Goldy: A Reverse Harem Fairytale Romance Series (The Happily Never After Series Book 2)

by Plum Pascal

  And then my saviors arrive.

  Leith and Nash used the distraction afforded them to shift into their bear forms and to yank their chains free from the wall. The manacles are enchanted, built to keep their beasts in check. But they manage to pull stone from mortar from sheer will.

  Nash rears onto his hind legs and swats the line of guards to my right like they’re mere tin soldiers. I summon another barrage of power and loose it at the fleeing Discordia. She’s almost at the door to the great hall.

  “You’re not getting away that easily!” I snarl. Then I turn to face my gray bear. “Leith, with me!”

  Leith, who’s been thrashing a guard within an inch of his life, swivels his great head toward me. I jab a finger at the door and repeat myself.

  “Come with me! Let’s end this!”

  Leith’s head dips in agreement and he drops to all fours, lumbering toward me with surprising speed for an animal so large. It continues to shock me how fast the enormous furry monsters can be. It doesn’t seem right that an animal should be gifted such immense physical strength and also be able to barrel forward like a Sweetland freight car as well.

  I grab fistfuls of his hair and climb astride, apologizing for hurting him. But the pain will fade and we have no time to be graceful. If Discordia leaves Grimm, the only hope we have to restore Sorren is gone. Truly gone, with no hope of return.

  I snatch a polearm from one of the soldiers as we pass. If I see a damn Shepherd coming for Sorren, I’ll lop their heads off.

  Discordia is halfway down the adjoining corridor when we thunder after her. She checks behind her and then lets out a very pig-like squeal when she spots us. Unless she can sprout wings and fly, she has absolutely no chance of outdistancing us.

  She seems to realize that too, because she spins on her heel, the slippery black dress with its wide sleeves flaring out like the membranous wings of a bat. She draws something out of the folds of her skirts. It looks like an apple, twice the size of the largest I’ve ever seen with golden skin that’s kissed with a blush of pink at the very top, near the stem.

  She hurls the apple at us and it bounces several times before flying apart into pieces, the pulpy insides splattering the walls in enormous chunks. Chunks which then begin to grow, expanding like a sponge absorbing water.

  Morningstar’s sweaty rancorous balls!

  What the fresh fuck is this?

  Leith only dips a foreclaw into it, and then rears back, roaring in pain. The stuff clings to his fur and begins eating away at it like corrosive lye. It’s already eating holes in the floor. If we dally, the holes will become cavernous sinkholes that will eat the rest of the corridor. Possibly the whole fortress, if given enough time. No wonder the Guild never found anything at Morningstar’s camps when they raided them. By the time his army cleared out, this bitch’s magic had eaten everything in sight.

  “I’m sorry, Leith, but this is going to hurt. Rear up on my count,” I tell him, inching up his neck. “Three... two... one!”

  On ‘one’ I get a grip on his fur and swing myself sideways, gathering as much momentum as I can and launch myself over the valley of bubbling stone. At the same time I bring the polearm down with a vicious battle cry. Discordia is half turned to flee, but doesn’t have time to begin running again.

  I hit her hard and drive us both to the ground, with me on top of her, knocking her face into the stone. I hear her nose snap sideways with a satisfying crunch, hear her teeth rattle as the impact slams them together. The sharp, tapering point of the polearm drives through her calf and stabs into the stone beneath.

  She lets out a breathless shriek of agony, which I ignore. My hand weaves itself into all that thin, fine hair and I drive my stubby nails as deeply into her skin as I can manage before drawing on her power.

  There’s so much of it. It’s like a vast inky lake reflecting a starless sky. I can’t see where it begins or ends. It’s just darkness, black night without the possibility of daybreak. Though I can’t see it, I know corruption swims in those black waters. I don’t want to venture in; I don’t want to know what lies beneath the murk. But I have to. For Leith, whose body will be consumed if I don’t. For Nash, who’s fighting to defend me in the throne room. For Sorren, who lies prone but not quite dead on the stone.

