by Emma Dawn
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Harem of Souls
Stairway to Harem, Book 4
Emma Dawn
Contents
Harem of Souls
1. Dying Sucks
2. Almost Dying Still Sucks, but It’s Getting Interesting
3. Now I’m Officially Freaked Out
4. Fucking Zombies? You’ve Got to Be Kidding
5. Ain’t Nobody Got Time for This Shit
6. This? I Have Time for This
7. Escaping the Morloosh; Not as Easy as It Sounds
8. Crabs, I Don’t Like Crabs
9. A Treehouse Made for Two
10. I’ve Gotta Say, This Almost Makes Up for the Crabs
11. And Jessop Came Tumbling Down
12. The Wrath of a Woman
13. It’s a Trap!
14. Daddy Dearest Is a Real Asshole
15. Cat, Mouse, or Nope Rope?
16. Three’s Company
17. Haunted, My Ass
18. Me, Myself and Ivan
19. Losing to Win
Harem of Souls
(Stairway to Harem, Book 4)
Emma Dawn
Harem of Souls
Stairway to Harem, Book 4
Copyright © 2017 by Emma Dawn
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2017
www.emmadawnromance.com
Created with Vellum
This book is dedicated to the readers. Thank you for coming along with me on these adventures. I truly wouldn’t be writing these books without your support and reviews!
Chapter One
Dying Sucks
The last things I remember before dying were driving my car in a blinding whiteout of snow on a busy stretch of highway, my best friend Dominique on the phone with me, and a donut beside me, waiting for me to hang up so I could drown my sorrows in its sweet, sticky glaze.
I never finished the phone call, and I didn’t get the damn donut. Let me tell you, as much as I love my bestie, I really wanted that donut. Sweets are my catharsis, my comfort, my therapy. And the phone call I’d been on before I spoke to Dominique would be enough to send anyone into a box of donuts the size of my car.
The previous call you ask? My mother had been on the other end of the line, berating me once more for not doing as she wanted, for not being a better daughter, for being—yet again—a failure in her eyes.
“You should have come home and helped me after my surgery,” she whined into the phone, her voice ridiculously nasally. “You don’t love me, do you? I know you have a cold heart. I know it, but your mother? Surely you should love your mother.”
I rolled my eyes at her antics. This was not a new game with her. My whole life, she’d accused me of not loving her, which was ridiculous. Of course, I loved her. She was my mom. But we didn’t get along. We were too different. “Mom, you had a nose job, not open heart surgery. Dad was there. He took care of you just fine. And I do love you.” I did. But loving her versus wanting to be her friend was a totally different discussion. I could love her from a distance, which was better for me all around.
She gave a fake sob that echoed down the line. “I saw that last picture of you on the Facebook.”
“Just Facebook, Mom. You don’t have to add ‘the’ in front of it,” I said as I switched the phone to my other ear and squinted into the oncoming snow. She ignored me and went right on.
“You look fat in that photo. Have you put on weight? How are you going to get a man when you’re chubby like that? No man wants a chubby wife, even with the big boobs. God only knows where you got those from. No one on my side has big boobs. They’re probably already sagging, aren’t they? You’re in your thirties now. You aren’t a teenager who can go without a bra. You should always wear support, Rose, always.”
I struggled not to hang up on her right then. Forget it. I hit end and phoned Dominique. The conversation with my best friend had been light. It had been a conversation I barely recalled now because I was still so in my head about my mom’s words.
My mom . . .with her, I was yet, again, failing some weird standard she had, that I was being a bad person by not being a pushover and letting her run my life. Ruin my life. Yes, I had curves. Maybe a few extra pounds, but I’d never found that was an issue with finding a man who cared about me. My family had an issue with my body—so different from all their stick thin and narrow hips—and they all made sure to point it out whenever they could. Like that would help me somehow find the willpower to not eat donuts ever again.
My younger sister was a model, my younger brother a budding actor—both totally narcissistic. I was none of those things. I liked working with the elderly in the retirement home. I’d been there for almost ten years. Those old folks were wise and funny, and they filled in some of the void of having a crappy family who made me feel like shit on a regular basis. I’d spent more than my share of time at the retirement home on holidays—even when I wasn’t working.
And now I was dead. I distantly wondered if I’d see Mrs. Singleton. She’d died last week and I’d held her hand as she slipped away. Death had never been frightening for me. But then again, I’d never expected to go so early in life.
Hang on, though. I’m getting ahead of myself. I feel like a proper introduction is needed. My name is Rose. I’m thirty-four years old, single, and have curves that do come with a warning system, namely my mouth. Dark hair, dark eyes, Italian by all accounts, and I have pretty much the most un-Italian family you will ever meet if you haven’t guessed from the above conversation with my mother.
