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

by C. M. Stunich

  "When one is entrenched in shadows, one doesn't simply turn on a light." The King sits up and stares at me from across the glowing embers. They cast strange shadows on his face, highlighting the perfection that is Brennin Red, the King of Hearts. He has high, defined cheekbones, and a mouth that won't quit. That little scar on the corner of his mouth just emphasizes how gorgeous he really is.

  "What does one do?" I mimic, fluttering my hands near my face. "Trip on a pile of dirty clothes and break one's toe?"

  "Speaking from experience?" Dee asks with a bright grin. His wings cast beautiful shadows on the wall behind him, and I have to hold back a malicious grin when I see Ol’ Red cast a frustrated glance in the twins' direction.

  "Maybe," I quip with a small shrug. "One of my toes is a little crooked. You make your own assumptions."

  "Assumptions …" Dee starts, but then pauses when he notices the dark-eyed gaze of the King sweeping over him. With a sneer, Brennin turns back to look at me as the Mad Hatter carries over a tray of chipped little tea cups.

  "Aren't you a clever one?" Brennin purrs cruelly, tugging at the white gloves on his hands. It's driving me up the wall trying to figure out why he never takes them off. Like, maybe because he’s a murderer with red palms? "Look at you with your puns, Your Majesty." The King sits up straight, crown sliding lazily across his bloodred hair. The heart-shaped jewels seems to glow in the ominous half-light. "I'm sure that'll make for exceptional pillow talk."

  "Go eat a dick," I say smartly, smirking and flipping him off as I get comfortable and glance over at Rab. He's pulling a pipe from the pocket on his slacks and glancing over at me with eyes the color of a smoky moon. Last year, there were so many forest fires in California that the smoke tainted the sky for days, and the moon … the moon was as red as blood.

  "You thought I was poking you with something else?" he asks as I snort and shake my head.

  "If your pipe is capable of growing when aroused, and caps out at … six inches," I start with a loose shrug of my shoulders. I'm a little bit full of shit though because I'm pretty sure it was longer than that. His dick, I mean, not his pipe.

  "Such a clever little Alice," Rab says, lighting up and holding the smoke in his lungs for an inordinate amount of time. When he exhales, it all comes out through his nose, like a dragon billowing smoke.

  Speaking of dragons …

  My eyes meet North’s gold ones from across the circle, and he smiles at me, reaching up to slick some of his hair back. As he does, he runs his fingers over one of his horns. Pretty sure that's, like, a come-on. It's working, too.

  "Welcome all," March says, waving his hands dramatically over the flames. He flicks water into the coals, and pink steam rises up from the warm rocks. I have no idea why the steam is pink, but at this point, if I asked questions about every little idiosyncrasy in Underland, I wouldn't get a single other word out. "To the Torrid Tea Party."

  He stands up and claps his hands, casting a dark gaze around the table. There are sky-high silver trays filled with cookies, cakes, tarts, sliced fruit, and unidentifiable little pastries covered in raisins. Dee and March are already eating, so I just help myself.

  "Before we begin," March says, adjusting his own top hat. It's not quite as top-hattish as the Mad Hatter's, but that's to be expected, isn't it? Clearly, we all know who the boss is here. "I'd just like to acknowledge a very merry un-birthday to both Alice and the King."

  "Oh fuck my life," I groan, putting my face in one hand. "Here we go with the nonsense."

  "So you can see they're a perfectly matched pair," March continues, whisking a teacup off the tray and spinning it in his hand. With a brisk flick of the wrist, he pushes it down the length of the table. It twirls and dances until it comes to a stop directly in front of me. At first I think he's given me three cups stacked together, but when I move to pull them apart, I realize it's all one piece.

  "We mustn't waste China," Chesh purrs, tapping at the side of my cup with a nail. "It's on the other side of the world, you know. To get there, we must dig a very great hole." He winks at me, and I'm not sure if he knows how ridiculous that sounds. I'm about fifty-fifty on that one.

  "Before I was so rudely interrupted," March continues, and Chesh puts his ears flat against his head.

  "I was un-rudely interrupting," he corrects, and March pauses like that's actually a valid point.

