A Witch's Harem: Reverse Harem Fantasy

by Savannah Skye

  I bit my lip. Wonder if he’s like Mr. Fassbender in any other of impressive ways.

  “Yeah, Pat, she doesn’t know you well enough to know you’re not as mad as a hatter,” Mick chimed in, waking me up to the fact I was ogling this third O’Sullivan.

  To my surprise, Fassbender-O’Sullivan extended a hand.

  “I’m called Seamus.”

  “Oh,” I said, taking it and trying not to swoon as he bent down and kissed it. “Um, I’m… You didn’t have to…” I was blabbering and fanned myself as Seamus let me go. “Sadie Matheson.”

  “I know,” Seamus said, a warm smile flitting across his face.

  “Don’t be stealing my moves, mate!” Patrick grumped, pressing a kiss to the top of my hand and then the palm, making me jump at the feel of his bristled chin. “Sadie, it’s a pleasure.”

  What is happening? I wondered in a daze as I looked between the O’Sullivan men, each one sexier than the last. But for very different reasons. Mick, with his loosely folded arms and cocky smirk, made me feel protected. Patrick, eyes full of laughter and a contagious smile, made my heart glow with a reckless kind of mirth. And Seamus, silent and strong, steadied something inside of me.

  Dumfounded, I listened as the cousins began to debate what to do. Patrick of the opinion we should bob for apples and Mick wanted to play pool. They only stopped arguing when Seamus intervened and asked me what I wanted to do.

  “Oh, um, I don’t want to get my hair wet,” I said, twisting my hands. “But I’ve never played pool… I could watch you guys, I guess.”

  Patrick reached out and seized my hands. “What? No! This must be amended at once. I'll teach you, lass. It’s fun, I promise.”

  Which is how I found myself teamed up with Patrick, playing against Mick and Seamus. Both of them took the game a little too seriously, while Patrick was focused on having fun.

  And lo and behold, we were winning.

  I wasn’t doing too badly, either, with Patrick’s help. In between our first turn and theirs, he’d made me jump out of my skin when his big hands landed on my shoulders. Before I could pull away, though, his thumbs were performing miracles on the back of my neck. I’d had to bite back a mewl.

  “You’re a natural, Sadie,” Patrick said cheerily. My shoulders went to hunch up, but Patrick kept them down. “A true ringer, for sure. I’m not saying that to butter you up, either. I mean it.”

  Turning, I looked up at Patrick as Seamus took an expert hit. This close, I could see the amber flecks in his brown eyes and his smile became devilish. My heart fluttered.

  “Got a feeling you’re a natural at a lot of things,” he said in a whisper.

  Before I could disabuse him of that notion, Patrick stepped forward, letting me go and picking up the cue stick. Spinning it like a baton, he winked at me and took a wild shot, knocking several more balls in. Seamus and Mick both made annoyed noises as they were losing again.

  The smug look on Patrick’s face made me laugh, though. His big hands and relaxed air helped me cut loose. For once, I wasn’t agonizing about making mistakes or how I looked. And he kept a constant stream of quips that had me in stitches, making jokes at Mick and Seamus’s expense.

  Both of them tried not to laugh, too, but it was impossible.

  It was nice to laugh like this, I thought as Patrick slung an arm around my waist and grinned down at me after I’d taken a particularly impressive shot. I should do it more often. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had fun and laughed like I didn’t have a care in the world.

  Several times, I glanced up and tried to spot Belinda in the crowds going by the room. I wanted to get her attention so she could see what was happening. She’d never believe me if I told her. I could hardly believe it and I was living it. And I was pretty sure that unless Belinda saw it, she’d think I’d gotten drunk and fell asleep into a pool of fevered dreams.

  In fact, I pinched myself a couple of times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

  Once Patrick and I won, there was a squabble about whose team I would be on. I glanced down at the drink that Seamus had gotten me and wondered what was in it.

  “Let Sadie pick,” Seamus said in his deep, calming voice and I instantly flushed.

  "Oh, I-uh, I don't mind," I said in a small voice, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings. Then I blinked. Since when was I in a position to worry about hurting the feelings of three different men?

