Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection

by Rebecca Royce

  The coffin ten feet from me rattled as Astra screamed and kicked from inside it. Each sob tore what was left of me into hundreds of pieces. Every futile yank from Tor, pinned to the stretching rack, cranked the beat of my heart.

  It fucked with me that I can’t do a thing to help two members of my team because I was chained to the torture chair. That I couldn’t touch her. Soothe her. Settle her panic attack, brought on by her Asperger’s meltdown.

  Fuck, I had to do something to free us. But the Rarknul—Unseelie mafia—had seized my amulet and any hope of using enchantments against them to escape.

  Guardians like Tor, Astra, and I were forbidden from entering their establishments when we hunted their kind of scum, arrested them, and delivered them to their worlds’ justice systems. But we had come to their casino to earn cash. Only her magickal card reading ability had alerted the sentinels, and they’d captured us, confiscated our winnings, and dragged us to their dungeon. This was my stupid idea, and I’d fucked up, making solving this problem my responsibility.

  I’d been desperate to help her. Desperate to pay off her insurance debt. Another of my fuck-ups because I hadn’t checked her insurance papers before filing them, which resulted in the Guardian’s insurance company rejecting her medical claim, and leaving her fifty grand in debt.

  “Kill me,” I croaked at the mob lackey. “Do what you want to me. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt them, Aryan.”

  Aryan. The name tasted bitter on my tongue. I’d feed his guts to Trozya, a wild cat who lived in the Unseelie world for threatening Astra, for tormenting her and locking her in a fucking coffin until he tripped her into as Aspergers meltdown.

  His grasp on my third finger released, and I grunted. A cruel gleam flickered in his eyes. His hands came together, pressing hard, his knuckles bending. “There is a matter which requires the Guardians help.”

  “What the fuck do you need?” I growled, desperate, reeling, powerless. I’d do anything to save my team. Anything. After Jaz died, I’d vowed no more lives would be lost, and I’d die before another of my comrades fell. I’d had enough death in my lifetime.

  “A prisoner from the Talnok,” Aryan proposed, and my blood froze at the mention of the Unseelie prison known for its brutality. “By the name of Raenyn.”

  “What do you want with him?”

  “He poisoned a rare and magickal species of pumpkin and destroyed the heirloom seeds.” Vengeful fire burned in Aryan’s eyes. “The Rarknul need the cure.” He paused, letting this information sink in. “Bring him to me, and you are all free to go. Fail me, and I’ll torture you all to death.”

  “I’ll do it.” Didn’t need to think about it. Whatever saved my team, count me in.

  “Knoxe, no,” Tor argued.

  “Shut the fuck up, buddy,” I silenced him.

  The deal was done. The fae had called my hand. Our lives or a debt. I chose the debt. I’d do it again if it saved them.

  Aryan waved to one of his sentinels. “Bring me the beetles.”

  “The what?” Tor shouted.

  Shut up. Don’t make this worse for us. I just saved your ass.

  In a moment, the sentinel returned with a glass jar full of crawling beetles.

  Aryan took the container, removed the lid, and selected a black bug with red markings on its shell between long, clawed fingers.

  “Return within two moons, or this will burrow into your brain and kill you.” He moved the bug to my neck, and it crawled along my skin.

  I jerked, squirming, not wanting that little fucker anywhere near me. The beetle’s two pincers pierced my skin, tearing at my flesh, and I grunted. My fingers shot out at the excruciating sting weakening me, flushing me with a faintness as it buried itself underneath my skin, settling at the back of my neck, along my spine.

  “Fuck!” I gasped, gripping the edges of the seat.

  “Don’t fail me,” Aryan warned as his sentinels approached Tor and Astra with bugs of their own.

  Outside of the casino, where the Rarknul dumped us, I grab Tor by the arm as he carried Astra. “We can’t return to the Guardians like this.”

  He swung around to face me, and Astra clung to him. “Like hell we can’t. She needs a sedative or something to help her calm down.”

  A sedative would only work for a few hours. It wouldn’t wipe away the trauma of being captured and tortured.

