"Psychopath, you mean," Rab whispers, taking note of the numbers on the measuring tape and calling them out to March, of all people. The brown-eared Rabbit takes the knife in his hand and carves the measurements into the wooden stand of a dress form. "And you're right: I have no compassion. What was I thinking?"
He slides the measuring tape up in the back and then cocks a dark brow at me.
"Well? Do I have permission to touch the Alice's luscious breasts?" Rab doesn't look ashamed to be asking. Nor does he look professional, as a tailor should. Instead, he's just … lascivious. I hate him. Okay, not really. I hate the King and the Hatter maybe, but not the White Rabbit, not even if he shot Brandon in the head right in front of me.
After all, it led me here.
And I'm starting to like it.
"Provided you act a gentleman," I say, lifting my chin as Rab pulls the measuring tape up and over my breasts … riiiiiight over the pert points of my nipples. It feels good, even through the shirt and the knife-filled corset underneath it.
"I never act a gentleman," Rab purrs, his voice like a frost-covered branch collapsing under the weight of fresh snow. It's like he's having as much trouble touching my boobs as I am having them touched.
"How long is this going to take?" Tee snaps, flicking his attention between March and Rab. Clearly, he's not much of a fan of either Rabbit.
"The more times you ask that, the longer it takes," Rab purrs, squeezing the measuring tape around my breasts and forcing a sharp exhale between my lips. I feel almost as lightheaded now as I did when I was dancing with Lar in the ballroom. But … at least my situation’s a why choose moment, right? I can't imagine having to pick between these men. That'd kill me.
"The Alice needs her sleep," Tee grinds out, grabbing the lapels on his jacket and forcefully straightening out the fabric with a sharp snap. "So save your dirty flirtations for another day."
Rab ignores him, moving down to measure my ass next. I've never been measured for clothing before—ever heard of Target, anyone?—so I'm not sure how orthodox any of this, but I like it.
"Don't you dare cop a feel," I whisper, and Rab pauses to look up at me. He's so gloriously sexy, dripping in ink, his hair black as black, his eyes as vibrant and piercing as his tattoos. "You may measure my ass, but be a gentleman."
"How boring," Rab drawls with a sigh, but even though he's a psycho murderer, he keeps it respectful as he wraps me in the measuring tape again. "Like I said, most definitely not a Mary Sue."
I almost smile, because I can hear the teasing note in his voice, and I like that, too. But then something occurs to me.
"How do you know what a Mary Sue is anyway? That's a term coined Topside." I like the way I refer to my own world as Topside now, like it's as easy as breathing. Something about that makes me happy. Clearly, I’ve gone mad.
"I spend a lot of time Topside, Sonny." Rab stands up and reaches for one of my arms, pushing my sleeves up and making my skin pebble with pleasure, like he's petting me or something. "I know what a Mary Sue is, I prefer Pepsi to Coke, and I do looove to read manga."
"Manga?" I ask as Rab measures my leg, my foot, my … ear? And then lastly, my head. I suppose that makes sense, seeing as I could be getting a custom hat. But my ear? Sigh. "You read manga, like Japanese comics?"
"Exactly that," Rab says as he finishes up and steps back, looking me up and down with a sly smile. "Surprised?"
"Honestly, no," I say, sensing that we're done, and hopping down from the dais. "It suits you." I pause and glance down at my button-up shirt, fingering the fabric as I narrow my eyes. "Wait a minute. When I got here, there was a closet full of clothes, all in my size. Actually, I've never had clothes that fit better than the ones that are in my room upstairs." I raise both eyebrows and glance between the four men. "So what is this fitting all about?"
"We're not measuring your body, you cheeky twat, just taking your mettle." March pauses next to me and grins, grabbing his velvet trench off the mannequin and fishing out a small note. "Here."
"What is this?" I ask, as he pulls out a small green vial, flashes me a sharp grin, and then tosses the small glass item on the floor to shatter. Smoke billows out, smelling like sour green apples and sugar, and when I blink through it, the March Hare is gone.
I unfold the note as Tee steps forward to explain.
"This isn't about body measurements—we need your mettle, that is, how resistant you are to magic. Your dress for the ball is going to have spells woven into it." I glance down at the note—there's a location and a time scribbled on it—and then back up at Tee.
