Allison and the Torrid Tea Party: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Harem of Hearts Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  There's—for lack of a better word—fluid all over the place, running down my thighs when I stand up.

  "Do you think North will forgive us for being late?" I ask, but at that moment, I'm too happy to care.

  "I think he'll have no choice," Tee says, and even though he's lying on his back on the floor, he looks haughty and sexy as fuck. "I am the primary, so he better get used to it."

  I grin, and press a kiss to Dee's lips first, and then Tee's.

  Bring on the training, bring on the Knave, bring on the ball.

  I'm Allison Liddell, and I have fucking got this.

  "My mate," North mutters as he opens a pistol of his own and loads it up with a small metal ball. It looks like a Kingmaker to me. I love that it's smaller and less impressive than a Queenmaker. In the human world, anything labeled queen is usually smaller and less important than the king version: beds, chess pieces, etc.

  Underland is weird as hell, but it's refreshing, too.

  "Mine," he growls, tail thrashing as he grits his teeth and turns to me. The White Knight is there, too, and she gives him a very unimpressed look.

  "Your strange jabberwock possessiveness is entirely unappealing," she says with a sniff, lifting her chin and then glancing over at me. "And this is why I don't keep husbands. Too much work."

  "It's simply in my nature to want the Alice to be mine," North says, flicking blonde hair off his forehead in a very dramatic and Duke-ly way. He takes his station very seriously, prancing around with his nose in the air and his gold eyes full of disdain. I sort of love him for it.

  "Well, get over it," Chesh purrs, lying on the rafter above us, one arm hanging down, his finger drawing glowing gold designs in the air that disappear like fireflies in the wind. "Everyone knows a cat owns everything he sees."

  "I thought Underland men were supposed to be different than Topside men? You all belong to me," I say, aiming the Queenmaker at the targets in the far distance. We're standing just outside the athletic facility, the back doors wide open, facing a stretch of beautiful green field as far as the eye can see.

  There's a floral border on either side of the grass, separating this part of the royal gardens from the rest of the grounds. I can hear the flowers bitching about me right now.

  "As likely to blow 'er head off as the Carpenter's," one says, her accent reminding me of every generic peasant character I've ever seen in a cheap budget fantasy movie. "Maybe she should aim for the Walrus', eh? At least he's got more to shoot at!"

  "Won't last a minute against the Anti-Alice," a lily replies, flicking her leaves in my direction. "We're liable to lose the Kingdom of Hearts to the clubs." I turn and point the Queenmaker in her direction. I would blow us all to kingdom come if I were to shoot at this close a range, but at least I see the stupid flower quiver, and the pixie spirit jumps to a blossom several feet away from me.

  Another one of the stupid things tries to pull my room key from my pocket, and I slap it away, watching its translucent wings as it flitters over to a daisy and slips inside. This is my first time actually seeing the pixies, and I'm surprised to find that they really do look like fucking Tinkerbell or some shit, albeit with brightly hued skin in every color of the rainbow.

  They are also naked as fuck, and I swear I've seen enough pixie pussy in the last five minutes to last me a lifetime.

  "The Queenmaker uses your magic," Tee explains as Chesh shifts into cat form and hops off the wooden beam under the awning and onto my head. About two hundred yards out, there are nine silver bowls gleaming in the sunlight. North and the twins claim they'll help absorb the blasts from the Queenmaker, so I don't destroy the entire castle while I'm still learning. "That's what makes it so powerful; it's more than just gunpowder and sulfur."

  "How did I just randomly pick this off a shelf in the Rabbit-Hole?" I ask, but nobody bothers to answer me with actual words.

  Instead, Dee claps his heels together, salutes, and recites another verse from the prophecy that never ends. How many fucking stanzas is this thing?! My guess, based on personal experience here in Underland, is that it has eighteen, just like the original The Walrus and the Carpenter poem.

  "The Gryphon and the Mock Turtle

  Watched on from perches far,

  And then they contemplated hell

  On kingdoms so bizarre:

  The Queenmaker their only hope

  Against a ragged scar."

  Dee finishes with a little bow, and a grin.

