But the thought of giving both Pierce and Gabriel each their own perfect days in Paradise reminds me that I’ve now spent a day with each of them, and all three men are expecting a decision.
After dinner, we retire to the parlor again. The men are trying to be patient, but the anticipation in the room is thick enough to choke on. I sit on the couch, and, as they’ve done every night, the men surround me. Instead of wine, Gabriel brings me an ice-cold beer—which makes me laugh and earns me a wink from the man who understands the world I come from more than the others. He crashes down on the couch beside me, and Pierce takes a seat on my other side. Cyrus claims a seat on the coffee table in front of me, and, as he’s done each night, pulls my feet into his lap. This time, his massage feels different. His touch is slower, more sensual. No doubt he’s thinking of how he had his hands all over my body earlier this afternoon.
“So, you’ve seen all there is to see in the Netherworld,” Gabriel says, stealing the beer from my hand and taking a sip. He hands it back and asks, “Do you think you can be happy here?”
I don’t have to think about my answer. “I already am.” I give each of them a smile. “It’s hard to put it into words, but I feel like I was meant to be here, in this place, with the three of you. There’s a rightness to it all.”
Pierce gives my hand a squeeze. “I agree. You seem to be designed for the Netherworld the same way we are.”
“Yes. That’s it.” I nod. “I’ve had the chance to experience a little of all three of your jobs, and I can honestly say I could never do any of them. But to spend my days in Paradise helping good people find joy? That I can handle. More than handle. It will be a treasure. I can’t wait to start work tomorrow and meet the souls of Paradise.” I give Gabriel a soft smile. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He returns my smile, but there’s something behind it—a strain. Nervousness, I realize. I meet his gaze, and he finally asks the question on all of our minds. “And now that you’ve spent time with all of us…have you made a decision?”
My heart pounds in my chest, and I chew on my bottom lip. I’ve never felt such bad anxiety before. “I—” My gaze bounces between all three of them. They’re all staring at me with so much hope on their faces. How in the world could I possibly pick one of them? “I can’t choose!” I blurt out. My eyes gloss over, and I have to swallow a sudden bout of emotion. I shake my head and let out a slow breath, trying to steady my voice before I speak. I don’t manage it. “You’re all so wonderful,” I say, voice shaking. “You’re each so different, and you bring different things into a relationship. Fun,” I say to Gabriel, then turn my gaze on Pierce. “Culture.” I turn my smile on Cyrus and add, “Serenity.”
None of the men say a word. The silence becomes heavy, so I shrug my shoulders and say, “How could I possibly choose one of you when you all feel perfect for me in some way? I just can’t. You’re going to have to draw names out of a hat or something.”
“What if you don’t choose?” Pierce says quietly. His voice is calm, steady, and confident.
Gabriel, Cyrus, and I all freeze. Pierce meets each of our gazes, then says, “You’re perfect for us, too, all of us. What if you are designed for us the way we’re designed for this place?”
“It’s a possibility,” Gabriel murmurs. “There’s no doubt she’s perfect for me.”
“Me too,” Cyrus says. He’s lost that softness he had earlier and has gone back to his usual gruff self. That’s okay. I don’t mind that he saves his soft heart for only me. I’m selfish enough to appreciate that.
“So we don’t make her choose,” Pierce says. He locks his eyes on me. “Would you be willing to carry on as you have been—splitting your time up between the three of us?”
Gabriel sits upright, as if suddenly renewed with energy. “The deal we made didn’t say the relationship had to be a monogamous one. I simply promised her a forever relationship. Maybe, because I didn’t specify, the deal extended to all of us.”
Cyrus looks at his fellow lords, then turns his speculating gaze on me. My heart is now beating rapidly in my chest. Are they really about to suggest what I think they’re about to suggest? Could that even be possible? “You did say you feel the connection to each of us, as if your soul belongs to all of us and not just Gabriel.”
All the air leaves my lungs, and I have to suck more in. “I do,” I admit. “I’m sure my soul belongs to all of you.”