  I wade chin deep and begin to drink the power down, taking small sips at first. It tastes foul, like every rotting, putrid thing I’ve ever smelled. The water clears by degrees, melting from midnight to slate, the sky above the color of shale as I ingest the darkness by degrees. I drink until I’m bursting. The sky is still only a bruise-like blue, the water aquamarine. There’s a promise of sun, if only I can part the clouds.

  I need to shove the corruption elsewhere. But where do I take it? I can’t put this into a human. They’ll die. Even dividing it among my lovers seems like a bad idea. This corruption is strong. The rumors Sorren told us about Discordia must be true. She’s a goddess corrupted by Morningstar. And if he can fell a goddess, what chance do I or any of the men stand?

  I break away from her, emerging back into reality with a ragged gasp. The contamination bunches in my veins, curling and uncurling in steady rhythm like a fist opening and closing. I know if the corruption reaches my heart before I replace Sorren’s, it will all be over.

  Discordia is still face down and gasping like a fish. I note with just a fraction of my conscious mind that her hair has dulled from glossy black to a gray similar to Leith’s. There’s a little animation in her face, spots of color high in her cheeks. Her lips are pink now, not crimson. I don’t have time to stoop and tend to her. I snatch the heart pendant from around her neck, get a running start, and then hurl myself over the ever-widening gorge with all my might.

  I barely make it. The edge crumbles beneath my heel and I windmill, almost toppling into the abyss, but Leith’s massive bear paw bats me out of the air and I go sprawling onto the stone. I lay gasping and breathless for a few too-long seconds before he noses me back onto my feet. I nod to him, then sprint back the way we came.

  Thump-thump.

  Pain. Scraping blackness, corruption, pain.

  Thump-thump.

  Give up, let it take you. Surrender.

  Thump-thump.

  It feels like a lasso of fire binding my entire right leg from the ankle up. The bones grind against one another as I try to race back to Sorren’s side. When I reach the great hall, there are only a few soldiers left standing. Most are bleeding-but-breathing huddles on the ground, staring blankly at the hamburger that Nash has reduced their flesh to. I want to feel bad for them; it’s not their fault that Discordia turned them into mindless zombies. And if fighting the corruption is truly as painful as this feels, I can’t blame them.

  I half-fall onto Sorren’s chest with a sob. He’s barely breathing. His eyes stare at a fixed point, though he’s not dead yet. The pupils expand like an inky pool to cover most of the iris when a man is truly dead. And Sorren is close, but he’s still in the land of the living.

  I take the glass heart and try cracking it like an egg on the stone. It takes four tries before I can get the damn thing to shatter. But once the glass shatters, Sorren’s heart slides into my palm, slick and bloody, and pulsing wildly, even as it grows in size. It takes very little effort to settle the thing back into the gaping cavity in his chest.

  With the last spurt of energy I can muster, I reach wordlessly for Nash, who places one massive bear paw in mine without having to be asked. His energy beats back the corruption for a few blessed seconds, and a selfish part of me wants to keep it. I want to safeguard myself from Discordia’s darkness and what lurks inside it. But the impulse is fleeting. I channel the energy into Sorren’s chest, into that beating heart, sewing the broken pieces back together.

  I have just enough power left to knit the layers of Sorren’s skin and bone on top of his newly replaced heart, though the resulting wound is perhaps worse to look at than the first.

  Well, Sorren will have to forgive me po
sthumously for sabotaging his chances at winning the “Fantasia Princess Pageant”.

  The corruption hits my heart and it stutters, slows, and sinks into a tide of forever midnight.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Leith

  Sorren is screaming, long, drawn out peals of agony that echo through the stone corridors. I lope toward the great hall, heart plummeting down to my misshapen feet as I shift mid-stride. There’s only one reason I can think that my cousin would be shrieking like this, and I know I’m of no use to Kassidy in my bear form.

  The smear of apple is still eating at my toes, eagerly devouring the flesh. It’s probably too much to hope that the stuff would simply sluice off with my change of shape, it hasn’t. But it’s losing its potency now that Discordia has been felled.

  My bare feet slap the floor, the boots I’d donned shredded by the change. I know I’m too late the second I step into the great hall.