  "Prophecy, Allison-who-isn't-Alice-but-whom-I-quite-adore." He winks at me as I flush and turn back to the targets, watching as the White Knight loads up a gun that matches her armor. It looks like a flintlock pistol as well, but it's all white, like it's been carved of marble or something.

  Apparently, it's called a Knightmaker. Very creative, huh? I do appreciate the theme, however.

  "So I was destined to hold this weapon in my hands?" I ask, teasing my fingers along the gold designs on the side. I lift my eyes to look up at Dee, and he smiles softly.

  "You were destined," he says, but I don't fully believe him. I think people can create their own destinies. Then again, maybe there's magic at work here, as a guiding hand or something? I can't help but think how I was compelled to follow the White Rabbit down the hole, or how I keep saying things that are straight out of the original book without even meaning to. It's like there's some grand storyteller in the sky, trying to guide my fate.

  If there is, she better fuck off, because I have ideas of my own.

  "What's your name?" I ask the White Knight, because everyone here seems to have a nickname, even me. In fact, I have several: the Alice, Allison-who-isn't-Alice, Sonny, Sunshine, Miss Alice, Miss Liddell, and so on and so forth.

  "My name?" the White Knight repeats, blinking pretty lavender eyes at me. She tosses some blonde hair over her shoulder, and it shimmers in the sunshine like it’s spun gold. Seriously, she must be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. "Chevalier." She smiles at me like she thinks I have no idea what that means in French. It means knight, by the way. I took like two years of classes at my high school.

  "Is your last name Blanc?" I question with a raised brow, and the White Knight grins. So the White Knight's name … is literally Chevalier Blanc, aka White Knight in French. Very creative, almost as creative as calling the Cheshire Cat, Chesh.

  "The King wants to make sure you're actually learning something down here," she states in crisp, clear tones, no judgement, just fact. "And he knows I'm the best woman for the job."

  "You're an inventor?" I ask as North steps up close behind me, and makes my entire body tingle as he adjusts my grip on the gun, putting my fingers in the same place that Dee did. Having a second teacher repeat the same lessons I learned before is helpful in cementing them into my brain.

  "That's right," the White Knight says, lifting up her gun with one hand and putting on a very dramatic sideways pose with her left arm outstretched. She fires off a shot that lobs up toward the sky and then falls perfectly down into the center of one of the metal bowls, slamming into the bull's-eye with a horrific wave of fire and heat. "Bam," she growls, lifting her pistol to her lips and blowing on it. "I'm a knight by day, inventor by night. Ironic, isn't it? It feels as if I should be a knight by night, and inventor by day perhaps?" She tilts her head to one side in that weird Underland way.

  More nonsensical logic.

  Fantastic.

  "How are you enjoying your breastplate of courage?" she asks, making me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. You know when you read a book, and the female main character only has meaningful relationships with men, and you're left wondering why the fuck all her interactions with women are hateful and gross?

  Yeah, I despise that shit.

  I just want to … go get my nails done with the White Knight or something.

  I like her.

  "Breastplate of Courage?" I ask, lifting a brow as North steps to the right of me, takes aim and fires his own shot off. He, too, hits the
silver target, but not the bull's-eye. The White Knight grins and he growls at her, thrashing his tail around wildly.

  "I didn't just invent those easy-on/easy-off buckles," Chevalier declares proudly, tapping at her shoulders. "I imbued the armor with courage. If you put it on, you'll feel like a wolf amongst sheep."

  "Huh," I say, taking aim with the Queenmaker and doing my best to hold her steady in both hands. "Do you think I can wear it to the ball over my dress? Because dragons that make my ears bleed and birds that shoot spider silk are okay, but dancing in front of other people sounds like pure hell."

  "I think wearing it would be a great idea," Tee says, the warm sound of his voice making me tremble just enough that when I fire, the metal projectile goes wide, a miniature cannonball flinging through the air toward the row of flowers.

  Pixies scream and flee their garden as North waves his hand, and with a bit of magic, sends the projectile into one of the targets where it explodes with enough force to singe the hairs on my arm.

  Holy fucking hearts.