“If that’s the case,” Pierce says, “then you shouldn’t choose. Your soul belongs to each of us, and we, in turn, owe you a forever relationship.”
“Do you think you could do that?” Gabriel asks, resting his hand on my thigh. “I know it’s not conventional, not how things are typically done in the living world, but do you think you could give it a try?”
“Having a relationship with all of you?” I clarify. “At the same time?”
“Yes,” Pierce says. Straight and to the point. It’s so like him.
Do I think I can give it a try? To be able to keep all three of these amazing men? Not have to pick one of them, but get to enjoy them all? It seems too good to be true. A wild fantasy come true. “Are you sure you guys could handle it?”
I study each of their faces, searching for any hints of displeasure. I only find hope. “It seems so selfish,” I admit, “for me to keep all three of you and you all having to share me.”
“I already told you, I don’t mind sharing,” Pierce says in a low, heated voice that makes my face turn bright red.
“I wouldn’t mind, either,” Gabriel admits. “I haven’t felt any jealousy these last two days, only impatience waiting for my turn with you again and fear that I could lose you. Yes, I could share you, if it means I get to keep you.”
I look to Cyrus. Of the three of them, he seems the most likely to have a problem with this. He meets my gaze and gives me a long, searching look. Eventually, he nods. “I’ll do what needs to be done in order to keep you. As long as I get to have you all to myself sometimes, then I can share you with Pierce and Gabriel.”
My heart flips in my chest. It feels like it’s bursting with joy. I can’t believe this is happening—that I get to spend the rest of eternity here with all three of these men. “How is it possible that I got so lucky?” I mutter, my eyes glossing over again and my throat closing up with emotion. “I wasn’t that good during my life.”
All three men burst into happy laughter. Gabriel takes the beer from my hand and sets it on the coffee table. “It doesn’t matter how good you were in your life.”
“Though, you were good enough to earn your place in Paradise,” Pierce cuts in.
Gabriel nods and takes my hand in his. “You gave me your soul, and in turn I promised to cherish you for eternity.” His gaze falls to my lips, and I lick them in anticipation. “I’m physically bound to keep that promise.” He leans in and brushes his lips over mine. “Not that I mind.”
He leans in a little more, pressing his mouth to mine in a soft, slow kiss. Before it ends, Pierce gently tugs me back by my shoulder. I turn his way, and his hot mouth fuses to mine before I can say anything. Pierce is more a man of action than words anyway, and his kiss gets my blood pumping. I lean into the kiss so far that I nearly fall over. He ends his kiss, and in his typical demanding way, he points at Cyrus. “Now him.”
My cheeks heat up, and I give Cyrus a hesitant smile. It feels strange to be kissing them all in front of each other. Yet, it’s exciting as well. It feels right. I really do belong to all of them, and them to me. Cyrus notices my sudden self-consciousness. His smile turns crooked, and he surprises me by pulling me onto his lap. He hugs me to him and gives me a sweet, chaste kiss. “Welcome to the Netherworld, Lady Kinsey, Keeper of Paradise, and Keeper of the Lords.”
I match his grin. “I’m glad to be here with you, Lords of the Netherworld, Keepers of my Soul.”
The End
Like My Soul To Keep, try The Nora Jacobs series from Jackie May.
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Jackie May is a pseudonym for a husband and wife writing team. Josh and Kelly live in Phoenix, Arizona with their four children and their cat, Mr. Darcy. Jackie May is their only daughter. (And she keeps asking for her cut of the profits since we’re using her name.)
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Blinded Beauty
Cecilia Randell
Blinded Beauty
One blind girl must defy an empire to find her destiny.
Mila used to be a perfect citizen. Born to a modest merchant family, she worked to improve both her own and her family’s position. Just when she thought her future secure, she wakes blinded and damaged, touched by dreams.
Now living in one of the compounds set up for those deemed flawed, she struggles to survive the harsh conditions as she toils for the very same empire that sent her there.