  There are a dozen soldiers lying in a crescent around Nash and Sorren, in various states of injury. They moan and plead for help as I weave through their ranks. I don’t have time to spare them, though I know their actions aren’t strictly their fault. I only have eyes for my cousins and Kassidy.

  Sorren has pulled Kassidy onto his lap, cradling her small form like a fragile doll. She flops every few seconds, gasping in painful rasps of air like a fish trying vainly to breathe on land. Anywhere bare flesh is exposed, I see the blackness running in lines across her skin. Every vein stands at attention, a raised pattern on her skin. The tendons strain in her neck and a low whine escapes through her teeth.

  “No,” Sorren hisses, shaking her body, as though the jostling will help anything. “No. This is not the way it ends! She doesn’t spare me, only to die!”

  There’s true animation on his face for the first time in a decade. Anger. Disbelief. Despair—the despair is the frightening bit. His chest is an angry mass of barely healed flesh. There’s a mess of blood streaked across the pale skin, running in rivulets down his half-naked body. He pays it no mind, just continues to shout directives at Kassidy, who’s far beyond hearing.

  Her pupils are huge, almost eclipsing the beautiful green of her eyes. If it weren’t for the labored heaving of her chest, I’d think she was already gone.

  Nash is on his knees as well, a look of almost childlike confusion on his face, as though he can’t quite understand how this has happened. That frightens me, too. Nash isn’t the sort who caves during a crisis. He gets angry. His bear takes the lead, and he rips apart whatever is causing him upset.

  “What’s happened?” I demand as I reach them.

  I glance down at Kassidy and my heart drops.

  She’s dying.

  Anger burns inside me. I won’t let her go! I won’t fucking let her go! Not when the three of us have just found her!

  “She leached Discordia’s life force,” Sorren spits. “Took power from her to restore my heart. As if I want it, if this is the result.” He looks up at me then, tears streaming down his face. “Carve it the fuck out, Leith. I don’t want it! Not at this cost.”

  I want to argue. Having Sorren back has been a distant, impossible dream for years. The idealistic enthusiasm of the little thief has swept us all away, made us forget that miracles are a thing of fairy tales. Storming castles rarely ends well. Battles are messy. Soldiers fall. Chosen ones die. Were we truly blinded by her?

  “It’s not over yet,” I say shortly. “There’s work to be done. We’re not giving up on her.”

  They both stare at me with blank expressions, eyes flat and hopeless.

  “Up!” I snap. “Get up and bring her. And fucking hurry.”

  Both rise to their feet, Sorren cradling Kassidy to his chest like she’s the most precious thing in the world. Nash trails in his wake. I stalk down the corridor and take the stairs two at a time, leading us back the way we came. The mist has mostly cleared now, and I can see our path with almost perfect clarity. It’s a relief. One less obstacle to contend with in our race against time.

  Down two floors and then through several long corridors, we should find the kitchen, which is a stone’s throw from the washroom where we’d bathed. The memory of Kassidy so vital, sexy, and strong sends a shudder over my skin. I’m not sure what I’ll do if we’re too late. If I lose her…

  I can’t fucking lose her!

  If that happens, I’ll undo Kassidy’s last act of mercy and kill Discordia with my bare hands. Rake vengeance into her back until it’s nothing but blood and tatters.

  But, my first attention needs to be Kassidy. I can heal her, I know I can.

  The kitchen is enormous and smells faintly of meat, scalloped potatoes, and onions. I make for the counter in the center of the room and sweep an array of knives and pans off the wooden countertop. Sorren places Kassidy gingerly on the cleared space without having to be told.

  “Sugar, oil, salt, flour, and yeast,” I snap at Nash. “Now.”

  Sorren’s head snaps up and he regards me with surprise. “Ambrosia? You think that will work?”

  “I’ll give the final ingredient,” Nash offers over my shoulder.

  The coveted secret of our people was the recipe for Ambrosia. In truth, it’s little different from regular bread, but for one exception. The ingredient that provides it potency? Life force, drawn from our bodies and stuffed into the very essence of the dough. Healthy bears can live for hundreds of years. Shaving off weeks or months can heal injured or ailing members of the clan. Injuries and ailments that would take weeks or months to heal can be dealt with in mere minutes. To heal Kassidy, though, it will take more than a month or two. She’ll need more time.

