Falling For Them: A New Adult Reverse Harem Collection

by C. L. Stone

  I pause before the steps and draw in a deep breath. No handrails, no security. Head up, I take the first step, proud my natural balance seems to help. My ankle only shakes a little.

  “Yeah, this year will be great!” a male voice shouts from behind me.

  Startled, I twist around and slip. My heart thunders in my chest as my feet leave the ground. Free falling, I fling my arms out, desperate for something to anchor me.

  “Whoa, there.” A warm arm encircles my waist, catches me against a warm chest. “Be careful. Those heels are dangerous.”

  I glance up into golden-brown eyes, surrounded by a thick fringe of lashes. Heavy, dark brown eyebrows slant upward as his mouth curves into a grin. My pulse pounds harder, now that I'm safe.

  “Thank you.” A blush stains my cheeks, and I curse the translucent skin that came with my red hair.

  “That's some heartbeat you have there.” He sets me on my feet but keeps a hand on my back as if worried I'll fall again. The heat of his palm sinks through my light sweater, burning its way into my flesh.

  “Thank you.” I shake myself and stammer, “For catching me. Falling hurts.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.” His gravely voice rumbles inside his chest.

  I frown, the sound pinging in my memory.

  “Nice catch, dude,” the same guy from earlier calls. A shaggy, black haired head pops over my rescuer's shoulder. Grass-green eyes rake over me, a smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, nice catch.”

  “Stop it, you'll creep her out.” Another guy appears, black hair combed away from his face. Through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, his serious green eyes glance over me. Tall and slender, the white button down school shirt hugs his body to accentuate the narrowness of his hips. “Forgive my brother, he has no manners.”

  As my eyes shift between the two brothers, the first one stands straighter, moving away from his brown-haired friend. He pushes the black hair back from his face and turns to him. “Trust me, she's not creeped out, bro.”

  “More like creeped on.” His brother glances at him, and they have the same straight-nosed profile, the same jawline.

  “Twins.” I look back at my rescuer.

  His smile broadens, hand tightening on my waist. “Nice to finally see your face, Sparks.”

  3

  Trapped Inside

  “If I may have your attention, now that you are all here.” The woman at the entrance frowns down at us, arms folded across her chest. I glance around. This can't be everyone beginning the new school year.

  “Where's everyone else?” Glasses twin calls. I can't tell if he's Vice or Rush, and I'm not sure we should use those nicknames here either way.

  “I am Mrs. Kauffman, Dean of Academia for Planetary Alliance. You will address me as either ma'am or Dean.” With a slender arm, she motions for us to join her at the top of the stairs. “As for your question, Mr. Williams, the rest of the students arrived last night and have already been through orientation.”

  I separate myself from Blaze to retrieve the carry-on bag I dropped in the slip on the stairs. At my back, I feel the heat of his hand as he stays close in case I fall again. I curse the shoes that Father insisted on. They made me weak in front of the others.

  With determination, I make it to the top without further assistance and stop before Dean Kauffman. Tall for a human, her tailored, grey suit and six-inch heels accentuate the severe thinness of her form. Her steel-grey hair, pulled back into a tight bun, sits heavy at the base of her neck. Icy eyes study each of us as we present ourselves before her.

  “Why do we have a later arrival time than the others?” The shaggy-haired twin jogs up last, having gone back to the servants to direct where their extra bags should be sent.

  Dean Kauffman arches a thin, sweeping eyebrow and stares at him. He rubs the back of his neck, slender brows furrowed as he stares back in confusion. His brother elbows him in the side. He swings around to glare at his twin, and the other man mouths ma'am.

  “Right, sorry.” He casts her a sheepish glance. “Why are we last to arrive, ma'am?”

  “Very good, Mr. Williams.” She rewards him with a thin smile. “Your fathers; Councilman Williams, Councilman Arrington, and Councilman Lonette; believed it best that your specific group be addressed separate from the rest of the class. It seems you have all been rather rebellious up until now.”

