Blood and Sorcery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 2)

by Candace Wondrak

  “One of you better get inside me,” she murmured, rolling off Vale’s lap. She laid with her back on the ground, pulling up her robe enough so her aching sex was visible to both men. Her eyes locked with Vale, and it was all she had to do.

  Vale pulled down his pants, on top of her in the next moment. As he pushed inside of her, she moaned, closing her eyes. He filled her completely, her body utterly at ease to accept him inside. Tamlen watched, his chin still wet with her juices. He ran his hand down, over his pants, rubbing himself at the sight.

  If Bastian returned at this very moment, saw them in their mini-orgy, surely he would faint. He was such a moral man; a mere kiss sent him running. Well, Lena was not his little girl anymore. She was a woman. A hungry, sexual woman who couldn’t get enough.

  What came next was sweet release.

  The orange sky above Bastian and the white-haired man who had to be Zyssept did not change, even though he could’ve sworn hours had gone by. The man asked of him every little thing he thought of. What Celena’s favorite animal was, what her life was like in the College, what her favorite food was. Bastian did his best to answer each question, though there were a few he was unsure of.

  After all, he hadn’t been with her for years, and even when he was alive, he was gone more often than not. If Zyssept wanted a rundown on her, perhaps he should’ve taken her friend, Ingrid. Ingrid knew everything about her, though Bastian did wonder if her friend knew of Celena’s habits of necromancy.

  “I’ve watched her when I could,” the white-haired man spoke, drawing out his words. He held his head high, his nose slightly upturned, as if he were born to the King and Queen, as if he were a royal. He held himself as a royal would. “But even I could not be with her constantly.” The seriousness of his demeanor cracked a bit as he smiled. “She did not even know of my existence until recently. She’d forgotten the blood promise she made with me when she was young. I do not blame her for it. What came next was…trying, for her.”

  Trying. As if unleashing blackfire and killing her own parents was simply trying. As much as Zyssept tried to seem human, he was not human at all. That wasn’t something a man would say.

  Bastian shifted in his chair, having lost feeling on his backside. “Why her?”

  What little smile graced his face faded instantly. “I helped her.”

  “You gave a child power she couldn’t control, couldn’t understand. How did it help her?” Bastian felt the anger rising inside him. If he had gotten there sooner, perhaps he could’ve calmed her down, saved her parents’ lives, but if this bleeding god hadn’t given her the power to begin with, maybe none of it would’ve happened. “Was she even a mage before?”

  “She does have magic in her blood. It was how I found and connected with her.” Zyssept’s silver stare flashed a brighter, more metallic hue. “And you, chevalier, know not what she went through before. I gave her everything. I wouldn’t expect you to comprehend the magnitude of that.”

  “What she went through?”

  “Locked and forgotten in the sands of time, I fear. Unimportant now.”

  Bastian glared at him. He would decide what was important and unimportant, not Zyssept. What would a god know of importance? “And if Celena does not wish to become your bride?”

  The man cocked his head. “You assume she would tell me no. You assume wrong. She is mine; she has been ever since the day she offered me her blood. She will offer me her blood once more, and when she does, she will become my wife.” His eyes flicked to the side, staring hard at the vast array of emptiness around them. “My love. My life.” He seemed to be staring at something, though when Bastian looked, he saw nothing at all. Zyssept smiled—unlike the previous smirks, this smile was large, revealing his white teeth.

  Teeth that were far too perfect and pearly to be real. Plus, it was almost ridiculously awkward on his noble face.

  “She is…currently enjoying herself.” Zyssept’s smile remained as he turned his stare to Bastian. “We are connected, chevalier, on a deeper level than you can imagine. She cannot refuse me. To do so would be to refuse herself.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His fingernails were clean and well-kept, just as his clothes and demeanor would suggest.

  Currently enjoying herself? Bastian felt his face twist in annoyance. He grew tired of these games, of Zyssept’s strange ways of speaking.

