Realms and Rebels: A Paranormal and Fantasy Reverse Harem Collection

by C. M. Stunich

  "What are you doing?" I manage to choke out, pushing myself back a few inches. As I do, I regret it. Now I can see why Trick was trying to shield my face beneath his chin.

  All around me, the soldiers are dropping to their knees just the same as I did, blood leaking from their eyes as they let out a chorus of screams to match the little wolf's horrific sound. Dunshi sweeps around the courtyard, curling himself around the necks of the soldiers, sliding along the silver blades of their swords, and disappearing inside their bodies. Each time he does that, the person he's touching drops dead.

  "What the fuck?" I whisper, feeling a twinge of sympathy from Kumo.

  “All of the legendary Sanshi have triggers, events that activate the worst of their powers. Dunshi is triggered by funerals; it’s a small price to pay for his powers, but no price is without sacrifice.”

  My hands clamp over my mouth as the courtyard fills with blood. It sloshes up against my ankles, a tide of crimson heat that stains the black leather boots I’m wearing. There’s just so goddamn much of it. Then again, there are a lot of soldiers.

  Check that: there were a lot of soldiers.

  Most of them are dead now.

  I wonder what your trigger is? I think, not at all expecting Kumo to hear me. I feel a flutter of mild amusement that’s at complete odds with the horror show happening around me.

  “Who says I’m a legendary?” she asks, but I get the feeling that she’s just fucking with me.

  Frigging Bat Bitch.

  Knowing my luck, my familiar would be triggered by cheesy pick-up lines or karaoke contests or something, just to ensure I could never go out drinking with my friends again. No even better, what about orgasms? A good cup of coffee? A bookstore? Could you imagine that: a demon wreaking havoc in a brick and mortar bookshop? Talk about a real downer.

  Trick is smoking a cigarette and while resigned, doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the carnage. Crew is a blank slate, hands tucked into two large pockets on the front of his armor. I’ve never seen armor with pockets before, but it’s hardly the time to focus on inconsequential shit like that. Think maybe I’m in shock? I mean, who stares at someone’s pockets while a wolf demon slides inside the chests of enemy soldiers and spatters their blood across the fronts of nearby houses?

  “Once this is over ... “ Trick starts, nodding his chin in the direction of the northernmost road. “We need to book it. As soon as the royal guard gets word of this, they’ll put their best people on us.”

  Crew sighs, signs something long and complicated, and then looks pleadingly in my direction. Slowly, he makes the same motions with his hands and waits for me to describe them to Trick.

  “You want to ask the kirin for help? No fucking way. Clearly, all that time hanging out in Eros has scrambled your brain. You got frostbite up there or something?” Trick shakes his head and signs something out that’s too quick for me to follow.

  Not Crew though, it’s clear he knows what Trick’s saying and all it does is piss him off. His cat demon crawls onto his shoulder, flicking its double tails (how did I not notice those before?!) and raising the fur along the length of its spine. When it hisses, its fur rapidly changes colors between black and white, alternating the curled design on its forehead with the opposite shade. But even with that clear display of bravado, it makes no sound. Its hiss is a pink-tongued, white-toothed grin that’s almost creepier in the silence.

  I try to focus on the two men and ignore the blood and corpses surrounding us, but the smell … it’s ten times worse than the poor urutatsu mount I rode earlier. The burn of iron in my nostrils is dizzying. Without Kumo, I don’t think I’d be standing. No, I’d be on my knees in the blood, looking at the viscous crimson coating my hands, sloshing against my wrists.

  The funeral-goers are spared Dunshi’s wrath as he curves around and flits across the courtyard like a shooting star, settling himself around Trick’s shoulders. There’s not a drop of blood on the little demon. He pauses to lick Trick’s face and then disappears inside the orb at the end of the staff.

  The sound of jangling armor and heavy boots fills the sudden silence, echoing down from the northernmost road and filling the quiet courtyard. Uh-oh.

  “Let’s go,” Trick says, flicking his cigarette into the blood with a small sizzle. When he turns on his heel and takes off down the path on our right, I follow him.