  We share glances among our group. The guys scowl to varying degrees; glasses twin glowers at his feet. Looks like I'm not the only one who got outed to their family after the last race. The destruction of my disc-bike, and subsequent house arrest, kept me out of the public loop. I can't help but wonder how their families reacted to the news of their children slumming in lower level races.

  “I am here to tell you,” the dean interrupts our silence with a sharp clap, “that what is in the past has no sway here. You will be graded on the merit with which you comport yourselves from here on out. Academia for Planetary Alliance, APA, has high expectations for our future leaders, and your lives over the next four years will be busy. There will be no time for childishness. All first year students are restricted from leaving the school. Exceptions are made for Saturdays when everyone participates in community service. This will be renegotiated at the end of the semester once you have proven your diligence to learning.”

  “So, we're prisoners here,” Blaze scoffs. He drapes an arm over my shoulders, and the warmth of his body spreads through me. “Guess it's not too bad, with you as company, Sparks.”

  I shrug him off. “I'm here to learn, not play.”

  “Exactly so, Miss Lonette.” Dean Kauffman steps forward. “The building before you houses the school's administration. Follow me.” She pivots on one spiked heel. I envy her grace as she marches forward. “Stay close. There will be no time for dawdling.”

  I pull the strap of my carry-on over my shoulder and hurry forward, leaving the guys behind to sort themselves out. Despite the boots, I catch up to Dean Kauffman.

  The entry opens into a wide foyer with dusky orange-red marble floors gleam beneath a high gloss finish. The room curves with the building, highlighting the peach walls lined with glass on either side. Wooden plaques and golden trophies fill the space, past accomplishments that encourage future classes to excel in equal measure.

  Dean Kauffman stops, arms spread to encompass the room. “As you can see, the school has a long history of excellence. Our founders, your ancestors, can be traced all the way back to our arrival on this planet.”

  “She makes it sound like we came here on purpose,” Blaze mutters into my ear, loud enough to carry.

  I jump, heel twisting. Immediately, the warmth of his fingers cups my elbow. I hiss, “Don't do that.”

  “What?” A brief squeeze, then his hand drops away. “Keep saving you?”

  I adjust the weight of my bag and ignore the lingering imprint of his touch.

  “Mr. Arrington makes an excellent point. The starship that brought us here was not purposeful. Our ancestors were pulled through the Vortex and crash landed here.” Dean Kauffman stops her monologue to glance over her shoulder through narrowed eyes. “But, from disaster came great leaders. Your forefathers will be honored until, Vortex willing, we are all saved. Now follow.”

  From behind me, one of the twins groans. “Ugh. She's a true believer.”

  The dean makes a sharp left down a side corridor. I hurry to keep up, peeking at one of the display shelves I pass. Old Earth relics mix with the trophies. I'm surprised not to find any Halios history represented here. Perhaps the halion race who crashed with our ancestors keeps their relics in their colonies, restricted from human access.

  The solid floor continues down the corridor, but the paint changes to a deep beige. Name plaques on dark wooden doors line the right side.

  “Here, you can find your teachers outside of class time. If you need assistance after class, they are available until the end of Half-Light during the week.”

  At a fast cli
p, we breeze past the closed doors with red security locks displayed above their palm scanners. The corridor takes a sharp right at the end. Rounding the corner, we enter a light brown hallway. On both sides, holo-frames protrude from the walls on metal brackets. Highlights of our founding fathers' prestigious lives shift across the flat surfaces.

  Captain Lonette, my family patriarch, gazes out across an untamed forest. A gas mask covers the lower half of his face as he pulls a Troehan clan child through the orange cloud of poison. The image changes to show the same man, years later, centered in the first cleared field; the groundbreaking for Leton's future city structure. Dean Kauffman stays silent through this area. No need to explain our family histories to us.

