A Witch's Harem: Reverse Harem Fantasy

by Savannah Skye

  Until I came to a sudden stop.

  At first, I thought someone had caught hold of me and I twisted backward, neck protesting the movement. A gasp escaped me as the culprit became all too clear.

  My goddamn bodacious hips.

  No way. I refused to be imprisoned because I was too chubby to escape.

  Gritting my teeth, I gripped the branch harder, the wood splintering my skin. Pulling with all my might, I scraped another millimeter out. Then I began to twist and try to wriggle free.

  But all this accomplished was rucking the costume around so that more of my cleavage spilled out. Try as I might, I only seemed to get myself more firmly imprisoned.

  Humiliation was a bitter and ugly pill to swallow. Plumpness had done me in again.

  Now I was stuck. I couldn’t move forward or backward.

  To add to the disaster, the wind was picking up and I shivered as it hit my skin. Plus, I was at an awkward angle. Hanging out the window, my legs dangled in the bathroom uselessly and I began to lose feeling in them. Defeated, I let my head fall, a groan escaping me.

  Then I froze. Over the wind, there had been a rich chuckle.

  I wasn’t alone. As though ascertaining that, a broad hand landed on my back.

  I thought things couldn’t possibly get more humiliating. But this Halloween night seemed determined to prove me wrong, as I sank into previously unheard depths.

  My cheeks and eyes grew hot. Feeling utterly exposed, as though both trapped and naked, I wondered if I might throw up or pass out. Maybe die.

  Let me just fall out of this window and end it all, I begged the universe.

  Then came his voice. Deep, sexy and amused.

  “You having a spot of trouble, love?”

  Chapter 5

  Chin trembling, I had no voice with which to answer.

  All I could do was cover my face with my hands as whatever O’Sullivan behind me magicked the window wide enough to drag me back in.

  His big hands were warm on my hips as he set me on my feet. I was still staring at my palms.

  Why couldn’t I be an adept enough palm reader to see this shit coming? I wondered.

  I heard him closing the window and I chanced a peek over my fingers.

  It was Michael. There was laughter in his blue eyes and I hid mine.

  “My apologies for making you wait, Sadie,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry. “I had some things to take care of and it took longer than I anticipated.”

  Unnerved, I looked back up as he waited for me to respond. However, my tongue was currently stuck to the roof of my mouth. So, instead, I looked away and tried to subtly fix the stupid gypsy costume. But like the window, it seemed to prefer me being stuck where I was.

  Into the silence, Michael said, “Mm… Alright, come along, then.”

  A large hand clasped around my upper arm and pulled me back to the warmth of the fire. Once he’d let me go, I was starting to get pissed. How dare he try to be all sweet and nice to me?

  The O’Sullivans had kidnapped me. I was the victim here, and this guy was one of the villains.

  “What the hell is going on?” I demanded, hands on my hips.

  Michael’s lips twitched in something that looked suspiciously like a smile. “You’re lovely when you’re mad. But why don’t you sit down and I’ll go get my cousins,” he suggested. “Then we can all discuss the matter at hand.”

  Wincing, I glanced at the couch as I remembered the failed spell. Too late, I saw Michael had seen the scorch mark, too. Fighting back a smile, he flicked his fingers and it was repaired.

  Walking over, he sat, resting his hands on his knees and looking at me expectantly.

  Huffing, I followed and sat down slightly away from him, hands clamped on my elbows.

  “Do you want something to drink?” he asked politely.

  “No,” I snapped. “I want to know why you kidnapped me!”

  A faint line appeared on Michael's forehead and he looked forbidding for a second. I drew back and his expression cleared, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid, lass. We’d never hurt you,” Michael said in a voice that was almost a growl.

  “I’m not afraid,” I said in a steely voice, surprising myself. “I’m angry. Big difference.”

  Michael’s face was impassive and he was silent for several moments before he said, “We, the O’Sullivan four, were sent from the Ring of Kerry to seek out the most powerful witch in Salem.”