"And who's going to cast those spells?" I ask, already fearing the answer.
"The Knave …" Tee says, and then pauses, glancing over at his brother. They both turn to look at me as Rab pockets his borrowed wire spectacles. "We're not happy about it either, but … King's orders."
"Well, clearly the King wants me dead because I don't trust the Knave for shit." I stare at the note again. Tomorrow, same time. Ask where the dungeon is.
Oh, the dungeon, huh? That sounds promising.
I crumple the note up and chuck it toward a half-full trash can. Tee intercepts it in mid-air, and opens it to read it, scowling as he goes about it.
"She cursed you both, and you want me to wear a dress with her magic in it? No way, no how." I cross my arms over my chest as Tee passes the note to Dee. The twins exchange a look.
"I'll be with you the whole time, Miss Alice," Rab says, grinning maniacally at me. "I wouldn't worry about the Knave. As much as she dislikes you, she quite likes the King … and she also likes keeping her head. Besides, you'll have an ace in the pocket, so to speak." As I watch, Rab's ears shrink toward his head, becoming rounder the smaller they get. At the same time, his body folds inward, and bright white fur sprouts up over his skin and clothes.
Before my mind can even register what's happening, there's a tiny mouse clawing his way up my pants and clinging to the hem of my button-up shirt.
Wish I could say I was shocked. Instead, I just scoop the mouse up and hand him over to Tee, so I can put my jacket back on. As soon as I do, I pop the Rab-mouse into my pocket.
"I will be your eyes and ears at the ball," he says, tiny pink nose twitching. It's fucking weird as fuck, but the mouse-Rab has tattoos on his naked little rodent feet. One of them is tick-tick-ticking away. "As well as your teeth and claws."
Oddly enough, I do feel better.
"After the Knave spells your dress, Dee and I will check it out, don't worry." Tee reaches out and squeezes my hand, and I nod.
But I have a funny feeling about the Knave.
And a woman should always trust her instincts.
Dinner is turtle soup which sort of creeps me the fuck out.
"Beautiful soup, so rich and green, waiting in a hot tureen," Dee singsongs as he ladles me a bowl and passes it over. I take it, but only begrudgingly, and only because I'm starving and tired. Snatching a bit of cheese from the refreshments table, I pass it down to Rab who's been transferred from my jacket pocket to my pj's pocket.
Chesh watches him hungrily from his perch on the cat tree.
"Put the little mouse down, and we'll have some fun," he says, pupils dilated, tongue sliding across his lower lip. "Play a little game of cat and mouse."
"How about a little game of cat and bandersnatch?" Rab says, his icy voice the same in his mouse form as it is in his … human? is he a human? … anyway, same as in his human form. It's a tad disconcerting.
"That doesn't sound nearly as fun," Chesh purrs, stretching and then wincing slightly. He reaches down and touches his side. There's no blood there, just a phantom pain, but according to the Duke, it takes a while for the Vorpal Blade's magic to run its course. Poor Chesh really is still hurting, despite the Mad Hatter's intervention.
I sit down on the bed, and Tee moves forward to fluff my pillows for me.
"You don't have to do that, you know," I say, feeling a slight blush color my cheeks. And I am not
a girl who blushes easily. It's not that I don't like being fawned over, but I just sort of feel bad when Tee does it. He's too princely, too regal.
"I don't have to; I want to," he whispers, making me comfortable before retreating to grab his own bowl.
My room is bustling, far from the quiet little sanctuary I thought it was going to be.
Every one of my wannabe lovers save Red, Raiden, and March are here.
"Was I dreaming or did you cast some sort of spell on me while I was sleeping?" I ask Lar, looking at the green soup on my spoon and seriously debating if I'd rather live off cupcakes and candied honeybees for the rest of my stay here. There's even a plate of brightly colored mushrooms that each taste like a different fruit. How desperate am I for a hot meal right now?
"I cast a spell," he says, eating his own soup in a way that's undeniably sexy. He puts the metal spoon into his mouth, sucks on it, twists it around, and pulls it out oh so slowly. "Just to give your body a small reprieve from the pain."
"You knocked me out?" I give him a look that says that sort of pisses me off. Although, to be fair, I'm glad I slept through most of the day yesterday. That agony I felt when I used my magic was almost incomprehensible.