  Zyssept’s peculiar gaze studied him. “You care for her, but you are afraid to do so. Tell me, Bastian LeFuer, are you fearful because you are unaccustomed to seeing her as a woman, or is it because you worry your mind is not whole?”

  Bastian kept his mouth firmly shut. If this bastard knew all that, he already knew the answer to it.

  “Or both, perhaps?” Zyssept paused, stretching out his fingers, watching them straighten and extend as if doing so took energy. “You saw nothing but red when you crawled out of your grave. Every time you blink, you still feel as though you are underground, breathing in dirt. When you are surrounded by silence, your ears still hear the shovels, burying you handful by handful.”

  As Zyssept spoke, Bastian could not help but remember the sounds, recall the feeling of dirt on his skin. He wanted to get up and leave, to never speak or think of it again, but he knew he could not. He was at the mercy of this old god, even if he didn’t seem too awful.

  “You are strong, chevalier. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. Do not linger on what has passed. What is done has already been written in stone. There is only one thing you can change—the future. Will you stand with her, or will you fall because you cannot bear to look upon her and know she is no longer your precious little one?”

  Bastian gazed down at his lap. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Either way, whether you are with her in the end or you are not, she will be with me,” Zyssept said, leaning forward. Not a single white hair was out of place. He was too perfectly put together. No man’s skin was so smooth, no man’s voice was so incredibly soothing. Plus, those damned eyes. Too eerie. “Remember, chevalier, you and the others are only with her because I allow it, because I wish for my blackblood every happiness she desires. Should you ever harm her, should you hurt her physically or emotionally, I will have the void swallow you whole.”

  Zyssept stood, standing immensely tall. Taller than Bastian, definitely. Perhaps the tallest man he’d ever seen. “Oh,” he added, “and needless to say, you are not to speak of this with anyone. Not until I make my way to her.”

  Struggling to stand after sitting for so long, Bastian managed to meet his bizarre stare and ask, “And how long will that be?”

  “When she is ready for me, I will come to her.” Zyssept lifted a single hand, snapping his fingers. Bastian was seconds from asking what the hell that was going to do when he stumbled forward, falling to his knees.

  Below him, leaves crinkled and twigs snapped.

  He was in the forest once again, alone and finally free of Zyssept and that blasted marble table. Bastian straightened out, nearly stumbling as he took his first step. His legs felt like iron, rusted. As if they hadn’t been used in a long while. And, he glanced upward, realizing the sky was clear and blue above the forest’s canopy, he hadn’t. When he left the farmhouse, dusk had started to settle. It was a clear sky now.

  How much time had passed? How much time had he missed while he was stuck in that strange place with Zyssept?

  The other side of the Veil.

  Bastian was both startled and confused. Had he truly been in the demon’s realm? Sure, it didn’t look like any place he’d ever seen—and everything was a bit fuzzy around the edges, as if it wasn’t truly in existence—but the Veil? No non-magical human could cross the Veil. It simply wasn’t done. It was impossible.

  He glanced around, having utterly and totally turned himself around. He couldn’t remember which way he had to go, couldn’t recall which direction he’d come from. How was he supposed to find his way back to Celena?

  And he had to. He had to fi
nd his way back to her. He’d hurt her for running away; he’d never run from her again, and his decision wasn’t solely based on the little chat he had with Zyssept. Bastian was never running from her—not really. He wouldn’t leave her. He’d just…he had needed some time alone after the kiss. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to focus on one thing and one thing only.

  His bond, his link to Celena.

  He would find his way back to her, fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness. And then, Bastian swore to himself, he would never leave her side again.

  Chapter Four

  Lena had her hair twisted and pinned to the top of her head. She laid in the tub, soaking in the water Tamlen had heated up for her. Both Tamlen and Vale had tried to come in with her, for there was enough room for another person in the ceramic tub, but she’d declined them, wanting some, in Bastian’s words, time alone.

  Bastian had been gone for nearly twenty-four hours. Would he return? Lena had willed him not to go far; she thought it was all she had to do to command him. She’d risen him from the dead, after all, hadn’t she? That meant he was her thrall, just as Vale and Tamlen were.