  “Don’t put her on the spot like that,” Mick snapped, glaring at Seamus.

  “Oh, don’t fight,” I said, feeling worse. “Um, what if we flip for it?”

  To my surprise, Seamus pulled me to his side and hugged my shoulders. “Good idea. And we might argue, lass, but think nothing of it. Just cousins taking the piss out of each other. You know, teasing and fun? Although, if it bothers you, please speak up.”

  I made a squeaking noise as I looked up at Seamus, trying to answer and understand. But all I could wonder in stupefaction was, Wait, why do I get a say in that?

  “Here, mates,” Patrick said, pulling out a fat gold coin and spinning it on a finger.

  “Pat, where did you get that?” Seamus demanded and Mick let out a snort.

  “Nicked it off a leprechaun, of course,” Patrick said with a wink in my direction. “Call it.”

  “Heads,” Mick said quickly.

  “Tails,” Seamus called.

  It was tails and Seamus’s hands were on my shoulders now as we went back to the other side of the table. He smelled so good I thought I would faint. Some expensive masculine cologne.

  Where Patrick had smelled a bit spicy and Mick clean, Seamus had a woodsy, mysterious scent.

  If I thought Patrick had stoked up the fire that Mick started, Seamus was ten times worse. He didn’t say much, but he took to silently correcting my hands, even sliding a leg between mine to fix my feet. And he was always right there, warm and sturdy.

  Halfway through the game, I was smiling to myself as I watched Patrick and Mick goof off. They'd lost track of the game and were now wielding the pool cues as though they were swords. I'd never been much of a grown-up and it made me happy to see they were kids at heart. It made me feel less alone.

  Suddenly, I realized, without meaning to, I’d leaned back against Seamus. More than that, I’d settled my body against him, my curves warmed by his hard torso and suddenly his strong arms were around my waist. At first, I went to pull away, but Seamus tightened his grip.

  He wants me to stay like this, I thought in amazement. His breath tickled my neck and I broke out in goose bumps. Swallowing hard, I tried not to rub my thighs together.

  “Are you having a fun time, Sadie?” he asked in his quiet, deferential way.

  Turning, unsure where to put my hands, I rested them on his forearms as I looked up at him. “I am,” I said, then I saw Seamus looked concerned and my brain reeled in confusion. “Wait, are you?” I blurted it out because I couldn’t think of another reason for him to be concerned.

  “Of course,” Seamus said. “I wanted to make sure we weren’t intruding on you.”

  The way he said, of course, as though there could be no doubt, as though there was no other place he wanted to be standing, made my knees buckle slightly.

  “You’re not bothering me at all,” I said positively. “You’re being so nice, I…” I was about to say something stupid and self-deprecating, but I stopped myself. “Thank you.”

  Suddenly, Seamus pulled me in closer, his lips inches from my ears. “You’re welcome.”

  When he let me go, I was dazzled inside and smiling ear to ear.

  Finally, it was me and Mick. He’d apparently missed me, as he constantly found playful ways to tease me, tugging on my curls or resting his hand on my neck. Then, setting up one particularly difficult shot, he stood directly behind me, my ass in his crotch and body pressing into his. His hands slid down my arms and I was struggling not to pant.

  More than that, I was trying not to act like a slut, but I honestly
didn’t know which O’Sullivan I liked the most.

  How could a girl choose? I later thought, when the three of them were standing together.

  Either way, it was a problem for tomorrow. Shrugging it off, I lost myself in having fun and throwing back drinks. I’d had a nice buzz for a while now and I didn’t want it to stop.

  I didn’t want this night to end.

  After another couple of heated rounds, I was wondering if I was leading them on and wondered how I’d gotten myself into such a position.

  Now, we were taking a break, with me sitting on the pool table, swinging my legs and chatting with the three of them. Everyone else was long gone.

  I should leave, I thought ruefully. This is a recipe for disaster.

  As soon as I thought it, a man walked into the room and I gripped the edge of the table.

  “Michael!” Patrick called out to the newcomer. “There you are.”

  “Was starting to get worried,” Seamus muttered.

  “Everything good, cuz?” Mick asked.