When a sandstorm blows into her small corner of the world, bringing with it her dreams made flesh—creatures of feathers and fur and myth—she will need to find a courage that has been nearly stripped from her. And if she can do that, she may just find her true destiny… and love.
Prologue
The dreams had returned. The soft weave of cotton blankets became golden fur and feathers, enveloping me. I sank into them, grateful for the feelings of comfort and security. This was the better dream. The other, the one of blood and death and screams, of sand and stone and beating winds, came more often. Opportunities to revel in the golden visions were few and far between
These were strange dreams, always the same, and of nothing I had ever seen. There were legends of great cats in the southern reaches of the empire, and golden eagles were sometimes spotted in the Grypes Mountains. Isolated as I was in my small town of Tabos, I had never travelled to these places or seen these creatures. Yet my dreams were some strange combination of the two.
Whispered words came to me, low and soothing, though I could not make out what was being said. I slipped further into the dream until I didn’t want to wake.
I always woke, though, just as I always knew I was dreaming.
Warm fur ran along my cheek, and my fingers stroked along a feathered limb until it came to the smooth hardness that was the talon. It fascinated me how these beings could be so deadly in form, yet they never failed to treat me with gentleness and they never hurt me.
At least, they hadn’t until now. As my finger skimmed over the claw and off the tip, it moved, pricking me. New colors filled my vision. A light violet, almost white, swirled from my finger and around the claw, then over the feather-covered limb and chest to the golden fur of the back and hind legs. Wings of white feathers tipped in lavender stretched before me, and an ivory beak, curved to be able to tear flesh, skimmed over my head.
A fearsome beast stood before me, and yet I remained calm. The white-violet light continued to spread until that was all I saw, my creature a darkness outlined in beauty. Two more joined him, one of gold, one of copper—energies intertwined yet wholly separate—and I marveled that my mind could conjure such an image.
This was new. And despite all I had to look forward to in my life, I knew when I woke I would miss this terribly. Something magical and amazing had happened. Something out of tales and stories that only children now believed. And I would never be the same.
When the light faded, I sighed and opened my eyes.
Instead of soft moonlight filtering through the curtains of my window and pale, whitewashed walls, black met my gaze.
The colors of my dreams had faded, but the darkness remained.
My heart sped, and I reached out, my fingers encountering the smooth wood of the small stand beside my bed. Fumbling, I found the igniter and pressed. A soft click and whoosh told me the lamp’s wick had caught, as did the faint warmth from the small flame.
There was still no light.
My breath froze in my lungs. I blinked, then rubbed my eyes. Still nothing. Sitting up, I tried again to see what should be there. I reached out, gripping the duvet cover. It was a light green, almost mint, with thin stripes of forest green running along the length. My aunt had gotten it for me at the annual fair in Dogaru, when she and my uncle traveled to the capital to make new connections for trade. It was one of the finest things I owned—the weave tight yet supple, the colors brilliant, even after many washes.
I knew what it should look like. But I could not see it.
My lungs expanded with a great gulp of air, and my heart sped. I squeezed my lids tight and prayed to the Great One. This could not happen to me. I had my life planned, my future set. Baron Farland’s youngest—Jonathon, my oldest friend—had asked for a pairing, and though he would never inherit, it was a step up for my merchant family. I was personable and well-mannered, and, while only passably pretty, I knew how to take advantage of my dark hair and gray eyes, knew which colors to wear to bring out their faint violet cast, a rarity in the north. I knew how to best display my figure, and I knew how to run a household. I knew how to flatter a man and how to manage his vanity. I could read, handle complex sums, and even hold my own in the more philosophical and esoteric debates the lords of the empire loved to indulge in. I had been groomed from a young age, shown exactly what I needed to have and do and be in order to get ahead in this life, in the Empire. I had worked hard to achieve this.
And none of that now mattered.
I strained my lids open once more, seeking any flicker of light, of color, of movement. Nothing.