"No, I cut a small hole in your natural aura, so the extra magic would bleed out." Lar lets his wings hang loosely over the arms of the chair, like two glorious glittering tapestries.
"The Caterpillar isn't just a soothsayer," North purrs, lounging on the chaise at the end of the bed, black tail curled around the bedpost. "He's a fine curseworker in his own right."
"You flatter me," Lar says, putting his spoon down and setting his bowl aside. He crosses his legs and steeples his fingers atop his knee. Some men might look ridiculous in blue and white pinstriped pj's, but not him. He's a fucking enigma, and I love it. "But the Knave is better."
"Is there a difference between witches and curseworkers?" I ask, because I've heard the men use them interchangeably. Closing my eyes, I take a quick bite of my soup and pray to whatever goddesses rule over Underland that it won't taste so bad I puke.
Ohmyfuckinggod, that's good!
Turtle tastes like … veal.
And the broth is spicy and flavorful, a punch to the tongue that reminds me of Fred's favorite Indian restaurant. But then I swallow, and the yummy flavor leaves my mouth, making room for melancholy. When Fred was alive, we fought like cats and dogs. Now that he's gone, I miss him so much that I feel like I'm having period cramps even when I'm not.
I take another bite of soup to ward off the agony of missing my brother.
"Synonyms," Dee says, flopping down on the bed and somehow managing not to spill a single drop of soup. His wings are gone, disappeared in a flash at midnight, but since he's shirtless, I can see the beautiful tattoos they make along his back. Drool-worthy. "But the Knave is the highest ranking curseworker in the Kingdom of Hearts, which means she can throttle the power of other curseworkers." He takes a few bites of soup, blue-black hair falling across his forehead.
"She has you on a leash?" I ask, and I can see Lar's mouth tighten at the corners. Maybe that wasn't the best way to phrase things?
"Only the King holds my reins," the Caterpillar says, taking out a small pipe and fingering it for a moment. As soon as I see it, I'm reminded of his prophecy in the ballroom: we're supposedly going to have sex one day.
Wish I were shocked by that.
But then it's like he doesn't have the strength to see anything else today and pockets the pipe instead, pulling out a cigarette and smoking that while Rab's mousy nose twitches. Without thinking, I reach down and stroke the mouse's tiny head. I'm stroking the tattooed asshole assassin, I realize, but I don't stop doing it either.
"I'm just not permitted to use magic beyond a certain extent," Lar says, flicking his tongue across his lower lip and gently fanning his wings. He taps his cigarette ash into a gold tray shaped like a mouth, and I swear to fuck, it burps afterward.
"So you can't spell my dress?" I ask, still unsure how I feel about the Knave putting her stupid cursing fingers on it. She messed with the twins, violated them in a way I'm not even sure I understand; she took away their wings. I'm not okay with any of that.
"No, but I'll check it over—we all will. Sunshine, we won't let anyone or anything rain on your parade." Lar flaps his wings hard, sending glitter and brilliant blue-gold dust into the room. In his place, there's a small butterfly that flits over to one of the flowers from Dee's bouquet and rests gently on a white petal.
I have a feeling that Lar is not a shifter like Rab; he's gone to his room or wherever else. The butterfly is just that, just a beautiful insect.
"I want to sleep in here tonight," Chesh purrs, melting into his cat form and giving me a very dramatic stretch with his tail straight up in the air.
"Agreed," North says as I pull the Rab-mouse from my pocket, and set him on the end of the bed. "I say, banish those that aren't in the Alice's harem and leave the rest of us."
"Right little bugger," Rab growls as he grows in size, his fur sucking back into his skin, his ears elongating into a rabbit's, and his clothes falling neatly back into place. So Dee claims that North's clothes don't shift because he was cursed into becoming a jabberwock, while Rab was born a shifter and gets to keep his. Makes about as much sense as anything else I've learned here. "Nice trick, but the cat can't stay either, now can he?"
The White Rabbit slides off of my bed then turns to face me, looking down at me with a lascivious little smirk. He pushes his shirt sleeves up, flashing brightly colored tattoos.
"Tell me I'm a part of your harem, and I'll stay. I'll even fuck you if you want."