  But with each step I take on the white stone path, my boots slip and slide, smearing a bright red trail behind us that even a child could follow. Crew notices me slowing down, my attention focused on our path, my muscles tightening with fear. After what we just did in that courtyard, there’s not a soul on this world or any other that would show us leniency.

  Whipping his sword off his back, Crew swings it and slams the end of the blade into the side of a small brown stone building. The cat–Maoshi–takes off from his broad shoulders and down the length of steel, sliding inside the walls of the house as easily as Dunshi entered the bodies of the soldiers. Within seconds, I can feel this rumbling shake that nearly knocks me off my feet. Trick’s there, though, and holding onto my arm with sure fingers, keeping me upright.

  We both watch as the buildings on either side of the street groan and stretch inward, at complete odds with the laws of physics. Well, I guess physics are relative depending on the world … and we’re not exactly on earth anymore, are we?

  All the same, it’s a real trip to see the two structures crash into each other, wood and stone raining down on the road behind us, effectively blocking us off from the incoming army.

  With a happy strut, the cat reappears, prancing down the blade and curling its body around the hilt. The rose-red jewels on the pommel glow as the demon disappears inside the weapon. Crew turns and gives us a sharp nod, letting us know we should keep going.

  Far be it from me to argue.

  Chasing after Trick and his staff, I let Kumo guide my feet … our feet? … so I don’t trip on the edge of a stone and break my face open. I’m not a particularly clumsy person, but I’m tired and confused and this journey is a hell of a lot more strenuous than anything I’ve taken on lately. Back in the day, when I used to make nightly attempts at running away from home, I could’ve run this far without breaking a sweat. Now … maybe I’ve become complacent? Maybe I’ve let myself think that life could be easy and simple and good?

  I push the thoughts back because running for one’s life is not the right place and time for a self-imposed philosophical discussion.

  Thankfully, I must also get Kumo’s stamina along with her wings, because I swear on all that’s good and holy that we’ve run several fucking miles. As we travel, the city changes with us, the houses shrinking, the roofs revealing patches and then later, gaping holes. The people are no longer dressed in robes, but rags.

  This is where we stop, in a bazaar that’s so packed with people that I can hardly breathe.

  Or maybe it’s the sight of the marketplace that really gets me. There are a lot of … people that aren’t human here. Or hell, maybe they are and they’ve melded with their Sanshi? I see wings and claws, skin in neon colors, eyes that flash with otherworldly light.

  Crew squeezes my shoulder for reassurance and then guides me into the throng. Trick slips off in the opposite direction and disappears amongst the crowd.

  “Where’s he off to?” I ask, and Crew smiles, signing something slowly and then making an ASL “J” in the air. He points to his eyes, crinkled at the edges with a bit of humor. “Looking for Jensen.” Crew nods as he leads us over to a stall draped in colorful garments. The person working the stall is dressed in rags, but they’re selling silk. It’s a frustrating sight to behold. But it’s not really my place to gap the income and wealth divide in a foreign land, now is it? It’s bad enough where I come from.

  The shopkeeper speaks to us in the same staccato language that the funeral procession was singing in. Crew simply nods, points to several items of clothing, and then passes over a handful of coins with square
holes in their centers. He takes the large stack under one arm and then pulls me after him with the other.

  “I have to admit, under different circumstances, I might actually like this place,” I say as the heady smell of spices overwhelms me. Several of the stalls are piled high with mountains of yellow, red, and orange spice while others have baskets and barrels filled with large white crystals, amethyst powder, sapphire sand.

  Crew smiles, this easy, confident stretch of lips. His face is practically begging to be kissed. If I still fucked strangers, I’d be all over him. It’s been a while though since I jumped into a one-night stand. Getting my life together is hard enough alone. The last thing I really need are romantic complications.

  If I were inclined however, I’d probably go for Trick or Crew. They both seem like mild-to-moderate assholes, but that’s never stopped me before. Besides, it’s the mouth I always look at in a man. I feel like you can tell a lot about a person by the way they hold their mouth. Since Crew doesn’t speak, it’s like every expression he makes is exaggerated. And the way he smiles … it’s breathtaking, I’ll admit that.