  I stared at him, nonplussed. So what did he want, my address book? A lot of fuss for a name…

  I rolled my eyes. “How nice for you,” I responded stiffly. “Try the Yellow Pages.”

  Michael simply smiled. That knee-bobbing, heartrending and sexy smile.

  “Sadie,” Michael said, in a slow, deliberate way, “all signs point to you.”

  “Me?” I asked, something rising in my throat.

  “Yes, you, Sadie Matheson, are the most powerful witch in Salem.”

  Laughter erupted from my lips as all of the emotions rioting inside me broke free. Falling back on the cavernous couch, peal after peal escaped me and echoed through the room. It took me several minutes to get my breath back. And though I was still chuckling, I propped myself on my elbows and looked up at Michael.

  His brow had furrowed again and his face was thunderous. My laughter died instantly.

  He was serious.

  Dead freaking serious.

  Hastily, I sat up, pushing my hair out of my face and trying to break it gently. “Oh, um, you’re mistaken...” I paused. “Sorry. You’re probably after my mother, Delia. Or my Grandmom.” I shivered slightly. “Freya Matheson?”

  Michael shook his head solemnly. “No. It’s you, Sadie Matheson.”

  This time my name was a slap in the face. Like I needed people outside my family and coven mocking me for being a two-bit witch. Stupid, smarmy O’Sullivans.

  “Enough!” I was on my feet before I realized it and breathing hard. Glaring at Michael, not caring that he was the sexiest man alive, with his beautiful blue eyes, dark hair and deep brogue, I shouted, “I am done. Done! I have to go – I need to feed my dog-parrot." Tears were pressing into my eyes and my throat was a grating ball of anguish. "For a joke – this was beyond cruel. You stupid O'Sullivans didn’t have to pretend to like me and go through all this.”

  I was becoming incoherent and the tears were threatening to escape.

  With that, I stormed to the door and tried to wrench the handle open.

  “Let me out,” I said in a quiet, deadly voice.

  Michael had gotten up and I sensed his presence like a building thunderstorm.

  “No,” he growled. “Sadie, you need to listen–”

  Glaring at the wood, willing the tears back, I spat out, “This is the lowest and pettiest bullying in the world. Keeping me here and these stupid stories – making me think you all liked me.” I was shaking now. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “Sadie.”

  A small, shaky breath blew between my lips. No one had ever said my name like that. With such force and tenderness. Almost against my will, I turned around and faced him.

  Michael’s eyes were two pools of electric blue fire. He was prowling towards me and heat flared in my belly. I held up my hands as though to push him away, but he grabbed my wrists and locked them against the door. Hard male edges were pressing into me and I looked up.

  Lips crashed onto mine and my mind went blank after a single oh.

  Michael pushed me harder against the door as his lips became more insistent. Dominating and demanding, like him. For a brief second, I fought back, but it was like fighting a tidal wave. More than that, I wanted this. I wanted to give in. I wanted him.

  Eagerly, I dove into those depths. Our hands slid together, fingers interlocking tightly and Michael pulled them over my head. Completely at his mercy, a gasp escaped me at how much I liked it. He didn’t waste that opportunity, his tongue stroking mine and my spine bowe
d, pressing me further into him. A desperate ache was between my legs, again, and I was unable to do a thing to satiate it.

  Instinct ruled as sensation after sensation built. Overtaking every last inch of my body.

  It was getting worse with each caress. There was a molten pool of desire in my belly. Michael wanted it there. He stoked it into a frenzy. My skin was flushed and every cell was tingling.

  Abruptly, he let go of my hands and I missed their loss, but only for a moment. I forgot as soon as his fingers were in my hair, tugging on it and tilting my head back. Michael was tasting every inch of my mouth and I trembled against him, looping my arms around his neck. When he leaned down, pulling me up toward him, gripping my waist – my fingers made their way up into his hair. I stroked the silky strands and used them to hold him closer.

  A growl escaped him and I shuddered. Michael's muscular thigh pressed the aching spot between my legs and I bucked against him, gasping at this pleasure curling up from my core.