  Dee moves over to a small table near the wall where a gramophone sits, spins the handle on the side, and then carefully removes a record from a sleeve sitting on a shelf full of others. He places the needle carefully onto it, and then steps back as it begins to crackle.

  Some vintage, twenties sounding song starts to garble out.

  One thing I would miss living here: fucking Spotify and iTunes.

  I still have my cellphone … somewhere. I should dig it out and see if I can't get it to play some modern day music for these boys.

  "Sorry, I was distracted," I say as Chesh weaves between my legs, rubbing on my ankles as the White Knight moves over to help me reload the Queenmaker.

  "The sound of your lover's voice," she begins, and I blush. I'm still a tad sore downstairs, and every movement I make reminds me of my threesome with the twins. I won't soon forget. "Is nothing compared to the chaos that will ensue during battle."

  The Cheshire cat shifts back into his human form beside me, as gloriously half-dressed as always, and stares at me from big, gray eyes.

  "If you need to keep your calm during battle, simply repeat this mantra inside your head. It'll keep you focused," he purrs as Chevalier once again fixes my grip. I will get this, eventually. I'm not doing too shabby considering I've never shot a vintage, magical flintlock pistol before last week, right? "Ahem." The Cheshire cat clears his throat, licks his paw, and runs it over his dark hair and his striped ears, making the silver hoops in them jingle merrily. "As it goes:

  'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

  All mimsy were the borogoves,

  And the mome raths outgrabe."

  Chesh pauses for a moment and smiles at me with that feral cat grin of his.

  "Beware the Jabberwock, my girl!

  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

  Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun,

  The frumious Bandersnatch!"

  I raise my eyebrows as North growls from behind me, and I hear an icy voice at my back.

  "Frumious?" Rab drawls, smoking a cigarette and swinging a pocket watch at his side. He's dressed in red and white today, no black. It makes his red eyes and dark hair pop even more. "How daaare you?"

  Rab pauses next to me, and nods with his chin in the direction of the targets.

  "You're already late for your dancing lessons with the Caterpillar," he says, that cold voice doing more to warm up my insides than it rightfully should. "So let's see what you can do with that thing and get going."

  "I've barely gotten time to practice," I grumble, but I suppose that's my own fault. Mine and the twins', that is.

  I glance over at Rab, his eyes ringed in dark liner, his smile a dangerous sort of pretty that kills happy hearts and makes them wish they had a million lives so they could die over and over again.

  So not a guy I should be going after.

  And yet …

  Rab is so freaking distracting that I have to tear my eyes away from him and actually start to mumble the cat's stupid, catchy little Jabberwocky poem.

  "Twas brillig, and the slithy toves," I grumble.

  I smirk, take aim, and fire off a second shot.

  This time, I hit the center target … and the bull's-eye.

  When I leave the athletic facility and head for the ballroom, I realize that I'm actually looking forward to my lessons with Lar.

  "I get an entourage today?" I ask, because Chesh, Rab, North, and the twins are all with me right now.

  "You get an entourage the rest of the week," Rab says, glancing over at the Duke like they know something nobody else does. We pass under glass ceilings and glorious arches, past huge doorways that lead to Hearts only knows where. Card servants are everywhere, scurrying around like ants. I can barely stand to look at them, and based on the twins' reactions, I think they feel the same. "The castle is restless. Everyone wants to meet you. And, to be quite frank, several of them want to murder you. Personally, I'll settle for fucking you. What do you say?"

  "I say … eat a dick?" I reply with saccharine sweetness as I flip him off.

  When we head into the ballroom, the Caterpillar is already waiting for us, sitting on a big blue velvet pillow in the center of the room. He has his white jacket with the gold epaulettes resting on his shoulders, but there's no shirt underneath, showing off his glorious chest and those two key piercings through his nipples.

  Don't think about the sex prophecy he showed you, I warn myself. Don't think about it, Allison. Don't, don't, don't.

  Aaaaanndddd, now I'm thinking about it.

  In detail.

  Glorious, glorious detail.

  "Welcome," Lar says, his eyes half-lidded, the color of a summer sky. He gestures for us to take seats on the colored pillows surrounding his, passing the hookah he's smoking over to me.