  Oh, Gods. Listen to her. Going on and on about him as if she controlled him, controlled them all. In a way, she did control them, but not in their daily lives, or in what they thought and felt in their hearts. She was…she wasn’t that kind of mage. She didn’t fancy herself a necromancer, even if they were all dead. She was only Lena.

  The way Bastian had looked at her after…it still hurt. She couldn’t say whether she’d ever get over it, ever forget the expression on his face after that kiss. The guilt, the shame. It was too much; it was exactly what she didn’t want him to feel. She shouldn’t have thought it would be so easy, that she’d be able to spout a few necromancer spells and Bastian would pop up, ready and willing to be with her.

  Honestly, Lena hadn’t even known she wanted Bastian to be with her in that manner until yesterday. Yes, perhaps she should have realized it when her dreams revolved around a shadier, creepier Lena having sex him, but still. She was just optimistic like that.

  What would she do if he never returned? She couldn’t stay in this farmhouse forever. The matters in Rivaini had to be dealt with, and then there was Ingrid—she couldn’t never see her friend again. She’d miss the woman too much. Plus, Lena was the only one who kept her friend grounded, otherwise she’d go off on her own adventures regardless of what the consequences would be.

  She sighed, sinking lower into the water. This waiting game was killing her, that she knew. And then, strangely, she heard her name outside. And not just her name, but her name the way only one man said it.

  “Celena.”

  Lena practically hopped out of the tub, clinging to the window on the wall nearest her, hugging her wet self against the wood. Bastian stood in the field about fifteen feet away, scanning the house, stopping only when he saw her. He was quick to dash to the other side of the opening, an expression of sorrow on his handsome, tanned face. His looks were so different than Vale and Tamlen’s; he was a foreigner through and through, but her heart leapt for him all the same.

  “Celena,” he spoke her name again, earnest. “I—”

  “Wait,” she said. “I’m naked.” When his eyes widened and his already darkened skin flushed deeper, she added, “I’m in the bath. I’ll be out in a minute, okay?” Lena didn’t wait to watch him nod or give her any sort of response. She ducked back in the house, stepping out of the tub. She threw on her robe, nothing else. No boots, no underwear. Nothing. She didn’t even let her hair down. She kept it up.

  She probably looked horrible, but maybe it was best.

  Lena ran through the farmhouse, ignoring Vale and Tamlen in the kitchen as she exited through the back door. Her bare feet took only two steps out of the farmhouse before she took off in a run, flinging herself at him. Tossing her arms over his shoulders, she buried her face in his chest. In spite of the farmer’s clothes, he smelled like Bastian. He was Bastian.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. “I’m sorry I did that, I’m sorry I let you go. I should’ve stopped you, told you it was okay—that it didn’t matter. Things don’t have to be weird between us. I just…I just want you back, Bastian. I want you here, with me.”

  Bastian’s arms made their way around her back, hugging her tighter. “It is I who should be apologizing so profusely to you, Celena.”

  She shook her head furiously. “No. It was my fault. We can forget it happened.” Lena didn’t really want to forget the kiss, how hungrily Bastian had pressed his mouth on hers, but she would if it meant she’d get to keep him around. She’d rather do anything instead of lose him again.

  His chest rose and fell with a sigh. “But what if I cannot do that?”

  Lena turned her head to gaze up at him. The expression on his face was…confused and strangely serious. “I don’t understand,” she said, wordlessly begging him for more of an explanation. “Do you want to leave? Do you want me to…send you back?” Gods, those words were like daggers on her tongue. They hurt to speak.

  “No,” Bastian was quick to say. “No, I would not leave you. Not again, if you’ll have me.”

  She could not stop the smile of relief that formed on her face.

  “What I meant was, what if I cannot forget what happened?” Bastian brought a hesitant hand to her face, swiping the tips of his fingers across her cheekbone. There had never been a more delicate touch. The simple, small gesture made her knees weak.