  "Righto, my apologies," he says, lifting his hat and pulling out another small tea cup. "I should pay more attention. I just get so … excited when we host these parties." At the word excited, March reaches down and cups his junk. I fling a pastry in his direction and he catches it with his mouth. "As I was saying, clearly the Alice and the King are meant to be together as they share the same un-birthday. What a coincidence."

  "We all share the same un-birthday," I growl out because a girl can only take so much nonsense before she snaps. I grab another raisin-covered pastry and bite into it. The inside is savory and spicy, filled with some sort of meat and vegetable paste. It's actually fucking delicious, although the source of the meat is a questionable thing.

  "So we do …" March continues in his drawling English accent. "Bloody brilliant observation. So, we all share the same un-birthday—except for Dor. Today is his actual birthday."

  "And you've locked him out of the party?" I ask with a roll of my eyes. "Some friends you are." Although I’m seriously fucking thrilled that nutbag was not invited. I’d be more likely to put my life in the hands of the wisteria blossoms outside my bedroom window (although one of them did call me a whore today which is most certainly not appreciated) than trust the Dormouse.

  "We are not friends," March says as Raiden leans back in his chair and crosses his booted feet at the ankle. "Friends are as rare as diamonds and twice as precious. The only person with a friend in this room is the goddamn Savage Duke."

  "I have three friends," North growls, squeezing my ankle with his tail. "The Cheshire Cat, Brennin Red, and Sonny Liddell." He ticks the names off his fingers with a little growl. "I may very well be the richest man in the Kingdom of Hearts."

  "Second richest, as I've just taken a large sum of your money," Raiden corrects, pulling his top hat low and shading his orange eyes from view. He's unbelievably gorgeous, dressed in a black and white striped suit jacket with a frilly white undershirt and a big orange bow-tie. The only part of his face I can see right now is his smile, twisted to the side and sharp as the slash from a knife.

  Good thing I remembered to strap my knives to my thigh before I left; I’ve got my trusty ol’ Queenmaker on my hip, too. Allison Pleasance Liddell, totally rad badass extraordinaire … in training. Can’t forget the in training part.

  The Duke just growls as March spins a second tea cup over to his boss. I can hear the King's white-gloved hands curling into squeaky fists. I get a kick out of that and decide I don't quite hate the March Hare as much as I thought I did—although he does give Red his cup next.

  "So it seems we're all celebrating a special day today," March continues, locking eyes with me as he passes out the Duke's cup, then his own, Rab's, Lar's, Chesh's … and then Dee's and then Tee's.

  Clearly, he's the least favorite of the twins. This is not the first time I've noticed.

  Tee clenches his hand tight around his mug, his nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw ticking. I also notice he fluffs his wings dramatically, drawing the attention of the entire room.

  "He's a prince, too," I say, looking into my cup. "They both are."

  "They're servants, little more than slaves," the King says, and I slam my cup down so hard that it breaks it half.

  "They're mine, you gave them to me," I snarl, even as Tee reaches over to put a hand on my arm.

  "Allison, don't," he whispers, voice tight and ragged.

  "So I did. It doesn't change the fact that that's what they are." The King lifts his gaze to mine, and there's this unyielding defiance in them that makes me crazy. For the first time in my life, I want to break someone's
spirit, watch them collapse into a heap on the floor covered in tears and snot.

  I hate the King.

  I fucking hate him.

  "Your idiot father did this to them. He slaughtered an entire race." I stand up from my chair, knocking it to the floor. Brennin follows me up, leaning his palms on the table and staring at me like he's feeling the same damn way, like he wants to break me.

  Well, all I have to say to that is good fucking luck, buddy.

  "My father," the King says, sliding a gloved finger along the scar that bisects his throat. "Did this to me. My father," he continues, stepping back. I notice that he manages to keep his chair upright. "Murdered my mother and my sisters, and he tried to murder me." He comes around the table to lord the fuck over me, and I just curl the corner of my lip up in a snarl.

  "So you're going to continue his legacy by treating the twins like garbage?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous. Swear to God, I am this close to stabbing the man with the Vorpal Blade. Wonder if I could do it?