I smile sweetly back at him.
"Get the hell out of my room," I sneer, and he grins, sliding the gold key from his pocket and heading for—surprise, surprise—the painting that features the infamous Tenniel image of the white rabbit checking his pocket watch.
I wait until he leaves before I take the last bite of my soup and set the bowl aside.
"Please tell me I can join your harem?" Chesh begs, padding across the air toward me, leaving little glowing paw prints floating behind him for a brief moment. He hops onto the bed and bats at my bare feet. "Ask your primary if I can join. I promise I'll be good." The Cheshire cat climbs up my legs to sit in my lap, looking up at me with big, round gray eyes, like two full moons in a night sky.
"Go to your room," I tell him, whittling down the men in my bedchamber to the ones I've fucked. Not sure if that's a good idea or if I'm just crazy.
Chesh shifts into human form, still sitting in my lap, and all of a sudden, it's not so cute or cuddly anymore. The tags on his collar jingle as he leans in toward me, one tiny fang peeking up over the edge of his lip. He's glorious, covered in tattoos, his vest gaping open to reveal the hard muscles underneath.
"I'll purr for you," he says, putting his mouth close to my ear. Chesh curls his fingers around my upper arm, and then licks my ear. I reach up and give his silver hoops a tug. He has them on both his kitty ears and his human ears.
"I'm glad you're not dead," I tell him as he pulls back just enough that his mouth is near mine. I can smell sweet cream and cupcakes on his breath, and I wish I could kiss him. But I've already kissed one stranger today, and that's enough. "Go to sleep, and we'll talk later."
"About me joining your harem?" he presses, and I flick him in the ear. I'd be mad if I thought Chesh was pushing at me like a typical misogynistic a-hole. He's not though. He's just lonely. If he really is the last of his kind, I can't blame him.
"Bed, now," North says, waving his hand lazily in the direction of the jabberwock painting. There's another one next to it though, one with a big smiling Cheshire Cat on it. I open the nightstand drawer, take out a key, and hand it to Chesh.
He curls his fingers around it, and meets my eyes with a much more serious expression on his handsome face.
"Thank you, Allison."
It's the first time he's ever called me by my real name.
>
Chesh curls his tail around my wrist as he turns, sliding the silky fur across my skin before he wanders off, unlocks his door, and leaves the room.
There's a certain finality to it when it closes.
"If I'd … sucked Tee off and swallowed, would you have had to eat some of his jizz, too?" I blurt at Dee, and I really wonder why the fuck I chose that moment to ask that question. He blinks big blue eyes at me. "I mean, when we first met, and you wanted me to go through the garden door …"
Dee lays back in the pillows and laughs while Tee flushes and turns down the lights.
The look he throws North is not particularly pleasant.
"I wouldn't have sucked my brother off if that's what you're asking," Dee chortles, chest heaving with laughter. "Just a little lick or a taste would've worked fine. I could've kissed you after and gotten enough to make the change, I'd think."
"I could've just … tasted some and gotten small?" I ask, wondering how a blow job would work with these guys. If I got even a little bit of cum on my lips, I'd grow or shrink depending on the twin? Sounds inconvenient. Yep, I am definitely going to break this curse. "Still gross, and I wouldn't have done it," I say, wondering what might've happened if Rab hadn't broken those bottles. Where would I be now? Home? The thought makes me uncomfortable. Would I still be here, lying in a half-dark room with these three men? Or sitting alone in my parents’ quiet, broken home? "But really?"
"You have to swallow a certain amount for it to work, but basically, yes." Tee collects the empty soup bowls and spoons, setting them all on the refreshments table where I assume a card servant will come to collect them.
I lay back in the pillows and try not to seriously love the way all the linens smell here, like sunshine and wind. Back home, I had to do my own laundry, so let's be honest: my sheets did not smell even half this good, more like old Victoria’s secret perfume and sweat.
"Enough about angel jizz," North growls, peeping his head up over the footboard to stare at me from narrowed, gold eyes. "You wanted us in here for a reason."
"Maybe she wants to discuss the nine?" Tee asks with a sigh, picking up my jacket from the floor and hanging it on one of the creepy, moving hooks.
Allison and the Torrid Tea Party: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Harem of Hearts Book 2) Page 16