  Mascara streaks her pinked cheeks. Her blue eyes, puffy and dark from crying, reflect the horror of the last few hours. A tremble accompanied each of her sobs. She flinched at the slightest movement, at me trying to wipe away a tear, and buried her face in Tor’s chest. Jealousy stung me that I wasn’t able to carry her out of that place because of my broken fingers.

  Although we’d had our differences, I was starting to like her, respect her, maybe more…. but I wasn’t going there. Nope. Been single far too long. I was too fucked up after I lost… God… I hadn’t thought about them in months until Dr. Vickers brought them up. My fiancé and baby. The grief threatened to undo me, but I held it back, and stayed strong for now. Lead my team back to safety. Then I can drown in my heartache.

  “We walk back into the Guardians with her like that, you with bruises and me with broken fingers, and the infirmary nurse will ask questions,” I reminded him. “The kind of questions that will expose our little side hustle.”

  We’d used the excuse of visiting the Unseelie seer to get here in the first place. If the warden discovered our lies, we’d be locked up in solitary confinement for a month. A fate that would kill us all. I’d survived losing Jaz, survived Amber and Hailey, but there was no way I’d survive losing Tor and Astra if I didn’t find this prisoner the Rarknul wanted. Death was not coming a fourth time. Fuck no.

  I also had to think of my own motivations. No missions meant I couldn’t avenge Jaz’s death. Something I’d never let happen.

  Astra’s fingers tore at Tor’s tuxedo jacket. I wanted to wipe her torment away, ease the symptoms of her meltdown, but I was too scared to touch her. I couldn’t get past my paralyzing fear that she was scarred because of me. I tried my best to remain level-headed, but it was killing me to see her like this.

  Tor brushed Astra’s hair back and she jerked. “Fuck. What do you suggest then?”

  I looked over both shoulders. “Try our luck with a healer.”

  “With what money?” Tor squeezed Astra tighter. “The fucking Rarknul scum stole ours.”

  Fuck, he was right. We’d won a decent taking. About a hundred thousand worth of jewels and magickal items that we could’ve traded. Now we didn’t have a cent on us. Without money, the Unseelie healers would want payment in something darker. Like a five years off our life kind of payment. I wasn’t willing to trade that kind of shit.

  “Sit her down for a minute,” I ordered Tor.

  “Here?” His brows slammed down hard, and he glared at me like I’d grown a fucking set of horns.

  “Just until she calms down and we get our story straight.” I pointed at a hollow in the rock for him to sit Astra on.

  Tor conceded and set her down. She gasped for breaths and rocked back and forth, mumbling something.

  After she joined the team, the warden had described her Aspergers condition, the meltdown symptoms to watch out for and tips to handle them. Following this advice, I knelt in front of her, and put her head between her legs to steady her breath. Fuck, it was painful to watch her like this. My body vibrated with an untapped rage. I was going to kill Aryan for doing this to her. For forcing my hand and forcing me into a dangerous deal we might not survive.

  I started to sing Richard Marx to her again. What the hell right? It worked earlier. Eventually she came around. Her voice came out as a squeak as she hummed the tune of Right Here Waiting For You back to me.

  “Fucking Richard Marx.” I ignored Tor’s groans as he stood guard, and I kept singing to calm her.

  I didn’t give a shit so long as it worked. After a few verses, she looked up at me, her voic
e scaling an octave. I smiled. it was working.

  She let me take her hand. “He can’t hurt you now. I won’t let him. Okay?” A single tear streaked down her face as she nodded. She trembled and leaned away as I wiped away her tear.

  I didn’t know if she was ready to hear what I had to say next, the excuse we’d all feed the nurse and the warden when we got back to the Guardian’s prison we called home. We didn’t have much time to find the prisoner, so we needed to return, get some healing serum and leave.

  “When we get back,” I started, “we’re all going to tell the nurse that you took me to an Unseelie bar for a drink to cheer me up because it’s the anniversary of Jaz’s death. Got it?” Fuck, I almost choked on Jaz’s name. Sometimes I couldn’t bring myself to speak it. I hadn’t breathed the other two names lingering on my lips since their funeral.

  Astra’s hands balled together into a clenched fist. She nodded and sniffed.

  Tor tensed beside me. Any mention of Jaz did this to him. “Fuck.” He pinched and wiped his mouth. “Fine.”