  "Are we going to dance in the air again?" I ask, and I get this lazy, confident smile in return.

  "We're going to dance the quintrille," he says, which is not really an answer to my question. "Although … we’re a bit short on dancers."

  I notice there are more pillows on the ground than people.

  As in, say, ten total pillows including the one I'm sitting on.

  Hmm.

  The ballroom doors swing open, and I glance over my shoulder to find the Mad Hatter and the March Hare sauntering into the room with Dor on their heels.

  "Oh heeeeellllll no," I say, letting go of the hookah and standing up. The air is perfumed with the sweet scent of blueberries and tobacco, but as much as I want to experience that glorious feeling of floating and dancing, I will not put up with the Dormouse.

  I mean, Raiden Walker and March are bad enough, but the Dormouse dick basically clobbered a chunk of North's skull out—and he'd happily do it again.

  "I will not dance with him," I say as the big, ugly man scowls at me and scratches as his tiny, stupid mouse ears. They're so little and they blend in with his brown hair, I can't even remember if I've seen them before.

  "Fortunately for you," the Mad Hatter says, whipping off his hat. A swarm of bats—yes, you heard me, a swarm of bats—explodes out from underneath, swirling in the air around him and then taking off for the domed glass ceiling, chittering as they go. "You won't be dancing with Dor tonight."

  Raiden pulls his cane out, and taps it against the floor before replacing his hat and smiling at me with sharp, white vampire fangs. I'm too freaking dumbfounded to speak. Bats. Fucking bats. Now I really have seen it all.

  "Then who's taking the place of this last pillow?" I ask indignantly, pointing down at the red velvet cushion on the floor.

  "Me." The serene calm in that voice draws my attention over to Brennin Red, standing in the doorway to the ballroom with the White Knight on one side, and the Knave on the other. Grrreeaaat, exactly the woman I wanted to see. She has her two weird husbands behind her, too, and I'm pretty sure all three of them are glaring at me.
<
br />   Red walks his supreme asshole-ish-ness over to me, his dark eyes hard, his crown drooping lazily over his forehead. His white gloves squeak as he reaches up and adjusts the gold hook and eye clasp that holds his voluminous white and red robes in place.

  "You'll be expected to dance with me at the ball, so we may as well see what clumsiness we can iron out today."

  "I'd rather dance with Dor," I say, but I don't mean it. My palms are sweating, and I can't take my eyes off the King's. He makes my throat feel tight and sticky and sore, my heart thunder, my fingers twitch. I want him dead, but I also want to leap into bed with him. I've never been so confused about my own feelings before.

  "Is that so?" Brennin asks coolly, eyeing me up and down like a steak served too well-done. He'd rather just send me back and get a new slab of fresh meat for his plate. "Well, too bad. That brainless thug isn't the ruler of an entire kingdom—I am. And as my future queen, the court will want to see you dance with me."

  "I am not your future queen," I snap back, hating myself for having made out with this guy. Shit, more than made out: I practically fucked him. I turn away and run my fingers through my hair, making eye contact with March.

  He sucks on a very … shall we say phallic-shaped lollipop, and gives me this dirty half-smile that promises awful, awful things.

  "Lackey piece of shit," I grumble as I sit back down on the velvet pillow and take the hookah from Lar, letting his pale fingers tangle with mine, just so I can feel that little thrill between us. "Whatever. I don't have time to argue. Let's just get this over with, shall we? After the ball, we'll figure out how to deal with each other."

  I can feel the King staring at me from behind. His eyes are like lasers, making me squirm with their heat. Fucker.

  Deep down, there's some part of me that's thrilled at the idea of being the Queen of Hearts. What little girl wouldn't jump at the thought of not only visiting their favorite childhood storybook world, but ruling it.

  "Maybe we can get married, and just not talk?" I glance over my shoulder and find Brennin Red still staring at me. The Knave's mouth is turned down at both corners, and I just know I'm going to trip and fall on my ass because she's here staring at me. Thus, the story of my life. "Then I can be the Queen of Hearts, your little prophecy will be fulfilled, and then we can just never speak again?"