A Witch's Fate_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Cheri Winters

  Ben is dressed in an oxblood leather jacket and medium brown chaps, and wears a maroon stocking cap and matching scarf to keep his head and face warm. The pairing of earthy brown with deep and rich reddish shades gives him a certain elegance that is still fundamentally male. It makes the Hells Angel tough guy look almost seem like a parody of itself. I take a moment to imagine what that leather would smell like up close.

  Carl appearing in my peripheral vision breaks me out of my budding little fantasy.

  “This punk got busted yesterday,” Carl says, pointing at Steve as he walks up to us, “and now I have cover for him tonight instead of raiding.” Carl and Steve both worked at the local mom and pop hardware store.

  “Sorry, Dawg. I told you, I really overslept,” Steve says.

  “Up too late the night before chatting with this one, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You owe me,” Carl says, just as the first bell rings.

  At lunch, I finally get caught with my eyes on Ben. My mind is wandering, and apparently there’s no doubt where it’s gone. “Ivy! No,” Kate says.

  “What?” Nathan asks.

  “She’s seriously checking out Ben.”

  “I am not!” I say.

  “I think Kate’s right,” Nathan says. “It’s all over your face.”

  “Look,” I say, exasperated. “He’s got a nice body. Just the right amount of muscle, and he moves well.”

  Kate shakes her head in disgust.

  “Don’t even!” I tell her. “He’s not that different than Steve.”

  “Yes, but inside Steve’s hot body is a great guy. Not some dude like Ben.”

  “He’s not a good guy, Ivy,” Nathan says.

  “How do you know?” I ask. “Nobody here has given him any sort of chance or ever tried to know him. Have either of you actually tried to talk to him?”

  “Yes,” they both say.

  “When he first showed up,” Kate says. “I thought he might be interesting, but talking to him, it’s not easy. His head is always off somewhere, and he just thinks about things in weird ways.”

  “He was really curious about me, but never opened up about himself. Whenever I asked about him, it was weird, like five minutes later, we’re on a completely different subject, and I realize he never actually answered me. I know his name and that’s the only thing he’s told me about himself in three months,” Nathan adds.

  “But now we know he’s a maniac driver, complete loner, he has no idea about any modern culture. I don’t think he listens to any music or reads any books that are less than a hundred years old. He’s so separated from everything.”

  “So, he’s interested in different things than you are?” I ask them. “That isn’t a crime.”

  “I don’t want him arrested,” Kate says. “I just don’t want him around me.”

  “Or you, for that matter,” Nathan says. “He’s got eyes for you, too, and I don’t trust him.”

  “Maybe give him another chance,” I say.

  “Maybe find a boyfriend that’s human,” Kate says.

  “That’s completely not fair!” I say. I’ve had enough, and I walk away from the two of them and my lunch.

  Unfortunately, things are no better at home. The entire time during dinner, I know Grandma’s got something on her mind. Just before we finish up, she finally spits it out.

  “I’ve done a little checking up on that Ben guy.”

  I put my fork down and frown at Grandma.

  “Did Carl put you up to this?”

  “Ben’s parents seem to own their house fair and square, and their last address checks out, and the one before that. But they don’t seem to work, and they don’t seem to come from money, so I’m wondering how they bought it.”

  “You did your own little background check on his family?” For the second time today, I get up to walk away from a good meal ruined by a bad conversation.

  “Sit!” Grandma says.

  I do. I don’t want to, but I do. Grandma’s got that kind of command to her. Doesn’t even need magic to do it.

  “Carl’s got good judgement, he’s a good measure of character. He may be rash and impatient and sometimes too much of a dumb boy, but he can sniff out a bad person pretty well, and he says this Ben stinks.”

  I almost blurt out that Carl just smells somebody that’s got an actual chance of getting in my pants, but I manage to bite my tongue. Instead, I say, “Carl’s just jealous.”

  “Carl’s a good man,” Grandma says.

  “You just told me he’s a dumb boy.”