  “I’ll be adding the final ingredient,” I say sternly. “It’s not safe for either of you. Too much from you, Sorren, could stop your heart. It’s too fragile at the moment. Too much from Nash could steal the last vestiges of his control. I’m the only logical option.”

  “But…” Nash starts.

  “Are you going to waste time arguing, or will you help me?” I demand. He simply nods as I face Sorren. “I need your spellwork. We don’t have an hour to let this bake.”

  Sorren’s jaw works furiously as he tries and fails to find a flaw in my logic.

  “It’s our only hope,” I tell him. “So, help me.”

  He nods curtly. “If this fails, I’m going to flay that bitch alive.”

  “You’ll have to get in line,” Nash growls, echoing my sentiments exactly. It’s the first time we’ve been truly unanimous on any subject.

  We all love Kassidy—it’s a truth that’s just become quite obvious.

  If she dies, the bonds that cement us will dissolve like suds in the rain. Nash and Sorren will blame me for being unable to stop her. I’ll blame Sorren for precipitating the actions that led to her death, and I’ll blame Nash for lying around passive and in shock while she lay dying. None of us will be able to stand each other.

  Nash plunks the items requested onto the counter with a mixing bowl and dumps in the appropriate amounts with impressive speed. We all know the recipe by heart. It’s pounded into every bear’s skull early in our lives.

  Meanwhile, I carefully shift only the nail of my left index finger so that a black claw darts out with a snick. I choose the vein that runs the length of the ulna and open my skin. The blood pours out at once and puddles on the counter near one of Kassidy’s twitching hands.

  It’s not the blood, but the life force within, that gives ambrosia its power. It takes magic to separate the two—a simple spell I also know by heart. “Vita est vita, et sanguis sanguinem. Et hoc est donum tibi.”

  I don’t even try to stem the flow of blood. To save Kassidy, I’m going to give as much as I can. As much as will pour out before my bear’s healing factor begins to do its work. It gathers around Kassidy’s prone form like a scarlet halo, sinking into her skin.

  It’s Nash who finally wrenches my arm away from the table when the pool has grown wide enough to dribble off the counter and onto the stones bene
ath.

  “That’s enough. You can’t bleed yourself dry. She’ll need all of us if she recovers.”

  I want to snarl at him. It’s not good enough, not nearly enough after what she’s done for us. She has to live. Not just for us, she’s also one of Fantasia’s few hopes for a future—a fine-tipped weapon to be used against Morningstar when the time is right.

  I glance down at the pool. There’s a lot of time trapped in those drops of blood. Years, easily. But will it be enough?

  It takes thirty seconds for the precious golden liquid to separate from the blood. What’s touching her skin seeps in at once, and what remains, we sweep into a bowl. Sorren’s already over it, muttering and chanting. Neither time nor fire magic are taught at length in our compounds. He’s one of the few who’s traveled outside as often and explored as thoroughly as one must to learn such things.

  I crouch like a gargoyle at her head, leaning close to pick up on any minute change in her condition. She’s still breathing, though her breathing grows shallower with every breath she takes. Her lovely lips have taken on an alarming plum color and grow darker still as I watch. The shadows that line the undersides of her eyes grow darker, her face sinking. Her pupils have completely eclipsed her irises.

  “Hurry,” I growl.

  “I’m almost through,” he snaps back at me.

  I see just the hint of dark umber in those glacial eyes. His bear form is close to the surface. Just like mine. Just like Nash’s. She’s done it. The brilliant, beautiful woman has truly restored Sorren to the man he used to be.

  He scoops the stuff from the bowl. It’s misshapen, hardly a loaf. Gods, it’s barely cooked. The raw ingredients will give her a blinding headache if they’re not properly cooked, but if that’s the worst she suffers, we’ll take it and be grateful.

  Sorren pries her jaw open roughly, some of his practiced ruthlessness seeping through despite the restoration of his heart. He smears a globule into her mouth and then presses her lips together again. He waits until he hears a thick, painful swallow before doing it again and again until the bowl has been completely emptied.