  The grandfather clock chimed, startling me from the sensual spell he’d woven around me without using magic at all. I released him with a gasp and jerked back. Slowly, he pulled back, sliding his leg away as I met his blue eyes. There was a new intensity there and a glow filled my chest.

  He wanted more. He wanted me.

  As though to drive home that point, Michael pressed his forehead into mine and grabbed my hand. Everything inside of me went supernova as he pressed it against the massive bulge in his pants. Growling in my ear, he demanded, “Tell me, does this feel like I was faking?”

  With that, Michael let me go, after one last searing kiss. And I was reeling as he dragged me back to the couch and sat me down. I couldn’t help but glance at his crotch.

  That was a raging erection. Nope, definitely not faking.

  Blue lightning seemed to flash at me as I looked up. Michael was standing over me, arms folded, and he demanded, “Will you listen now? Please, Sadie.”

  I tried to say yes, but all I could do was nod. At that moment, I realized I was a bit of a mess, with more of my cleavage out than in, curls wrecked and swollen lips. So was Michael, with his tousled hair and rumpled shirt. Our gazes lingered on each other for a moment and I realized I was smiling.

  Never before had I felt so sexy. His cologne had rubbed off on me and I sniffed the air happily. Then, I stretched out, waiting with a lazy, indulgent kind of patience for what would happen next.

  Michael had hesitated and was watching me. He swallowed and then seemed to force himself to go to the door. Ripping it open, he barked something out into the hallway and a second later, I heard footsteps. Seamus, Mick, and Patrick strode in, Mick eating a sandwich, Patrick playing with a yo-yo and Seamus stowing a book into his back pocket. The last O’Sullivan looked mildly concerned until he saw me, while Mick and Patrick greeted me with enthusiasm.

  My heart softened as I saw there was no deceit in any of their faces. This was a strange circumstance to be sure, but I was no longer afraid, despite the fact that I should be.

  I heard the door close and we looked up to see Michael re-enter. I hadn’t realized he’d left, but once again his presence took over the room.

  “Come here,” he said curtly, sitting down in one fluid motion in front of the fire.

  Pulling me to my feet, Mick steered me and sat me down directly in front of Michael. He sat to my left, while Seamus arranged himself on my right and Patrick completed the circle.

  Eyes flicking around to each of them, a powerful and strange emotion filled my chest.

  “Hold out your palm, Sadie,” Michael ordered quietly.

  Curious, I obeyed without question. One by one, each of the O’Sullivans then reached out, their hands also palm up as they supported mine. In a way, it almost looked like a star. Mick was first and Michael was last.

  As he touched my hand, I almost cried out in a shock as sparks leaped from my fingertips.

  “Only when all of us are touching hands can we behold the prophecy,” Michael said.

  “The…the prophecy?” I croaked, trying to think clearly with them all touching me at once. This was clearly important to them and despite the fact that I knew Michael was mistaken, I didn’t want to ruin whatever it was he was trying to share with me.

  I managed to keep it together and suddenly, the sparks began to coalesce into a bright, golden fire, spinning madly through the air and bumping into each other like drunken stars. Lips parted, I watched in shock as it slowed and spun itself into a square. No, it was a book – a book flickering to life from the flames.

  It turned five times before it fell open onto the first page to reveal an image etched there.

  A witch. One fierce, powerful and laughing witch. Her red hair was alive in the wind, tossing against a night sky and her green eyes glowed like emeralds.

  More than that, I recognized her.

  “That’s…is that me?” I gasped.

  I already knew the answer to that question, though. It was. A less chubby, way more confident and badass version, maybe. But it was definitely me.

  Holy shit…

  Chapter 6

  “This is one of the Libris Ides,” said Michael in a reverent voice as I met his eyes through the whirls of sparks. “Books of good magic, written in the tongue of fire by witches of light. This particular one records a vision seen over four hundred years ago. For you, Sadie.”

  “Wha-how?” I spluttered, yanking my hand back.

  It did not break the spell, although the sparks died down. The rest of the boys pulled back and Michael gestured at the fiery book, causing it to flip forward a few pages. Clasping my hands together, I watched as the symbols and Latin rearranged themselves into English.