  “Sometimes. Most of the time, he’s one of the most solid and dependable people I know. And you know it, too, Ivy.”

  I sigh hard. The unfortunate part of all of this is that Grandma’s right on that count. Carl has never failed me when I’ve needed him. There have been times when Carl’s gotten me out of trouble I didn’t even know I was in yet.

  The truth is, I have always loved Carl deeply. But not in any romantic way. We’re so close, we could be blood, and I’ve never seen him as anything else.

  “That’s fine, Grandma. But that doesn’t mean I have to be his girlfriend. He will always be my best friend, but never my boyfriend.”

  Grandma shrugs her shoulders. “He still cares a lot about you, Ivy. And when he says somebody is not right for you, you should trust him. He’s probably right.”

  I stand up again. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m willing to trust Carl on a lot of things. But not this. Because if he keeps me away from Ben, he’s going to try to keep me away from the next guy, and the next guy after that. He’ll just keep going until he’s the only guy left in the world, and you’re going to help him.”

  “That’s not what this is about. It’s not just Ben’s family I’ve checked up on—”

  “Check up on this,” I yell. “I’m eighteen, I’m my own woman now, I’ve lived my entire life to your satisfaction right up until now. Straight As in school, all the right extracurriculars to get scholarships to the right college, a good job, never had any trouble with anybody, and I’ve been studying under you so diligently even you tell me you’ve never had a student work so hard. So you and Carl both need to trust me to live my own life for myself from here on out, and stop interfering in it.” I push my chair up to the table with a bang and stomp up the stairs to my room.

  I unlock my phone and open my email.

  I type bwake@students.smshs.edu into the address line.

  I read over the email I wrote him yesterday, telling him how much I wanted to know more about him, how I knew there was more to him than anybody else was willing to give him credit for. That same email that I kept failing to send last night while Kate and Nathan were over. At the end, I add, “I want to see you tonight. Call me.”

  Not five minutes pass when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but I answer it right away.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. Ivy?”

  “Ben!” I say, suddenly happy and now ten times more nervous than I was when I had hit the Send button.

  “It turns out I am free tonight. What would you like to do?”

  “Anything that gets me out of this house,” I say.

  There’s a little pause from the other end. “Do you trust me and my cycle enough yet to go for a ride together?”

  Now it’s my turn to hesitate and think. Most of me wants absolutely nothing to do with that thing yet, remembering how he’d ridden my tail before swerving around me and forcing me to get out of his way to protect him from his own stupidity. A part of me, though, remembers the times I’ve seen him riding since, much more responsible, putting what looks like a good degree of skill to proper use.

  That second part wins out, and I finally say, “I do.”

  “Good.” I can hear his smile over the line.

  I tell him my address, and warn him about how one of his turns is on a blind corner and really easy to miss.

  “Got it,” he says. “Shall I drive right up to
the house, or will you meet me a little ways away?”

  I immediately say, “At the house,” then find myself impressed that he’d picked up on my frustration right now, and correctly guessed that I might prefer to keep our meeting under wraps. But I’m an adult now, eighteen. Grandma can be mad at me all she wants for going out with Ben, but there’s nothing she can do to stop me.

  “It’s still cool out. I’ve got some spare gear that will fit you, but if you’ve got some long underwear and a tight fleece jacket or pullover, that will help,” Ben says. “My app here tells me I can be to your place in about a half hour.”

  I bundle up with a couple extra, close-fitting layers and then fret until I hear a motorcycle come up the driveway. I walk down to the foot of the stairs, and wait for him to ring the bell.

  “That’s Ben,” I call out to living room.

  Grandma and I meet in the hallway. I shoot her a look to let her know I need her to be civil, and open the door. Ben is standing there in the dim light of late evening, a respectful step back from the threshold.

  “Good evening, ma’am. I am Ben Wake. Is it Miss Sparks, or are you from Ivy’s mother’s family?”

  “Mrs. Sparks will suffice for now,” Grandma says, offering her hand, but not approaching the doorway.