  Midway through, she pauses at an archway, and we gather at her back. “This school takes your mental health very seriously. If you are ever overcome by stress from the pressure of keeping up with your classes, please know there is help available. The school counselor comes from the highest level of the Riellio clan and is a leader in the pathways of the mind.”

  A shudder creeps down my spine. Father had taken me to a clan Riellio mind specialist after I refused to attend the school of his choice. Of the four Halios clans that share the planet with us humans, Riellio is the only one that makes me uneasy.

  I can still feel the cold metal disks at my temples, the wiggly pressure on my forehead as the beautiful man tried to tear my brain apart. My heart thunders in my chest as I peer through the archway. Dark brown walls, built close together, threaten to smother any who venture down that dimly lit hallway. At the end, light outlines a dark paneled door.

  “There's one place you'll never see me,” one of the twins whispers.

  I tear my eyes away from the hall to see the shaggy-haired twin lean into his brother. Both stare with rounded eyes at the door, making it impossible to tell which of them spoke.

  “Please keep up,” Dean Kauffman calls from farther down the main hall.

  We shuffle past the archway in a herd as if clumping together will keep us safe from the unknown counselor.

  “Who's who?” I whisper at the twins in an attempt to distract myself.

  “Huh?” The shaggy one stares down at me in confusion.

  “Which one of you is Vice?” I glance from him to the identical face behind him in glasses.

  “Aww, she asked about me first.” Grinning, messy twin punches his brother's arm.

  “So mean, Sparks.” Rush rubs his bicep. “Is this because I kicked your ass at the Fall-Cycle race?”

  Vice whips around. “Hey, don't steal wins. That was my race.”

  “Neither of you won,” Blaze interjects. “You both sucked.”

  “Never mind, I don't need introductions.” I breathe with relief when we make it to the next area before the conversation can go further.

  Foot tapping, Dean Kauffman waits at a gated door. As we near, I glimpse greenery and a stone path through the metal work.

  “What's with the bars?” Blaze strides to the doorway to run a hand along the curved rods. Their graceful swirls make an attempt at filigree, but the thick width of metal detracts from what should be delicate. Prison doors disguised as artwork.

  “The school is not open during Winter-Cycle.” Dean Kauffman grasps the metal handle and pushes the door open with ease. “During school closure, the administration building remains open but access to the rest of the school is prohibited. This door insures equal safety for the personal items you leave behind when you return to your families in the off season.”

  I hadn't realized there would be an off season. When Father said goodbye last night, it had come with a command that I return in four years ready to become his apprentice. Maybe he already had plans for his next four Winter-Cycles. Father did like to vacation at the Koverhn resort on the red desert. I'd been allowed to go once. The site of the giant, ten-legged sand beasts had terrified me so much Father was forced to send me home. Such embarrassment has never been permitted again.

  As we follow the dean out onto a wide veranda, I raise a hand to shade my eyes from the sudden reappearance of the two suns. The special glass of the dome keeps out the heat, but does little to dim the bright rays.

  I blink and wait for my eyes to adjust to the natural sunlight once more. The same orange-red tile extends to cover the patio. Four round tables sit next to the waist-high railing, with chairs positioned to face out toward the school campus. All empty today. A short staircase leads down to the path I saw through the bars.

  From behind comes the quiet clang of the gated doors swinging shut. Even though they're not locked right now, I feel trapped inside the dome. A prisoner for real.

  Dean Kauffman waves us to follow as she walks down to the path. Envious of her ease in the spiked heels, I hesitate at the first step.

  “Do you need some help?” A breath tickles my left ear. I flinch, head turning to see Rush's profile. With a smile, he turns his face toward mine, and our noses almost touch. This close, he smells like mint toothpaste. My cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  “We're happy to assist a damsel in distress,” his twin breathes into my left ear. I face forward, not wanting to see his brother so close, too.

  “Those heels are very distressing,” points out the first twin.

  “I'm distressed just looking at them.”