  Patrick began to read it aloud, shoulders hunched and his hands balled into fists. All the humor was gone from his face and anger flickered in his eyes. “Yule Day, four hundred and thirteen years hence, the Purging begins when the fell warlock awakes.”

  “Purging?” I asked. The word was poison on my tongue and my blood ran cold. “A purging of what?” And why did I have a feeling I didn’t want to know the answer?

  “Not what, but who,” said Seamus softly, and his fingers brushed my shoulder in reassurance. “Go ahead, Pat.”

  Patrick continued, reading on, “Rowland Skinner, of the Rathbone Coven. Patient, cunning and determined, on this Yule, he will see his purpose met. Mortals, manipulated by the dark mage, will carry out atrocities against the Hidden World. Trials and Hunts will commence, the likes of which have never been seen. Folk of magic will suffer endless persecutions. And none but Skinner’s own shall walk free.” His blond head fell. “As they glut their appetite for power, they will destroy the balance between good and evil. Darkness will reign evermore as good magic dies…”

  “This is a prophecy?” I asked, rubbing my temples. “What’s that got to do with–?”

  I stopped as Seamus lightly touched my shoulder again. He now read the words aloud, the fire turning his eyes silver. “Lest the Darkest of Warlocks is undone by the Brightest of Hearts, the Daughter of Wicca and Light, hear me now, the Purging will come to pass.

  “She alone can stop the rising darkness leading to endless night. She alone can bring together the four elements and aspects of magic. She alone will save the Hidden World.

  “She alone can save us all…”

  I couldn’t speak. This is all part of their joke… This can’t be… This isn’t happening…

  "Beware Skinner's black gifts," Mick spoke now. He wasn’t even reading the book, but staring at the floor. “He will not strike at the powerful, but lurk in the shadows, sowing fear, distrust and the most dangerous of ugly passions. All sins that lurk in the human heart will run amok as he wakes and walks unseen. Hysteria will overtake good sense. The mortal race will turn upon all magic, unaware they are doing Skinner’s silent bidding. His hands will hold the world and every last babe, child, woman, and man who stands against his wicked heart – from those with a touch of Sight to the gre
atest of Practitioners – will be extinguished.”

  “Extinguished?” I repeated in a horrified whisper.

  Michael gazed at me as he picked up where Mick left off. “This is how Skinner will raise a new order of magic. One aligned to the darkest of practices to fulfill his dark purpose. The Purging will lead to a Dark Age, where evil runs riot and demons will feast on mortal flesh for millennia.

  “Hear me, only a White Witch in the New World can stop this.

  “The Good Witch of Salem. An unlikely choice mayhap, but one of pure heart and spirit.” Michael’s voice was fierce. “She is the only chance for the salvation of the ancient gifts, our children, and our world. Only she can stop Rowland Skinner. Only she can thwart the Purging.

  “Only the brightest heart can burn out the endless night.”

  The book bobbed in the air, pages ruffling as though in a high wind and then it fell to the ground with a thwump. There, it rematerialized, becoming a bound black book with a pentagram stitched onto its cover. Michael reached out and picked it up, then twisted his hand and it vanished.

  Wait! I wanted to cry out. That can’t be all, there must be more. This cannot mean…

  Me.

  “We’ll begin come dawn,” Michael said, standing up, and his cousins followed.

  My eyes darted around before I slapped down my palms and pushed myself to my feet. “What the hell was that?” I demanded, hands on my hips as I glared at the boys. Now that the fireworks were over, I was starting to get a grip on myself. Belinda always said I was way too gullible.

  Witches hunting witches? A purging of magic? Me, somehow involved?

  They looked surprised and glanced at each other, then Seamus said, “This is the Prophecy of the Lady Oralee, Seer of the Ring of Kerry. One of our line, lass.” He tried to smile. “As her descendants, it was our duty and honor to find you.”

  “Find me? To-to-what? Stop the end of the world as we know it?” I let out a hiss of air. “Hilarious. Okay, you’ve had your fun.”