Her Selkie Harem

by Savannah Skye

  “You were out for so long, we were starting to think--” Declan broke off, his lean throat working as he pushed off the doorjamb and came closer.

  “I’m fine. Sore, and achy, but I feel…”

  Alive.

  That was the only word I could think of to describe it. Vitality coursed through me like an elixir.

  “I feel great,” I finished lamely, my throat tight with emotion. “I love you all so much. I’m so glad everyone is okay.”

  “Are you hungry?” Patch asked softly. “Can we get you something to drink?”

  As if on cue, my stomach growled and I realized I was famished. “How long have I been out?”

  “Three days,” Declan replied. “Three very long days.”

  That explained why they all looked like hammered shit. That was a long time to fear for a person’s life.

  “And where are we?”

  “Still in Montana. Leanne found us a ranch house to rent for a week so you could recuperate in peace and comfort.”

  I made a mental note to thank the water nymph if I ever got to see her again. In the scheme of things, my jealousy seemed so petty now. She’d been integral to our success and I felt a rush of affection for her.

  “Maybe you three can go make Sienna a nice, big breakfast and I’ll get her cleaned up some, all right?”

  Connor seemed ready to argue, not willing to release me, but something in his sister’s tone had him rising reluctantly.

  He shot her a pointed glance and a tight smile before leading his brothers from the room.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked, my sixth sense tingling.

  "It is. And it’s going to be even better one day, my friend,” she said, busying herself by pulling some clothes from a bag hanging on the closet door and yanking the tags off.

  She handed me a pair of butter-soft yoga pants and a thick hoody and took a seat beside the bed as I stripped off the t-shirt I’d been wearing and dressed.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, tugging the sweatshirt over my head, reveling in the warmth.

  “I mean I need to go now.”

  My stomach clenched as I met her ethereal green gaze. “Go where?” I demanded, suddenly the furthest thing from hungry.

  We’d only just found one another again.

  "I need to spend some time in the sea. Get away from humans for a while. Not you. You’re different." It was probably the nicest compliment she could have given me. "But I need time to heal. Mentally, you know. The time will come when I want to get back out and meet all the lovely people - humans and otherwise - there are in the world, and I want to be ready for it. Right now, I’m nothing but a shell of myself. A mass of fear and mistrust. I need to work through that, because there is still an amazing world to see and explore.” She broke off and cleared her throat before lifting her chin. “I won’t let him take that from me, too. Time. That’s all. I just need a little time.”

  I nodded, blinking back tears. The last thing she needed was me guilting her right now after all she’d suffered.

  "You will come back someday, though?" I asked.

  She smiled that irrepressible Saorise smile. "Before you know it. Now I know where to find you, I'm going to be visiting a lot. You'll be sick of the sight of me."

  "I doubt that," I smiled. "I was thinking I might vacation in Ireland next year."

  Saorise grinned and nodded. "On a certain beach?"

  "We can build sandcastles."

  It had been a tough conversation for both of us, but I knew it was best for her. And, above all, I knew that she was telling the truth; this was not goodbye. I would see her again. When her heart was ready.

  “And your brothers?” I asked, fear coalescing in my chest like a fist. They’d sounded like they’d planned to stay. But if she needed them…if they needed to go, I would have to understand.

  “They're happy with you, Sienna. They’re staying, if you’ll have them. And I couldn't be happier for all four of you. It makes you and me sisters even more than we were before."

  Saorise being my sister was a childhood dream come true. And the fact that her brothers wanted me as much as I wanted them? Made me feel like we could all get through anything.

  "Thank you, my sister. For so much more than I can put into words,” she said softly.

  "Right back at you."

  "Sienna and Saorise."

  “Saorise and Sienna."

  "Best friends. Friends forever."

  Epilogue

  One month later…

  As I awoke, I took a moment to appreciate the simple pleasure of being back in my bedroom in New York.

  I was home. And I was not alone. I looked about the bed at the three men curled up on it with me. We had managed to find a pretty effective way of sharing a bed to all our satisfaction, but it still required a certain amount of contortion from everyone but me, so a new, larger bed was probably called for soon enough.

  I looked at their faces and could not help reading into their slumbering expressions, contentment. But now I didn't just have to read their faces and guess. I closed my eyes and let my mind shift.

  Patch was dreaming about me - a dream I would have to make reality at some point, it looked like fun. Connor was sleeping so deeply, there were no dreams at all. Just a deep sense of contentment emanating from him like the low hum of a song without words. Declan was dreaming about his sister, the two of them racing through the ocean as children. It was a joyous dream.

  I left their minds. I knew that they didn't care if I took a look, but I was still getting used to this new ability and I didn't like to intrude. The sharing of their blood, which had saved my life by making me part Selkie, had left me with a part of them, making me almost as close to them as Saorise - though in a very different way. I was still learning, but, in time, I would be able to communicate with them telepathically as she did, and I couldn’t wait.

  That was not the only Selkie attribute I had apparently gained. Selkie are long lived, far beyond any human, which meant that I would have two lifetimes with my males. The gift of their blood was one that kept on giving.

  “What plots are you hatching, love?” Patch asked as he rolled toward me with a grin perched on his firm lips. “You were thinking so loudly, it woke me up. Must be something good.”

  My heart leapt as I met his gaze and snuggled closer. “I was thinking we should sleep in. We can see about making some of that dream of yours a reality. Then, you three can lay here while I go make a massive batch of pancakes. After we eat every last one, we’ll take a ride upstate to the lake…”

  He traced the shape of my lips with his fingertip and I nipped it playfully.

  “I’m in,” he said softly, peppering my face with kisses.