I’d lost my sight, somehow. There would be no more sunsets, no stolen afternoons of reading by a fire, or getting lost in the intricate patterns of a new length of cloth.
But, worse than that, I’d become flawed. Somehow, the dark had followed me from my dreams. Or, my dreams had been a warning of what was to come. That was the more likely scenario. Despite how I allowed myself to fall into them or how real they seemed, none of what they showed me existed. So they must simply be figments and fragments of a now flawed person.
Tears gathered and fell, the droplets leaving warm tracks down the cooling skin of my cheeks.
I was flawed. Flawed. Everything I had achieved now held no meaning. My aunt would find me when I didn’t come down for the morning meal. I could envision it. She would summon my uncle, who would send for the Citizen’s Improvement Initiative. He wouldn’t want to, but he would. For the good of the Cilesian Empire. A discreet message would be sent to the Baron, and my engagement would be quietly dissolved. And Jonathon…
My chest tightened further until I could barely draw a breath. I had no idea what Jonathon would do. Strangely, that hurt more than the thought of being banished to a compound on the edge of the desert. Jonathon was my best friend, my intended, my love.
And now that I was flawed, I wished I could say with certainty that he would come with me or fight for me, defy the empire for me—something romantic and grand, in line with the vestiges of a young girl’s vision of love. But I couldn’t say that or believe it. I was flawed now. In one night, I’d lost my destiny.
I lay in bed, eyes straining, and waited for morning, for my aunt’s knock, for the furor that would ensue. And as I waited, I changed from someone with everything I could have wanted, to someone with only one thing: a memory of beauty and light and figments of imagination.
1
The shuttle and reed of the loom moved back and forth, the rhythmic motion and steady susurration lulling me once again into daydreams.
They used to be of the time before. That was how I thought of it. The Time Before. Before my flaw, before the banishment, before the life I was supposed to lead was ripped from me. Before the end of everything I knew.
Before the blindness. Before my flaw manifested and I was sent to Eusos, a compound on the northern edge of the Empire.
This had been my home for the last seven years. I no longer wept. I no longer struggle
d with fairness or what was right or just. Eusos did not allow for such indulgences. In the compounds, you endured or you were no more.
My feet continued to work the pedals and my arms pushed the reed up and down. Sometimes I wished I could see the colors of the cloth I made, but more and more I was content with the feel of the silk fabric, slick against my fingers, and the faint humming of the weavers, the constant of the patterns and rhythms that now ruled my life. Old Britta, the weavers’ overseer, had other workers who ensured the integrity of the looms and fabrics and monitored for breaks or knots that must be handled. I had been doing this so long now, sometimes it seemed I could feel the weak points in the thread, could sense the breaks before they happened, could hear the small snap even in the clank and constant noise of workshop eleven, station nine.
“Mila, dear, you’ll need to move faster than that to make your quota and receive your supper portion.” Old Britta’s sweet tones sounded behind me, and I shuddered. This was the first warning. Next would come a pinch, and if I still failed to perform to the overseer’s satisfaction, the hand slaps would begin. And, of course, the withheld meals. I shied from the memories of what came after that.
The lack of footsteps indicated she had yet to move away, and I picked up my pace. Around me the other women did the same, and their humming died away. I concentrated until smooth wood was all I felt, until the remembered colors faded to the blackness of my current surroundings and nothing but the pungent smell of dyed wool filled my nose. I pushed aside anything but the unceasing bleakness of now and concentrated on survival.
She finally stepped away. The scuff of leather on wood and quickly drawn breaths allowed me to trace her progress through the room. When Old Britta was on the opposite side of the workshop, some of the tension in my shoulders eased. Gradually—and unbidden—the images returned, golden feathers and fur filling my mind’s eye. More and more I drifted to them, entranced by the play of light over the quills and the texture that tickled my fingers. Even as I continued the weaving, I was once again lost in this world, a world that had become my solace.
Realms and Rebels: A Paranormal and Fantasy Reverse Harem Collection Page 156