  “Let’s get this over with and back to the Unseelie prison.”

  “What about the warden?” Tor asks.

  “Let me deal with it.” I’d feed him some excuse to get permission to leave the Guardians. A lead from the seer that required my team to track the centaur he’d appointed us to hunt. I prayed like hell that the warden fell for my lies.

  Astra

  Tor held me so tight, rocking me back and forth, while the nurse injected me with a calming serum. I winced as the needle pricked my skin and injected the warm liquid. His hand rubbed my back, trying to sooth my mind, but it raged with anxiety.

  We had to kidnap the prisoner for the fae, but I didn’t want to see those bastards again. The whole incident had prompted flashbacks of Devon attacking me in my cell, of my abusive ex screaming emotional abuse at me, both sparking a violent meltdown. I’d lost it when I was supposed to stay strong and not show weakness, the way Knoxe had trained me. I wished my Aspergers didn’t own me, control me.

  “I’m not going back,” I sobbed into Tor’s shoulder. “I can’t.” I didn’t want to think about it ever again.

  “Shhh, Supergirl.” He held me tight, brushing me everywhere, my hair, my cheeks, my shoulders and back, but none of it relieved my mind. “Knoxe and I will deal with it.”

  That wasn’t fair. We were in this mess because of me. Because I didn’t sign my insurance paperwork properly.

  Knoxe stared at the wall, his face tight as the nurse jabbed him with a needle full of healing serum to repair his broken bones. The same one I’d received after being injured by the vamps. Even his darken Polynesian skin paled from the needle. He must hot have liked them.

  “Knoxe?” I whispered.

  His bright orange hair drew me in like the glow of a lighthouse beacon on a foggy, stormy night, the only light in my darkness.

  “Yeah?” His golden brown eyes darkened with malice and vengeance. A gaze that told me he’d make Aryan pay for what he did to me. Words he kept whispering to me when Tor carried me from the mafia’s chambers.

  The promise behind his words filled me with warmth, and I clung to it to find my way out of the cold and dark caverns. The same warmth I’d felt when I touched him in the training room. A low-burning fire that reignited when I’d sat on his lap at the casino, then turned into an inferno when we’d fucked… a memory spoiled by the aftermath.

  “Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say to warm those hard eyes, melt that cold heart, wipe away the blame and torment he carried.

  “Anytime, lucky charm.” The serum took effect, his broken bones cracking as they reset, making him wince.

  Lucky charm. The name he’d called me in the casino. I wanted him to say it with the heat it contained back at the casino. For him, Tor, and I to huddle together, hold each other, soothe our tortured souls.

  “Lie back.” The nurse forced him to recline on the infirmary bed, and he did so stiff and restrained.

  She pointed the empty needle at Tor. “You need to go visit the psychologist.”

  “Ugh.” Tor leaned his head back and groaned. “I’m fine.”

  Prison policy. After a gantii attack, we had to have an immediate psychologist appointment to assess our mental health and prevent lasting trauma. The Guardians wanted us fit and healthy in mind and body.

  “You’re going,” Knoxe barked at him. “We all are.”

  The calming serum cast a fluffy blanket over my mind, and my muscles relaxed, the knots in my stomach unwound along with the anxiety, and my fingers released Tor’s violet suit shirt.

  His cobalt eyes were dark, too, lips clenched and jaw tense. I ran the back of my fingers along his chin, and he closed his eyes, leaning into me. Then I ran my hand through his spiked, blue hair, blond underneath it, judging by his sandy colored eyebrows and stubble.

  “You’re safe now.” He took my wrist and kissed the back of my knuckles.

  I’d always be safe in his arms, but never safe on missions. The reality of it hit with such force, I lost my breath for a moment, but the calming serum was stronger, and shook it off. I leaned my head against his neck, inhaling his cologne, vanilla and spice, his tangy hair gel. I just wanted to go back to his cell, fall into his arms, and sleep this off.

  Knoxe had coached us on what to say when questioned, but the details seemed a bit foggy, and I scratched to find them.