  He towers over most of the crowd with his broad shoulders and shiny silver plate armor. There’s blood on both our boots, but at least the material’s black. I just have to hope no one notices. Trick, on the other hand, was sporting jeans and bare feet. In a crowd this thick, it’s hard to see anyone’s feet, but I hope Trick knows a place where he can wash off.

  We pass several stalls with dried herbs and tonics, ropes of soap hanging from the rafters. Crew pauses near one and flicks a coin at the owner, pulling down a rope with an amber gold bar on the end of it. He hands it to me and on reflex, I take a sniff. It smells like honey and something else that I can’t identify. And honestly, it sort of smells like Crew, too.

  Once again, I wish that we could have a conversation. If I had any plans to stick around this, I’d learn to sign, so I could talk to him. Or hell, can’t I focus my energy and get him to talk to me? I did it before: twice, apparently.

  As we walk, I do my best to focus the storm inside of me on Crew’s full mouth, but I can’t seem to make it work.

  “We will get the hang of it, eventually,” Kumo says, startling me. I keep forgetting she’s in there; it almost feels natural to have her speaking inside my head, like the voice of my conscience or something. “If it were easy, there would be many more goddesses traipsing around.”

  I’m not a goddess, I think, purposely trying to hide that thought from the Sanshi’s prying ears. It seems to work because there’s no response, no soft trickle of gentle laughter ringing in my skull. Thank fuck. I do not need someone else hearing every miserable thought that finds its way into my head.

  Crew adjusts his grip from my arm to my hand, curling his fingers through mine and sending a rush of fire and ice through my blood. It’s both hot and cold at the same time, hitting me in my very core. My instinct is to pull away, but I find that my hand won’t let go. It feels too good to be touching Crew like this. Something to do with the magic, maybe? I mean, if these are my ‘knights’, then maybe we have some sort of metaphysical connection? Trick seems to think so.

  “What are kirin?” I ask as we weave our way through the crowd, past stalls selling animals, some of which I don’t even recognize. The one nearest us has stalls with giant dogs inside of them, dogs with fur in unnatural colors, patterns that defy nature. One even has horns. I’m so caught up in gaping at them that Crew reaches out and gently taps the side of my chin, drawing my attention.

  He mimes a horn growing from his forehead as he continues to smile at me.

  “A unicorn?” I ask, but he shakes his head no. “But the kirin does have a horn?”

  Crew nods then releases my hand to tap at the small pack over my shoulders. I remember the book inside and pull it out, letting him flip the pages until I find myself staring at an ethereally beautiful creature with a single horn on the front of his head. Its body is like a cross between a deer and a horse, with thick fur and long-lashed eyes. It looks almost delicate with its thin legs and white mane that hangs to the forest floor.

  “It’s beautiful,” I admit as we pause near the front door to a proper shop. Crew opens it to let me in, the smell of leather almost overwhelming me. We head inside with me still staring at the book and Crew approaching the counter with confidence. He whips his notebook out, scribbles something down on it, and passes it to the man on the other side.

  The shop owner stares at the page for a moment, brushing his dark goatee with two fingers before taking the quill and scribbling out a response. My best guess as to what’s going in is that they’re haggling, but what the hell would I know? Maybe they’re exchanging information? Sharing state secrets? Gossiping?

  After a few rounds of back and forth with the guy, the shop owner disappears into a back room and returns with three sets of boots and a pile of clothes, putting them on the counter and waiting for Crew to hand over a massive stash of coins.

  Crew gathers the items up as the man then gestures for us to follow him, opening a back door and ushering us out and into an alley. He closes it, locking us out, and I take in the short, dark corridor with a stone wall at either end. I feel trapped in here, and I don’t like it, especially not after what we’ve gone through today.

  Crew, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind, setting his bag and sword down and … unbuckling his breastplate.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, but the look on his face says all I need to know. I’m getting naked, baby. He can’t even speak, and I swear, I can hear the word baby at the end of his imaginary sentence. The urge to clock him in the nuts is strong, but I manage to resist. Good for me.