  Michael didn’t answer, merely shrugged. Taller than Seamus, he had deep blue eyes like a twilight sky and dark, inky black hair. There was a hard set to his jaw as he glanced around. And the look on his face was one of intensity, the kind that came with formidable intelligence.

  All in all, he was one hell of a sexy, commanding O’Sullivan.

  My mouth was watering and the heat between my legs had reached a fever pitch.

  Yet Michael hadn’t uttered a word. I blinked, realizing the other three had fallen silent. We were all waiting for him to speak. It was as though he had sucked all of the life out of the room.

  The leader of the pack, my mind suddenly whispered.

  As though hearing my thoughts, Michael met my gaze and nodded slowly. A hungry smile played around his mouth and I was reduced to a quivering heap of nerves.

  His voice was a melodic brogue when he finally spoke, with a note of triumph.

  But what he asked didn’t make the least bit of sense.

  “Has she agreed, then, boys?”

  Chapter 4

  “Agreed to what?” I asked, hopping down and turning to look at the others. Some instinct had woken up under my booze buzz. Anxiety bubbled in my gut as Michael strode forward. Shadows were rushing up, swallowing the light. “What is going on?” I asked, looking around in confusion.

  Michael stood over me, face inscrutable. “No time to explain, these idiots should’ve done that already. We’ve got to go.”

  Before I could open my mouth, he’d flicked his wrists, swirling his hands and suddenly I was spinning like a top. A scream was stuck in my throat as color, light, and wind rushed by my face. It went on and on and I closed my eyes, throat aching.

  Until I stumbled, gasping, and my knees hit a carpeted floor.

  Scrabbling back, I saw I’d landed in front of a massive fireplace. Logs cracked and threw warmth across my face. Dazed, I stared at it for a good minute.

  Then, slowly, I got to my feet and turned in a circle.

  I was in a richly furnished room I’d never seen before. It was a cozy, lovely place, with exquisite furniture made of reclaimed wood and upholstered in emerald green. A grandfather clock ticked away in the corner, a starry night painted on its face and gold hands ticking away the minutes. Besides the clock and the snapping fire, however, the room was quiet.

  Except for the tattoo of my heart pounding in my ears.

  Shaking my head, I stared around the room again. Besides the handsome mantle, decorated with jars and sprigs of pine, there were glassed-in bookshelves, a few armchairs, and a comfortable, wide couch, almost like a bed. Windows set on the opposite side, deep in the wood-paneled wall, showed nothing but dark forest. Okay, this was all very nice, but I was freaking the hell out.

  “Hello?” I whispered. “Where am I?”

  For a good minute, I stood there, waiting for someone to come in or for something to happen. But the clock kept ticking and the fire kept popping.

  My heart was pounding more violently than ever.

  Wondering if I was dreaming, I eyed the windows and saw my reflection with a start. I was still wearing that stupid outfit Belinda had dressed me in. Something inside of me snapped.

  I’ve been kidnapped.

  I swallowed a panicked scream.

  I glanced around wildly and spotted a door between the bookshelves. I hadn’t seen it before, almost as though it was trying to pretend it wasn’t a door. Bewildered by that thought, I rushed over to it. As I yanked on the handle, it seemed to slip and slide under my fingers.

  Snapping my fingers at it in rage, I saw a spark and leaped back. Then, with a huff, I tried to grab it again, but I knew it was no use. The handle would elude me as the door was shut with a spell.

  I recalled Michael and the way he’d moved his hands. My stomach dropped even further.

  As I stood there, I could feel the magic humming around me. Like the wind rising up before a storm, it was powerful and a bit dangerous. I stepped back and eyed the room again.

  “Oh,” I said, reaching in my bra for my phone.

  Hastily, I unlocked it and dialed Belinda. But as I rose it up to my ear, I heard nothing. However, the hum of magic had intensified slightly, prickling along my skin.

  Is anything in here not enchanted? I wondered, my pulse pounding.

  Pressure throbbed in my throat as I thought back over the last few hours with the O’Sullivans. All of that had been a stupid prank. Eyes smarting, I wondered how I could have ever thought those handsome guys liked a girl like me.

  I should have known it was all a trick.