We don’t do family dinners. We don’t do all the big loving and hugging. We do not stick up for each other in fights. No, my family is made up of backstabbers, green-eyed monsters, assholes, and generally toxic people. Which is why I don’t see them anymore and avoid even the phone conversations at all costs whenever possible.
No, don’t feel bad for me. Trust me, it’s better this way for all involved. I’m telling this so you understand why I don’t have anyone grieving my loss.
I mean, my bestie Dominique was probably crying her eyes out and I felt like a shit for leaving her, but there was no choice on my part. I’d still be alive and heading to Florida if it were my decision.
There was a moment somewhere after I died but before I ‘woke up in death’ if you will that was like a dream, that I was sure I saw Dominique as clearly as if she stood in front of me. I tried to make sense of it now that it had happened, but it was no more clear now than it was then.
I ran toward her, smiling stupidly, arms outstretched “Dom!”
Dominique just stared at me, seemingly stunned, even once my arms were around her. Finally she seemed to catch up and hugged me back, squeezing me with all her strength.
“Rose, Rose. I missed you so much!” She sobbed the words. She pulled back and cupped my face with my hands.
She grinned back but her smil
e faltered.
“Rose, you don’t have to be here.” She brushed a hand over her face. “I healed you, your wounds are gone.”
“I know. I just woke up,” I said but that didn’t seem right.
She blinked a few times. “Wait. You haven’t been awake this whole time here?”
I shook my head. “I could hear some things, but couldn’t move. I just woke up when you healed me.” At least, I was assuming that. There had been nothing for me, just sounds here and there, and a vague sense of floating.
“Then you can find your way back to the land of the living,” She tried to smile, but it fell.
I tightened my hands on hers. “What is going on?”
“I died, Rose,” she whispered. “I died; that’s why I’m here.”
I slapped my hands over my mouth and shook my head. “No, no, then I’m not going.” Like there was no way in hell I was leaving here if Dom was stuck too. No way.
Her shoulders slumped. “You have to.”
There was a tug on her suddenly, as though her middle had a rope around it and she was being pulled back. I looked past her to see a coil of magic made up of blue, red, green, and black wrapped around me.
“A life line.” A deep voice spoke behind me and we both turned to him. A man who wore a cloak of blue.
“You are a warlock?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Related to my Diego?”
He laughed softly. “We are brothers. He knows how to make a lifeline to pull someone back from the land of the dead. He tried with me but I’d been dead too long. Go, they don’t have much time.”
She reached for me even as she was pulled away. “Rose!”
The warlock beside me nodded. “We will help her find her way through the darkness. With pleasure.”
Dominique blew a kiss to me. “I love you, sister.”
I blew a kiss back, my throat tight. “Save me some cake.”
I blinked a few times, hearing Dominique’s voice humming through to me, calling to me still as I began to stir from the fog of dying. We should have been sisters, she and I, we’d always called each other that. I shook my head. The dream was nothing but my deepest fantasy spinning out. That we shared a parent. My eyes stung thinking about leaving her behind, of all the things we’d miss out on together. Of raising our children side-by-side one day—that had always been the hope.
“Come back to us, Rose.” Dominque’s voice sounded far away. I clung to it, holding it to me like a life preserver. Even while bits and pieces of it faded and all I could recall was Dom, calling to me.
Blinking, I sat and looked around. After that time with Dominique, the world around me had gone dark again for a bit. Like a computer resetting.
“Right. I’m dead as a doornail.” I forced the tears away. No crying in baseball, and no crying in being dead. I couldn’t change it. Right?
A laugh from a masculine throat rolled toward me. “Now, that’s not quite right, Rose. You’re only mostly dead. I, on the other hand, am all the way dead.”
I blinked again and took in just what—make that who—stood in front of me. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
The man in front of me was dressed in clothes that looked to be from the 1800s from his suit to the cane he held in one hand. But he was far from old. No, he was quite something to stare at, and I would have done so longer if I’d been allowed. In some ways, he was non-descript with brown hair that hung to his shoulders in the lightest of waves, brown eyes, and trim body. He smiled and that wicked curve of his lips tugged at me. He gave a tight bow from the waist and made a flourish with the hand not holding the cane.
“My name is Jessop. I’ve been dead for about fifty years and I am here to be one of your guides.” He came out of the bow, still smiling as if there was a joke only he was aware of. I smiled back, liking him already.
“All right, smarty pants, you said guides as in plural. You’re saying there are other people to watch over little old me?” I raised an eyebrow as I stood. There was a swoosh of thick satin material and I looked down. I was dressed in a gown that would have made Cinderella proud with the layers of satin and crinoline under it. The deep green color I knew from experience looked good on me. Sleeveless, I was impressed my boobs were staying as perky as they were. The dress fit me perfectly as if it had been molded to me. I liked it.
Jessop laughed. “I wish I could stare at your chest as well, but perhaps we should discuss just what we are going to do with you here?”