  “Aww, bro, you need me to help you?”

  “Will you carry me like a princess?”

  Laughter bubbles in my chest, and I clamp my lips against the sound. No need to encourage them. If I'm not careful, the three of them will become a distraction.

  “Looks like Vice needs you more than I do.” I take the first step down, away from their combined warmth. No wobbles. I can do this on my own. I'm not weak.

  I focus on the next step, clutch my bag closer, and stride down with confidence. Dean Kauffman waits impatiently at the bottom. I move to stand beside her in hopes that the close proximity will ward off the guys. They're too familiar with me. We may have raced the same circuits for the last year, but we're not friends. They need to stop treating me like we are.

  “Please hurry, Mr. Williams and Mr. Williams. I do not have time to wait for your shenanigans at every stop.”

  At the top of the stairs, Vice waves from behind his brother's back. Rush, glasses skewed and hair mussed, wraps his arms around his twin's knees as he plods down the steps. “This isn't how princesses are carried.”

  “It is when princesses ride disc-bikes.” Blaze smacks his friend on the shoulder as he takes the stairs two at a time.

  The dean frowns at the twins antics. “I can see you will need to pay extra attention in etiquette class.”

  “Please tell me that's not actually a class.” As Rush takes the last step, Vice hops to the ground, straightening his slacks.

  “It is one of many classes that will help to refine you into proper leaders.” Dean Kauffman snaps her fingers and spins on a sharp heel. Her shoes make sharp taps against the hard stones, bullet points to her words. “Now keep up. We have a timeline to maintain.”

  With a glance at the guys, I hurry to keep up. I have to take short, fast steps, not familiar enough with the heeled boots to try the same long strides as the Dean. Behind me, I hear their heavier steps as they follow.

  Swaths of grass surround the path on either side. It fills the air with the clean scent of new growth as it stretches all the way to the dome on either side, an empty expanse of lush green. Kept at a strict one-inch height, it must take all day to care for. But I don't see any gardeners as we head toward a large group of buildings.

  The path cuts through the center two buildings. As we pass between them, their shadows cover our group to lend brief respite from the glare of the dual suns. Dean Kauffman points to the one on her right. “This building is where you will attend classes. You will be expected to report there at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning.”

  One of the guys lets out a loud groan. “Eight in the morning is too early. I need my beauty sleep.”

>   Dean Kauffman ignores him to gesture to the red-bricked wall on our left. “The building on your left is the library and study hall. It is open at all hours. However, access to the archives is restricted to between noon and fifteen-hundred.”

  “What's in the archives, ma’am?” Blaze calls from the back.

  “Relics from both Earth and Halios. Original text printed on paper, handwritten scrolls. Access to them is a privilege of your station. But, don't think you'll be allowed to handle them without the proper precautions. After more than eight hundred years, some of them are too delicate to touch. Most have been made available digitally.”

  “Boring.” A twin pouts. “Our dad has a couple of those in his library, too.”

  So does Father, a two-inch thick black tome that he keeps locked inside an environmentally stable glass case. When I was little, he told me there were over a thousand pages inside. I still couldn't understand why that was a big deal. My palm port can hold millions and millions of pages.

  “Your sense for history is appalling, Mr. Williams.” We pass out of the buildings' shadow, into a rounded courtyard. At the center, a stunted tree grows. Its thick branches bow toward the ground, heavy with the weight of green leaves.

  The dean circles to the left, and we walk past the front of the library. Its red-bricked walls rise two stories into the air, uninterrupted by windows. Large black doors form the only visible entrance or exit.

  The next building has a smooth surface of grey stone, a few shades lighter than the pathway. Large windows dot the walls on either side of the doorway. A pointed gesture directs our attention to the single story building. “Here is the cafeteria where meals will be served from oh-six-hundred to oh-seven-thirty, and again from eighteen-hundred to nineteen-thirty.”

  Vice jogs to my side. “What about lunch?”