  Ben makes just the smallest hesitation before he looks at me and asks, “Would you like me to come in for a minute, or shall we head out?”

  I scowl at Grandma. Just standing there three steps inside the house instead of coming up to greet Ben properly. “Let’s go,” I say.

  “Have a good evening, ma’am,” Ben says to Grandma, offering me his arm.

  I take it and turn away from Grandma. I see there is a helmet on the motorcycle, sitting on the side mirror, and roll of leather attached to the saddle by an elastic net.

  My heart leaps inside my chest, but I’m not sure whether it’s more anxious about getting on a motorcycle for the first time in my life, or excited that I’m about to put my arms around Ben.

  Chapter Six

  Ben Wake

  Ivy’s grandmother’s behavior puzzles me. Why did she stand well out of my reach inside the house, offering her hand, but not inviting me in? There’s no way she could know I’m a vampire. One thing all of the clans have always agreed on is that we keep our existence secret to only the most select few. Even many of the claimed never know that their lover is immortal. My clan, the Negre, keep very meticulous records on which of the warm know about us, whether they learned from us or from another clan. I checked the records in the clan archives before moving to Stokers Mill, and saw that there were no known warm in the area aware of us. Once my eyes settled on Ivy, and I learned her surname was Sparks, I certainly would have recalled anybody else with that name I had come across in the archives.

  The fact that a thrope is practically part of the family is even more disconcerting. Have they abandoned their own ancient tradition of secrecy as well? Has Carl told Ivy’s grandmother not only about the thropes but about the vampires as well? How else would the old woman know about my inability to enter a dwelling unless invited?

  Of course, I could just be paranoid, and it could have just been her way trying to intimidate me in front of Ivy – put me in a place where I could either brush past her, uninvited to shake her hand, or just walk away in defeat. In my time, I’ve met no shortage of overprotective women who’ve made any number of silly attempts to scare me off.

  All of that is distraction, though. Whatever she knows, if she knows it today, she’ll still know it tomorrow. Tonight, though, right now, Ivy’s hand is in the crook of my arm, and she’s looking at me, expectantly. We’re at the motorcycle, and I’m just standing there.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I ask her, smiling.

  “Yes,” she says.

  I unclip the bungee net holding my spare gear to the saddle and offer it to her. “I’m sorry that I don’t have an extra pair of leather pants in your size.” I unroll the gear and offering her the overpants. “The textile is much more adjustable for different sizes. Just unzip those two long zippers along either leg, and step in.”

  I can’t help but watch as Ivy dons the pants, wiggling and bouncing a bit this way and that to get them on and close the long zippers up either outseam. In a way, it’s like a strip tease in reverse, where putting clothes on is where the thrill is at. Next comes the leather jacket, which requires no explanation, and also a lot less movement of her body. Once she’s got it zipped up, though, I must admit that she wears it well. Even with the extra layers for warmth, underneath a man’s heavy jacket, she still manages to look deliciously feminine.

  “Ok. Helmet next.” I show her how to get it on and fasten the chin strap properly. “Now, lean your head back,” I say, both so I can make sure she’s got it on and adjusted correctly, but also because it gives me one more look at her lovely, pale neck. I see just the slightest hint of her pulse running through the vein beneath the skin.

  It reminds me that I took a couple rabbits over the past few days, but it’s been a long time since I’ve fed to the point I was truly satisfied. I need that distraction now even less than I needed my pondering of her grandmother’s actions, and turn away from her delicately exposed throat to grab a pair of gloves for her.

  Once she’s got them on, I show her how to lift and close the visor on the helmet.

  “You’ll want it down as soon as we start moving. Keep the bugs out of your face and eyes, and cut the wind noise. That noise can actually fatigue you surprisingly fast,” I tell her while I zip my jacket back up and put on my own helmet and gloves.

  “I’m surprised that you even own one of those,” Ivy tells me, tapping the top of the helmet.

  “The last place I lived had a helmet law.”