  “I thought,” she started, unaware of why she wanted to push the subject, “I thought you’d want to. That it was a mistake. That it would…never happen again.” The way he’d stumbled back from her, leapt out of the window and kept repeating forgive me over and over, it wasn’t difficult to imagine he’d thought of it as a mistake.

  “I am a fool. A fool who looks at you and still wonders if you’re my little one.”

  “I am yours, but I’m not little any longer.”

  Dimples appeared on his face as he whispered, “Clearly, you are not. You are grown and beautiful. I ran from you because I…it is hard for me to recognize you. Harder for me to admit to myself the feelings you stir within me.” Bastian’s melodic, rolling accent gave her chills as he spoke.

  Lena pressed herself against him, practically molding her body against his, hands falling to his shoulders. “And what feelings are those?”

  “Feelings I was ashamed of. Feelings that, perhaps, you can handle.”

  She gave him a smile. “Pretty sure I can.”

  Bastian nodded. “Good, because I will not run away again. I will stay by your side through thick and thin—until you tire of me, that is.”

  Chuckling, she whispered, “I will never tire of you, Bastian. Never.”

  His hazel stare had fallen to her mouth, dangerous territory, given what had happened yesterday. “Would you,” he paused, “or the onlookers object to me trying again?”

  Onlookers? Lena was about to ask, but she soon spotted them. Vale and Tamlen, leaning on the outside of the farmhouse. Both of them watched Lena and Bastian heavily, though Tamlen’s expression was more like a scowl while Vale’s was simple curiosity. They’d probably followed her out of the house; in all odds, they’d seen and heard it all.

  “Or perhaps,” Bastian said, “I should’ve first—”

  Bastian was a lovely man, but quite the talker. Lena had enough of his blabbering, even if it was kind of sweet, and she stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his. If he didn’t want her, he’d push her away. But, from what he said, it sounded as if he did want her, and he was simply conflicted over it.

  Hopefully this would help clear things up.

  Her eyelids closed, and she put her all behind the kiss. Her hands wrapped around his neck, one of them tangling in his black, curly hair. She parted her lips slightly, breathing through her nose as a sigh came up from her throat.

  Well, he wasn’t pushing her away, but he wasn’t doing much in respon
se, either.

  Tamlen chuckled loud enough for her to hear, saying, “If that’s all the man’s got, he’s truly not much in the way of competition. I was worried for nothing, it seems—”

  Bastian must’ve heard him too, for he suddenly took charge, tilting his head, nipping at her bottom lip as his hunger consumed her. Passion exploded from him as his tongue slipped into her mouth. His large hands held the small of her back, pressing her to him in just the right way, putting the pressure exactly where she could feel him growing hard. All from a kiss.

  This kiss was worlds better than the one they shared yesterday. This kiss put that one to shame easily.

  It was a short while before he pulled back enough to whisper, “What have you done to me, Celena?”

  She thought about correcting him, thought about telling him to call her Lena instead, but she loved the way her name rolled off his tongue, how it sounded with his Sumer accent. So she kept quiet, only smiling in return.

  The happiness she felt in that moment was enough to make her temporarily forget about everything else.

  Lena had gone to finish her bath, and Tamlen had immediately blocked the door of the farmhouse, arms crossed, as he glowered at Bastian. He was not thrilled at his addition, not happy she had a deep connection with him so soon. He knew enough to know he could not change it, but nor could he overlook it. He was, in a word, jealous.

  Would his jealousy fade over time, or would it fester and grow until he knew no other emotion? Seemed a ridiculous thing to think, but Tamlen could not help it. And by the look on Vale’s face, Tamlen knew he didn’t feel a similar envy toward Bastian. That also annoyed him.

  Bastian had moved before him, glancing past him, clearly wanting to go inside, probably to follow Lena to the washroom and join her. “Pardon me,” he spoke, his accent an irritating reminder he was nothing like Tamlen. “I must speak with Celena about something private.”