in my lungs.

  There’s a narrow path carved into the cliff edge, leading into the haze. It gives me vertigo just thinking of climbing down that path, and the voices of anguish and pain reaching me through the mist aren’t encouraging either.

  “Can’t you fly us further?” I ask Maro. “It would be much easier if you just flew us through Hell and to my sister.”

  “There are other rules here, Cookie,” he replies with a grimace. “Hell doesn’t allow you to take shortcuts.”

  He spreads his wings again and flaps them up and down, but he doesn’t fly into the air like he did before. He even jumps up once, but he’s back on the ground before his wings have even got a chance to help him stay in the air.

  “See? I can’t fly here,” he says, his expression pained. “We need to do this the hard way. Follow me. Try not to fall, I won’t be able to catch you.”

  He folds his wings neatly on his back and starts following the narrow ledge leading down the cliff. With a sigh, I walk after him, making sure to keep my gaze fixed on my feet and not on what lies to my left, the abyss.

  After a few tense minutes trying not to fall off a cliff, the path becomes slightly wider and I finally feel safe enough to ask Maro what’s been going through my mind ever since we landed.

  “So, what’s the Limbo?”

  “An in-between place for those who haven’t sinned but who weren’t good enough in life to warrant going to Heaven. They are lost here, trapped in a life without hope of change. Can you hear their sighs?”

  I stop to listen. The wails of anguish have lessened and now that he said it, I notice the underlying chorus of sighs and quiet lamentations.

  “It’s not a pleasant place,” Maro continues, adding his own sigh to the blanket of wails below us. “I much pref
er the other circles of Hell where the real sinners are kept. You’ll find entire families here in Limbo, even children. Try not to touch them. Getting in contact with a living being might give them hope, and hope can be dangerous in a place like this.”

  The path turns into stone stairs leading down. We’ve reached the thick clouds of smoke hanging over the valley, and once we’re inside of them, it’s hard to see where I’m going. I stumble more than once, but luckily I never bump into Maro. That would be embarrassing. He’s striding ahead like we’re not in danger of falling to our deaths. No, he seems to see it as no more than a simple stroll, judging from his relaxed posture and fast steps. It’s frustrating how easy it is for him and how much I have to concentrate on not falling. And dying.

  When my thighs begin to ache from walking down yet more steps – seriously, is Hell using all these stairs as an extra form of punishment? – the fog clears and I finally see what’s below us. We’ve almost reached the bottom of the valley, although now that the Limbo is fully exposed, I almost wish our view was still obstructed by smoke.

  Ghostly figures are waiting for us on the ground, thousands of them, millions maybe, of all sizes and ages. Just like Maro said, there are children, babies, ghostly toddlers crawling on the ground. None of them are quite solid, but they’re not translucent like I imagined ghosts either. They’re a strange sort of in-between, just like this entire place.

  “Maro!” someone suddenly shouts and dozens of people turn towards the caller, making it easy to identify him. I’m so curious that I miss the final step and this time, I actually tumble and crash into Maro who’s stopped in front of me. His back is as hard as a stone wall and I know I’ll likely have bruises from the impact. On my chest, annoyingly. I’m not exactly flat-chested, and while my boobs act as an excellent buffer and protected the rest of me from getting hurt, it’s still very painful.

  I groan and Maro turns around, not fazed at all that a human just used him as an air bag.

  “You okay?” he asks and I look at him in surprise. Does he actually care?

  “I’ll be fine. Someone called for you,” I say, stating the obvious.

  “Yup, that will be Homer.” He lifts a hand to wave at the ghostly figure making his way towards us, the crowd parting for him.

  “You’re bloody kidding me.”

  “Why would I lie to you?” He seems genuinely confused. Weirdo.

  “Homer… the poet? The Homer? The real Homer?”

  He sighs. “Yes, the one and only. Why does that surprise you?”

  “Well… ehm…,” I stutter. “I didn’t…”

  “You didn’t think I’d be in Hell, child?”

  The ghost… Homer… has reached us. He’s broad and fat-cheeked, his wave of white hair and silver beard making him look a bit like Father Christmas. He wears a white toga, but it’s slipped a little, exposing part of his large belly.

  “Yes,” I reply, although that’s not the reason at all. I’ve never thought about Homer being in Heaven or Hell. It’s just a shock that he’s real.

  “I don’t know why I’m here either, but I’ve come to accept it,” he says calmly, his voice rolling gently over me like waves.

  “Good to see you, old friend.” Maro steps forwards and takes Homer into a big hug. Homer returns the embrace, making his toga slip even further.

  “And you. I didn’t think I’d see you down here again, not after what happened last time.”

  They stop their hugging and Maro takes his place on my side again, making me feel a lot better now that I’ve noticed how the ghosts around us are eyeing us curiously. There’s hundreds of them, forming a circle around us.

  “What happened last time?” I ask Maro but he shakes his head in irritation.

  “Not now.”

  Well, at least that means I can ask him again later. He didn’t say no categorically.

  “I’m helping this human retrieve something of hers,” Maro tells Homer and the poet nods sagely.