  “Excuse me,” Kumo says, and I feel this rending sensation down my middle as she tries to pull away from our shared bond. For a moment, I feel this natural urge to resist, but as soon as I let go of that, she slides out of me with a gasp on my end, and a flutter of wings on hers. In bat form, Kumo rises up and out of the alley, perching on the edge of the roof.

  “I’d rather not feel your embarrassment when you get naked in front of your soul mate for the first time,” she says, this absurdly pleased note in her voice that gives me goose bumps.

  “Wait, what?” I ask as Crew shoots her a surprisingly pleased little look … and then shoves his pants down his hips, leaving him completely and utterly nude.

  Swear to the goddess Ten-Tei (whoever she might be) that I just about wet my panties at the sight. Crew is tall, wide, and muscular. His body is virtually hairless but for a slight sprinkle on his chest, lower belly, and forearms. Those same swirling tattoos that cover his fingers travel down both sides of his body, emphasizing the width of his upper body and the way it tapers into his waist. His nipples are taut, drawing attention to the flat perfection of his pecs. And his … well, his cock is on full display. There’s no denying that it’s there, or that it’s hard as a rock. The thick, wide length of his shaft draws and keeps my attention for several, long awkward seconds before I realize that Crew’s doing that quiet, shaking thing again.

  He’s fucking laughing at me.

  With a grin, he points to the pile of clothing on the ground near his pack, and then starts to get dressed again, beginning with an undershirt and breast plate instead of undergarments of any kind. Of course he’s going to leave his dick exposed while he dresses the rest of his body. Dudes are the same in any universe, aren’t they?

  Ignoring him as best I can–which isn’t all that successful to begin with–I kick off the bloody boots, thankful to be rid of them. With a deep breath, I start to strip, too. Unlike Crew, however, I keep my bra and panties on, slipping into the linen underclothes and strange, woven armor pieces as best I can. When I get stuck trying to puzzle the outfit out, Crew moves toward me, his footsteps purposely loud against the stone to let me know he’s coming. I saw how he moved earlier, and he was silent as the dead. If he didn’t want me to hear him, I wouldn’t.

  Slowly, and with great care, he ga
thers up the ties on the back of the armor, fingers dancing lightly across the linen undergarments, and sending chills through my whole body. I want him to touch me in that moment. I want his big hands to cup my breasts, his full mouth to kiss my lips. I can feel his warm breath fan against my hair, and I can’t seem to suppress a shudder of desire.

  “I didn’t forget the soul mates comment,” I say as Crew finally steps back. I take a bit of a risk, glancing over my shoulder and hoping he’s not naked. Okay, that’s a lie. I am hoping he’s naked, but I’m also relieved when he’s not.

  “What’s to forget?” the bat creature says, her wings wrapped tightly around her body, her purple eyes focused on mine. “That’s what the goddess’ knights are: her soul mates. Don’t tell me you can’t feel the connection?”

  My heart leaps in my throat, but I don’t have anything to say except a very cliched, muttered, “I don’t believe in soul mates.”

  Crew snorts, but he doesn’t sign or write anything to contradict me, picking up our bloodied clothing and then stuffing it into his pack. Somehow, it all seems to fit, even though the bag he’s using is nowhere near large enough to accommodate the giant fur cloak he was wearing, the boar fur coat I had on, plus our boots and other gear.

  And yet, it all goes neatly inside, and he ties the satchel closed, swinging it onto his back as I raise my eyebrows. I’ve seen enough weird shit in the last few days, that I’m not even going to bother commenting on it.

  “Now what?” I ask, just a split-second before Trick vaults over the low wall at the end of the alley and lands with more grace than a pussycat. The way he moves, it’s mesmerizing, like he’s not entirely made of flesh, but something more fluid. He just seems to flow from one place to another.

  “I know where Jensen is,” he says, sounding pissed the hell off. The way he stalks toward us in his tattooed glory, fingers raking through his hair, I can tell that whatever he’s planning on saying, it’s not going to be good.

  His feet are free of blood, the bottoms of his jeans soaked through. Guess he did find someplace to wash off.