  "What do you suggest I do with them?" he growls out, and I lift my face to look into his.

  "Let them go. Release their chains, remove their curse, and admit that your father made a mistake." I cross my arms over my chest as the King stares at me. He looks like he wants to strangle me. Instead, he turns away with a flutter of his black cloak, and returns to his seat—the biggest, nicest chair of the whole bunch. He might not be sitting at the head of the table, but he's damn well made sure we all know who he is.

  "Continue, and let's get this nonsense over with," Brennin says with a wave of his hand.

  I resist the urge to chuck my broken tea cup in his direction as Tee helps me right my chair, pushing me back in before he whispers in my ear.

  "No one has ever stood up for us like that before," he whispers, curling his fingers around my upper arms and giving me a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. Dee is watching us, his mouth half-stuffed with cupcake. He stops chewing as he gazes in my direction. There's too much there, in Tee's whispered words and Dee's longing stare.

  I glance away sharply.

  What can I say? I have intimacy issues.

  March lifts up his hat again, sliding it up and over his ears, so he can grab another tea cup. He gives it a little spin and sends it my way.

  "Once I pour the tea, we all drink, and then we switch places," March says as he picks up one of the twenty-plus teapots on the table. This one is painted to look like a jabberwock's scales. I wonder if all jabberwocky are black? Seeing as I've only seen one, I have no idea.

  "Why would we switch places?" I ask, and I get several are you serious? looks from the men.

  "To have a clean cup, of course," March says as he walks around the table and starts by pouring me a steaming cup of black tea. He pours in the same order he passed out the cups, and I swear it takes a massive amount of effort for me to hold my tongue on this one.

  Once March is seated again, he lifts his cup up for a toast and everyone else follows suit.

  I'm the last one to raise mine up.

  "To a very torrid tea party," March says, and the other men repeat after him.

  "To a very torrid tea party," I say, lifting the cup to my nose for a sniff. I'm getting hints of molasses and a subtle milkiness, even though I've yet to add any cream. When I peer a little closer, it looks like the liquid inside my cup is redder than I first thought.

  Oh, and also, there are little jars filled with needles on the table that I failed to notice before. The men each grab one and start pricking their fingers, kneading tiny drops of blood into their cups.

  “To activate the magic,” North explains when he catches me staring at him.

  Oh, well, of course we’d add blood to our tea. Nothing less would make sense. With a sigh, I do the same, wincing as I stab my finger and watch a tiny crimson drop well up. I shake it into my cup and try really hard not to think much more about it.

  "What sort of tea is this?" I ask as a few of the men add varying amounts of sugar and cream to their cups.

  "It's quite tippy," the Mad Hatter says, cocking his head to one side. I still can't see his eyes with the brim of his hat pulled so low. "Large golden buds, delicately twisted leaves. There's a copper finish to it, wouldn't you agree, March?"

  "This here blend is a Golden Shower Black Tea," March says, sipping his cup with a single pinky outstretched. There's a pretty wicked looking ring on it, too, and I get the idea that maybe the motion isn't just for show.

  "Pardon, what?" I ask, blinking stupidly through the shadows at him.

  "Your pardon is granted," he says, but he doesn't bother to answer my question. I narrow my eyes at him and try to resist the urge to throw hot tea in his face. I'll show him what a scalding hot golden shower can do.

  "Golden Shower means the tea was watered only by rain coming down when the sun is out." Tee adds two scoops of sugar with one dash of cream, staring at his drink like he's already dreading taking a sip.

  "So what do they do the rest of the time when it rains?" I ask as Dee fills his cup with cream and about ten scoops of sugar.

  "They cover the field with a tarp," he says, downing his own drink in a single gulp.

  "A golden shower back home—" I start, when Rab interrupts me.

  "Is hot piss in the face during sex? We know that, Alice." Rab smokes his cig, glances to his right and takes a good, long look at the Mad Hatter sitting next to him. "We're all moving one space to the left, am I right?"

  "Most assuredly," Raiden growls, one sharp fang showing over the edge of his lip. He watches as Rab taps his cigarette ash into the tea cup. "How clever are you? Perhaps I'll leave a wad of warm jizz in your cup next time I serve you?"