  “Of course you are. Tell me, when did you last care about humans?”

  I can feel my eyes widen as I take in what Homer just said. Maro stays quiet.

  Homer looks at me questioningly, as if he’s expecting me to grow wings or something strange like that.

  “How is she special?” he asks my angel. Wait, did I say my? I meant the. The angel. Not mine at all.

  Maro shrugs. “I felt bored when she came and asked for my help. It seemed as good as any distraction.”

  He’s lying, I’m sure of it. Living and working with people who might not want the best for me has taught me to read expressions extremely well. And right now, the twitch around Maro’s mouth and his fast blinking is telling me that he’s not telling the whole truth.

  Why didn’t I think about this before? An angel helping me, just like that? Sure, he’s been arrogant as fuck, but he didn’t protest much at all when I asked for his help. I should have been more suspicious before.

  “Of course,” Homer says with a smirk that shows he’s not believing Maro in the slightest. He doesn’t dwell on it further, though. “Do you have time to stay for tea?”

  Maro shakes his golden head. “No, I don’t want to stay here any longer than I need to. Can you make a path for us?”

  I look at him in confusion? A path? What’s he talking about now?

  “Of course, my friend. Maybe visit again soon? It’s been boring here since Ovid passed on.”

  “You can pass on?” I blurt out. “Maro said you’re trapped here.”

  “We’re only trapped from going back to the living or the beauties of Heaven,” Homer replies with a smile. “We can however continue further into Hell. Not many choose that way, but some get so filled with boredom that they decide to swap the peace of Limbo with the excitement of Hell. Of course, that excitement tends to come with pain.”

  “The path, please?” Maro nudges impatiently. He’s fidgeting a little, clearly uncomfortable to be here.

  “Of course.”

  Homer claps his hands and the crowd around us parts behind him, forming an alleyway of ghosts.

  “The route past the castle is the quickest,” he advises us. “The other way is blocked at the moment, there’s a group of rebels who’ve decided to protest there.”

  Before I can ask anything more, Maro puts an arm around my shoulders and pushes me forward.

  “Nice to meet you,” I quickly tell Homer before the poet becomes one of the crowd, closing the path behind us as we progress further into Limbo.

  It takes us two long, boring hours to reach the castle Homer mentioned. It’s not so much a castle as a couple of ruined walls forming a square. Maybe this was once an impressive fortress, but now it’s depressing as Hell. Pun intended.

  The crowd has thinned a little the further away from the cliff we have ventured, but there are still ghosts standing on either side of the path, watching us with barely veiled curiosity and envy.

  “The great Kings and Queens of the past live in those ruins,” Maro whispers. “They keep to themselves mostly, too proud to mix with commoners even in death.”

  “Isn’t pride a sin? Why aren’t they in another circle of Hell?”

  “The ones living here did enough good to outweigh their pride, but not enough to give them a place in Heaven. See that cave over there?” He points to a dark cavern, a gaping hole in a small hill in the distance. “That’s where we exit the Limbo and enter the second circle of Hell. I hope you like wind. It’s always stormy in there.”

  7

  “Wind? It’s a bloody tornado,” I yell, my body leaning forward. Even Maro seems to be having trouble. He keeps stumbling, his wings making it difficult for him to move comfortably in this wind tunnel slash cave.

  “It’ll drop, we just need to get through this bit first,” he replies, gritting his teeth. We both push forward. With every couple of steps, we are pushed a step back. I’m practically horizontal trying to keep upright.

  My hair lashes against my face like tiny little whip
s. It hurts far more than hair flicking against my face should. I try and push it out of the way, almost losing my balance as a sudden gust of wind has me falling sideways. My arms flail as I try to find purchase from thin air. Maro’s hand reaches out, and I am hauled upright.

  “Okay, Cookie?” he shouts.

  I’m not sure what he wants me to say. Of course I’m not okay. I’m in Hell, both figuratively and literally. I’m looking for my sister, who the bloody Devil has. I shake my head in annoyance and don’t answer. What’s the point anyway? He won’t be able to hear me over the roar.

  I try to snatch my hand away but he refuses to let go as we battle forwards through the cave, which is less like a cave now and more like a tunnel. Eventually we arrive at the exit and the moment we step out, the wind dies down to a more reasonable level. I find that I can stand up straight.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask, pushing my dishevelled hair out of my face, trying to rearrange it into a more suitable style. When my hands find a tangled, dreadlocked mess, I give up. Who needs to look pretty in Hell anyway? Not me, that’s for damn sure.

  “You might want to refrain from using the word ‘hell’ so much. Lucifer finds it offensive.”

  I laugh a little hysterically. “Luke, Lucifer, can fuck-off frankly.”

  A sudden rumble beneath our feet has me lurching forwards once again. I manage to right myself without Maro’s help this time.

  “Not wise to curse the Devil, he takes it a lot harder than God, let me tell you.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest and open my mouth ready to come back with a suitable cutting remark but my attention is drawn to a man sliding towards us. Yes, sliding. Not walking, not running, sliding.