  Head drooping, eyes stinging, I tried to work out why.

  Beyond pointlessly cruel, what could anyone hope to gain by kidnapping me? My head ached as I paced around the room. Their betrayal was a fresh, raw wound on my heart, hurting more than it should have. Every step seemed to intensify it.

  Delia’s face swam into my mind and I stopped short. Was this my mother trying to prove a point? Even though this kind of trickery seemed cruel even for her, hadn’t I learned to put nothing past a Matheson witch? I wondered dully if it was some way to make me do Delia’s bidding. Kidnapping me and locking me up to ensure I’d have nothing good in my life unless I listened.

  I stashed my phone back into my bra with shaking fingers. As I did so, the lock screen lit up and I saw Samwise’s sweet brown face looking up at me.

  Poor dog, who would walk him tonight? Better yet, who would turn him from a parrot back into a dachshund?

  The thought of Samwise, oddly, calmed me a bit. Walking over to the couch, I sat down and tried to take several deep breaths. The corset was constricting and so I lay flat, staring at the high ceiling, watching the dancing shadows cast by the fire and trying to think.

  I was a witch, dammit. Enchanted room or not, I could get out of this.

  Racking my brain for spells involving locked doors and hidden rooms, I had a few ideas. One voice inside me darkly said it wouldn’t work.

  Ignoring it, I got to my feet again and eyed that obstinate door. First, I threw a bolt of power at it. It hissed through the air and then made a terrible plang as it was knocked away.

  Moving closer, I dug deeper and moved my hands in a slow circle over each other as I tried to unlock it. There was a sound like shhhk and the energy dissipated.

  Again, and again I tried. But nothing worked. In my irritation, l let another bolt off and this time it almost ricocheted back at me.

  Maybe the door wasn’t the way to go, I tried to reassure myself.

  So, I spun to the windows.

  But after a failed glass-cracking spell, a windstorm that petered to nothing as it approached it and a dissolving spell that made the window frost over, I wanted to scream.

  Frustrated, I threw out my hands at both the windows and door, unleashing all matter of hell. For a second, the magic rose in a fury and sparks danced through the air.

  I’ve got it, I thought triumphantly. Heed me and u
nlock. Let me free!

  And then the couch burst into flame.

  “Oh, come on,” I said, watching the fire smolder in on itself within seconds and leave a massive scorch mark on the plush cushions. “Ugh, I hate Halloween. I hate everything.”

  But more than that, I hated the O’Sullivans, with a fresh surge of agony.

  I would have preferred the pig’s blood to this, I thought to myself bitterly.

  Pacing around, twisting my hands in the frilly skirt, I wondered how I could have been conned so easily. A few nice words, a handful of empty gestures and I’d been eating out of their palms. Disgust and mortification threatened to choke me.

  I kept going over and over what had happened in my head, each memory a new slap in the face. Mick's playful teasing, Patrick's jokes, and Seamus's kind words.

  Michael’s sexy smile.

  Hugging myself, I wanted nothing more than to be home, in my own bed, safe and sound.

  I wished I’d never gone out. I wished I wasn’t such a joke of a witch.

  A particularly loud crack from the fire made me jump and I turned around. Suddenly, with a burst of dizzying embarrassment, I saw that there was a door next to the mantle. It blended in well with the wall, lost in shadows. But I could see a sliver of deeper black and I hurried forward, I realized it was open. Pushing in, I flicked on the light.

  It was an old-fashioned, rather ornate bathroom with an ocean motif. A huge porcelain clawed tub stood in the corner and fluffy blue towels were stacked on a shelf.

  More than that though, there was a window in here.

  An open window.

  I’d never been so happy to see a curtain fluttering in a breeze before.

  Ripping it open, I saw that it was a slim window coming to a point at the top. The two panes opened outwards, wind whistling through the crack. It blasted me as I pushed them open and saw that there was a sturdy tree branch right outside. Practically waiting for me.

  Stepping gingerly on the toilet, I hoisted myself through, boobs scratching painfully on the gray stones framing the window. Undeterred, I wiggled forward and my hands seized hold of the branch. I pulled myself forward inch by inch towards freedom.