  "Wouldn't be anything I hadn't tasted before," Rab says as Lar extends his pale hand across the table and takes the cigarette from Rab's fingers. The light from the fireplace filters through the Caterpillar’s wings, turning them into stained glass windows that paint the faces of the men on the right side of the table a brilliant blue.

  "You've tasted jizz before?" I ask, but the Cheshire Cat is already tapping at my glass with the tip of his tail.

  "Drink, Alice, drink," he says, his pupils dilated to the point that I can't even see his gray irises anymore. I can't tell if that's because of the dark … or the drugs. Maybe both. "You and your angel prince."

  I look around and realize that Tee and I are the only ones yet to take a drink.

  "Are you okay?" I ask him, noticing the tightness around his eyes and the hard lines next to his even harder frown. He takes his peaked cap off and rakes his fingers through his hair.

  "Tee used to be a tea addict," Dee says, rhyming the words in that silly singsongy way of his. "He was drunk more often than he was sober."

  "You don't have to do this if you don't want to," I say, but Tee is already shaking his head. I can see small beads of sweat on his forehead, and I pick my red cloth napkin up to wipe them away.

  "He can't leave, not now," March says, twitching his brown ears. Rab's white ones seem to twitch in response, and the two men turn to glare at each other. They're both the same species, aren't they? And they're both cronies for corrupt kings. They’re rivals when really, they should be besties.

  "Why not?" I ask, narrowing my eyes and then tilting my head as I hear the lock on the door slide closed. My mouth drops open and I flick my eyes in that direction.

  "Once a Torrid Tea Party's started, it's impossible to get out the door," March says with a shrug, and the Mad Hatter tsk-tsks, wagging a finger in his direction.

  "Not impossible, simply impassable—nothing's impossible." He lifts his hat up and flashes those marmalade orange eyes in my direction.

  "If he leaves, he's out," the King says, in that same bored, no-nonsense voice of his. "You cannot marry him." I flip Brennin off and turn to Tee, reaching out to put my hand across the back of his.

  "If you don't drink, neither do I," I whisper, and he lifts his amethyst eyes to look into mine. There's a quiet pleading th
ere, but also an inner strength that I feel resonating in the very depths of my soul. We're peas in a pod, me and Tweedledum. Heh. Tweedledum … I like his nickname better.

  "I'll drink," he says, looking straight into my eyes, "for you."

  He lifts his cup and downs the whole thing before I can even take another breath.

  I watch his hands shake as he puts the cup down and runs his arm across his mouth, gasping as he shakes his head and yanks his cap back down on his head.

  If Tee can do it, then so can I.

  But also … I want to know more about his time as an addict later.

  "Cheers," I mumble under my breath, and then down the sweet-smelling tea, feeling the hot liquid burn its way down my throat.

  As soon as it hits my stomach, I can feel the effects.

  "That was delicious," I blurt without meaning to.

  "Truth herbs," Lar says, crossing one arm over his chest and resting his head in the hand of the other. "It makes you say and do things you never would otherwise."

  "I want to fuck the Alice," the King says, and then he smirks at me and I get the idea that maybe that wasn't an accidental little quip.

  "I want to kill the King," I say, crossing my arms over my chest and then shrugging, sticking my tongue out in a silly, stupid way, like Dee always does. "Oops. Guess the effects of the herbs are already setting in."

  "I don't want to become an addict again," Tee whispers, and then closes his eyes and covers his mouth like he didn't mean to say that.

  "Shall we begin the torrid bit of our illustrious tea party?" March asks, lifting his finger and motioning for us all to switch. Like we're playing a game of musical chairs, we all stand and shift places, moving one spot to the left. I get the idea that it'd be really easy to poison someone like this. I should’ve used one of my test kits. Epic fail.

  "Has anyone poisoned these cups?" I ask, and I get several blurted no's in response.

  From everyone but the King and the Hatter.

  "Sadly, no," Raiden says after a moment. Spinning his top hat around on his head, he flicks his attention in the direction of the King of Hearts. "And you, dear friend?"