I laughed with him and lifted my eyes. “If I’m mostly dead, then just why do I need a guide, or in this case, guides?”
“Well, being only mostly dead is a little different than all dead.” He held out a hand to me. I took it, because why not? Dead was like dreaming, right? I didn’t have to worry about him hurting me; I was already dead. Mostly dead, whatever.
He smiled back flashing a pair of . . .fangs. I’ll admit my eyebrows shot up even as a tingle of apprehension flowed through me. I was used to not showing my real emotions. Fear amongst those who were my family members was not a good idea. They preyed on it. So, I pushed the fear down and put on my mask of confidence. “Hang on, what’s up with the pointy teeth?” I didn’t take my hand back, proving, at least in my own eyes, I was not afraid of him.
“I was a vampire in my living life,” Jessop said. “But I have no need for blood now, though I have remained with my teeth and other abilities, even here. Speed, strength, things of that nature.”
“Hmmm.” I nodded as if that made complete sense. “And just where is here, exactly? And how can I be here mostly dead, and you all dead?” We stood in what could only be described as a void. There was a floor of some sort beneath us, and I could see him clearly, but about ten feet away from us, a thick gray fog spooled upward, hiding any visual of just where we were. Like dreaming. Again, it made this scene feel unreal, as though I had nothing to fear. Fine by me.
He gave me a gentle tug and I stepped beside him, my skirts whooshing along pleasantly, drawing another smile to my lips. I liked dresses, but usually short snug ones that hugged my curves and showed off my best assets. Hence, the call from my mother regarding the last Facebook picture I put up. I grimaced.
Jessop tucked my hand around his arm so it rested on his forearm. “This is what you would call one level of death. There are several depending on just how dead you are.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “This sounds like a weird version of the Princess Bride.”
“I don’t know that tale.” He sighed. “But death for our kind is a bit odder than most people would think, considering when we talk about death it is finite. Here, that is not the case, and we have it on good authority that you are not truly meant to be dead. At least, not yet. You have much to do on the other side of this.” He waved his free hand and the fog swirled a little.
“Okaaaaaaaay.” I pursed my lips a moment. “Let me get this straight. I’m mostly dead, you’re all the way dead, and we are in one of several levels of deadness? And what do you mean by ‘our’ kind. I’m not a vampire.”
He grinned down at me. “In a rather odd nutshell, yes. And by our kind, I mean supernatural beings. You are a supernatural or you would not be here.”
“Um, I think someone screwed up then. I’ve got nothing supernatural about me.” I shook my head. “I mean, really. Nothing.”
Jessop stopped and looked into my eyes as if studying me. “I cannot tell you what kind of supernatural you are, but the light of your eyes flickers with magic. So . . .yes, you are a supernatural.”
How the hell was I supposed to respond to that. “Well, that’s a shit deal. How come I only find out after I’m dead? Would have been nice to have a little magic on the other side.”
He laughed. “It might be that it was never awakened. Or you could have been a null. Sometimes those with no power like a human find they have power after they die. It is uncommon, but it does happen. Now, we must go, we’re late.”
“Wonderful,” I muttered. “This is exact
ly what I wanted to do with my Monday, traipse around the supernatural underworld.” Never mind this bombshell of being supernatural. If this was a dream, it was a drunk doozy. I was sure I would have more questions, but the thing was, I was feeling somewhat overwhelmed in that moment.
He smiled and gave me another glimpse of those fangs. “I will introduce you to the rest of your guides. I’m sure that one of us can offer more answers to questions you are sure to have.” His free hand settled on top of my fingers, holding them lightly. “I must admit, you are far more interesting than the last person I guided out.”
“You’ve done this before?” I tightened my hold on him as I stumbled, something catching my foot.
We spun a little as if waltzing, and he had me upright before I could blink. His hands were on my shoulders and I found myself staring at his mouth, at the hint of fangs. A delicious shudder went through me. Yeah, I’d be willing if he was. Shit, what was wrong with me? I’d known him for all of ten minutes. Even for me—the girl who could decide on a man in a matter of an hour—that was fast.
“Perhaps you should not look at me like that.” His voice was husky. “It could lead to things forbidden.”
My eyes lifted, and I’ll admit, I might have taken a rather deep breath. His eyes dropped to my cleavage. I tightened my hold on him. “Pity, I like forbidden things. The more forbidden the better.”
His eyes locked on mine. “You are a dangerous woman, Rose.”
I smiled, slowly, feeling the air between us crackle and all but glow with the animal attraction between us. Love? Not a chance. That didn’t exist as far as I was concerned. But lust, and pure physical desire? You bet your sweet ass on those two—at least, I understood them. “You have no idea just how dangerous I could be,” I whispered as I raised myself on my tiptoes, angling my mouth for his.