  “You should wear it anyways. I never like seeing people ride without one,” she tells me.

  “Maybe someday, you’ll be privileged to talk me into it,” I say.

  Through her visor, I see her smile shyly at that remark.

  “Ok. I’m going to get on the bike, start it, and then raise the kickstand. Wait until I tell you, then climb on behind me. The easiest way will be for you to put your hands on my shoulders, plant your foot on the left peg there, and throw your right over the saddle. Got it?”

  “Got it,” she says.

  “And the most important thing to remember is to never fight me and the bike in curves or turns. We need to all lean together. The easiest way to keep you in sync with me is for you to just look over my inside shoulder. Meaning as soon as you feel me start leaning right, I want you to look over my right shoulder. Same when you feel me start to lean left. You do that one thing for me, and we’ll have a safe ride.”

  She hesitates for a second, then nods. I ask if she’s sure she’s ready for this, and she nods again, a little more confidently this time. I’m glad to see that little bit of uncertainty in her, but not any overt fear. The first time somebody rides the back of a bike, it’s good for them to have that little twinge to make sure they respect the machine and the road.

  I settle onto the bike and get her started and then steady and balanced for Ivy. “Ready to feel more alive than you have all week?” I ask.

  “I already do,” she says.

  “Get on.”

  Instead of taking her up the sharp switchbacks that lead up out of the valley, I drive along the river road. It’s a nice, clean highway, good shoulders and a lot of long, sweeping curves where I can lean the bike over just a little bit, but for a few long seconds. It’s a beginner’s road, just wiggly enough that you that you feel a proper ride in your core, but not so challenging as to leave a new rider or passenger constantly anxious from one technically challenging stretch to the next.

  Ivy does great behind me, always looking over the correct shoulder and leaning in and out of the curves with me. We’re both wearing way too many layers, two of them leather, for me to really feel the contours of her torso pressed tight against my back, but I am constantl
y aware of her thighs straddling my hips. A couple of times, I drop a gear and rev the engine, setting a wave of vibrations coursing from the engine, up through the frame, where they’re barely dampened by the padded saddle before tingling into flesh. Every time I do so, I feel her squeeze me tighter.

  Ten miles up the road, she is mostly relaxed against me, and takes the curves even easier. We are in a near-perfect moment, her holding onto me, her body following mine so closely it’s almost as if she’s anticipating my every move. We’re in nearly perfect synchronicity. If there were not so much warm and protective clothing between us, I’m sure our hearts would start to beat together.

  But as glorious as this moment is, I also picked this particular road for its potential for something even closer to a moment of perfection. Just around the next curve there’s pull off that overlooks a particularly picturesque stretch of the river. I slow the bike way down to make sure I don’t skid out as I turn onto the gravel pad, and roll up to a parking spot. Once I get the bike braced and shut off, I tap Ivy’s thigh to signal her to dismount.

  I watch her as she takes off her helmet and slowly shakes her head side to side to try loosen up her cascade of long, dark hair from the grip of helmet head. I realize this is the first time I’m seeing her face in darkness, instead of under the painful glare of sunlight, or the much more tolerable but still sterile artificial light. I’m seeing her, finally, in my most natural conditions, and I find myself briefly transfixed. This is a woman who was designed from the soul outwards to be seen under the pale and soft light crescent moon and a million stars.

  Just before she notices me staring at her, I snap out of it and ask, “How was it?”

  “Once I relaxed, a lot of fun. Thank you.”

  “Good,” I say. “So we don’t need to call somebody to drive you home from here in a car?”

  Ivy laughs. “Not unless you’re planning on going back into idiot mode for the trip back.”

  “No,” I tell her. “Never again, whether you’re there to see me or not.”

  The evening is mild enough that we’re comfortable enough after we take off our riding gear. I walk over to a bench overlooking the river and sit down. Ivy sits down close to me. That distance where we’re clearly separated, but all it will take is just a little lean for us to touch. I wouldn’t measure it in inches, but in potential. It is her telling me that the night is mine to lose.