  I glanced at Knoxe again, how he studied Tor, studied me. Every part of me wanted to shield him from his dark thoughts the way he’d shielded me from harm at the hand of the fae. I knew then I couldn’t leave Knoxe and Tor to save me from the fae. I had to go with them and finish this, clear our debt and be rid of them for good.

  “I’ll go with you,” I whispered to him.

  His head snapped in my direction. “No. You’ll stay here.”

  I prepared to argue, to make my case, but it was hard to find the words. Every part of me felt so good, untouchable, invulnerable. I blinked, floating on my candy clouds, with the unicorn jumping through them.

  Someone burst into the room, the door slamming against the wall, and I blinked again.

  “Hi, warden.” I waved, and Tor made me put my hand down.

  “What the hell happened here?” The warden’s glare spelled no lies, no stories, but he was going to get some. “Broken bones and bruises from a visit to the seer?”

  I bent my head, just wanting to forget.

  Knoxe turned to him, remaining calm and cautious. “We were attacked by warthog shifters on our return from the seer.”

  “In formal wear?” The Vartros’ frown said don’t give me that bullshit.

  “We went to a party afterward…”

  “You what?” The warden pointed his finger at Tor. “This was your idea!”

  Tor always copped the blame for everything because he got into trouble with his frivolous and fun nature. But he’d been trying his hardest to do the right thing for a change and was getting much better.

  “No, it was mine.” Knoxe’s voice remained level. “It’s the anniversary of Jaz’s death. I just needed to drink and forget.” His voice fell flat and sterile. Convincing as all hell because the warden’s glare lightened.

  Vartros pinched the edges of his mouth and wiped them. “This can’t go unpunished, Knoxe. I can’t have my prisoners disobey orders, no matter their personal issues.”

  Knoxe lifted his chin, ready to take on more punishment. “I understand, sir. But don’t punish them. They did it under my orders. To cheer me up.”

  My chest ached harder, persuading me to speak up, but Tor dug his fingers into my arm, telling me otherwise. He nodded his support to the lie. My jaw clenched, and I couldn’t say a thing.

  “Have a report to me tomorrow morning when you’re healed.” The warden scratched the back of his neck. “Then we’ll discuss a suitable discipline.”

  No. No. No. This wasn’t fair for Knoxe to wear this responsibility alone. I whimpered at Tor’s grip. This
was the way it had to be. Any other way would raise suspicions from the warden. At the time Knoxe planned it, I wasn’t exactly in a suitable state to argue otherwise. But now that I’d calmed down, I was uncomfortable with the arrangement.

  Vartros collected the medical report and read it. Then he jabbed a finger at Tor. “You out. You’re not injured. Go and see the psychologist.”

  Tor groaned again. Conceding defeat, he kissed me soft, sweet and perfect and let me go. I closed my eyes when he brushed my hair. My hand clamped on his wrist and squeezed, wanting more, for him to stay, and sit beside us. But he wasn’t injured and I knew the warden wouldn’t let him stay. He glared at the warden as he departed.

  “I’ll check in on you all tomorrow.” The warden followed him out.

  The nurse nodded at Knoxe and I and left too.

  I climbed off the bed and padded across the cold stone floor as I approached Knoxe. “Knoxe. Please, you don’t have to do this alone. It’s my fault we’re in this position.”

  “It’s done.” His firm tone told me not to argue. None of it eased my guilt or distress.

  I mounted his bed on the side of his unbroken hand, bumping his legs.

  “What are you doing?” He shifted as if I’d shocked him with electricity. He did it whenever we got close.

  But right now, I didn’t want to be alone, and I could tell he needed comforting, too. “Move over, dummy. If we’re going to be miserable in here for the night, we might as well be miserable together.”

  The single bed was cramped with the two of us, but he made a slim space for me. I snuggled in beside him, lying on my side, leaning against him so I didn’t fall off. He stiffened, kept repositioning his arms as if he didn’t know what to do.

  “God, haven’t you been cuddled before?” I nudged him with the heel of my palm. “Nothing wrong with it.”

  “Not in a long time.” Hmm. Explained a lot. Told me that someone had hurt him. No wonder he carried around such anger and hostility. Although, he’d eased off on me somewhat as I perfected my technique and didn’t give him anything to grill me about.