  Until now, I’d kept on my job at the veterinary office out of sheer love for it, but my boss knew it was temporary. We had plenty of money and had taken a few weekend trips and had already begun hatching plans for extended travel. Some of it for pleasure, to hunt for treasure and to frolic in the sea—I’d become an amazing swimmer—and some of it for business. By our estimate, there were still more than a dozen Twisted Clubs moving around the country and more overseas that needed dismantling and we’d decided it was our duty to see it done.

  Patch’s mouth slanted over mine, his tongue sweeping in to caress the tender skin on the inside of my lower lip. Hands curled around me from behind and I knew by the firm, confident grip they belonged to Connor. Gentle, skilled fingers traced my thighs and I gasped.

  Declan.

  This was heaven.

  I had a purpose. I had a sister now. And, best of all, I had love.

  So much love.

  Want more steamy romance? Check out all Savannah’s books on her Amazon author page!

  Want more Savannah RIGHT NOW? Check out Her Immortal Harem, below!

  A con artist has to be flexible, able to think on her feet, and ideally, have nine lives. That’s why I make sure I’m always the cat and never the mouse. Until now, that
is…

  I’m walking down the street minding my own business—okay, fine, running down the street with a fat guy named Hank chasing me after a hustle gone wrong—and suddenly, I get pelted in the back of the head by a frog.

  You read that right. Frog. Like…ribbit.

  Trust me, I was as shocked as you are. And that amphibian-sniping was just the opener to a major shit-show starring yours truly as a modern day Joan of Arc and three sexy-as-hell demigods insisting that it’s up to me to save the world from the gods of old who want to see Earth razed and human kind wiped out.

  What’s a girl to do besides saddle up and try to make this quest her bitch?

  Chapter One

  "I'm a cat person, myself."

  I looked up from the pool table at the hulking man who had spoken and gave him my most polite “I've never heard that line before” smile.

  To explain; my name is Caterina. I go by Cat. In my entire life, or at least since the age of sixteen, I have never been in a room full of guys without at least one of them stating that they were 'a cat person', usually in a tone of voice that suggests that they think this line alone should be enough to seal the deal with me.

  I should probably have been grateful that none of them had mentioned ‘pussy’ yet. These are the everyday tribulations of a woman called Cat, and you might think I was showing admirable restraint by not breaking the pool cue across the head of this particular guy—whose name was Hank. Actually, I was kind of glad that Hank had said such a douchey thing, because I was about to cheat him out of his money, and I felt a lot better about taking money from a jackass than a nice guy. So, instead of smacking him over the head and kicking him in the gonads—I knew how to take care of myself—I smiled teasingly like I had never heard such a witty line, and was actually a little turned on by it. I had to keep Hank and his pool-playing mates onside by making them think that they had a chance with me. Keeping them distracted, and making out that I was dumb and ditzy made them overconfident.

  All part of the grift.

  “I hear you, Hank. I like a nice pussy myself."

  Annnd, there it was. I barely managed to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head.

  Hank’s rat-faced best friend was named Leon and he had the physique of an emaciated clothes horse. He wore a ridiculously tight T-shirt, apparently designed to show off a chest that looked like a bunch of wire hangers in a sack. I had taken a dislike to him on sight, which is something I don't like to do—you shouldn't judge people by their looks. It was a relief to learn that he was as dickish as his looks suggested.

  Still, I smiled back as if this was the most romantic thing I had ever heard, and in my sexiest, most sultry voice, I whispered back, “I bet you do."

  You wouldn't think that any man would be dumb enough to think I was actually flirting, but men have a blind spot when it comes to attractive women. If a good-looking girl pays attention to them then they will believe every word she says…a very useful thing to know in my line of work.

  It probably sounds arrogant to describe myself as attractive, and it's not something I would have done when I was younger, but after spending the past ten years conning men on a daily basis, there was no denying that they seem to like the way I looked. Since I’d had no part in determining the symmetry of my facial features and my appearance was just the result of my parental units’ melding of cells or whatever, I was no more proud of it than I would be of inherited money. I had been fortunate enough to come out on the better side of the luck of the draw but I’d done nothing to earn it.

  That said, I couldn’t deny that it made my work a lot easier, and for that, I was grateful. No point in looking a gift horse in the mouth.

  I bent low, making sure both Dumb and Dumber had eyes on me, and took my next shot.

  "Damn!" I muttered, then stamped my foot petulantly as the ball rebounded off the cushion. "I suck at this."

  Hank scooped up the bundle of notes from the edge of the table and put an arm around me, sending up a waft of BO that made my eyes tear a little. "Never mind, sweetie. I bet you make up for it in other ways."

  “Oh yeah? Like what?" I asked innocently.

  Hank gave a knowing look to his mates around the table. “Maybe you can show me later."

  They all chuckled, their expressions as oily as their hair.

  Sometimes it was almost too easy.

  That said, playing pool that badly is a skill. Being bad at pool is one thing, but you have to be very good to pretend to be convincingly bad.

  Especially when you're as good as I am.

  I downed a shot of tequila from a row set up along the bar, and tottered convincingly on my heels. Two other things you have to be good at when grifting; holding your liquor and pretending to be drunk. I’m pretty good at both, but I wish I was better at the former. Always room for improvement.

  "You're not going to take more of my money are you, Hank?” I ask, wheedling. You've got to time the moment right; don't leave it so long that they've lost interest, or have become more interested in you than in the money. That could be dangerous.

  "Sorry, darling," said Hank. "I know you've lost a lot this evening but a bet's a bet."

  "My daddy's going to be so mad at me." I don't why the 'Daddy' thing works, but it does.

  "I hope you learned something then," said Hank, playing the big man.

  "That I suck at pool?" I sighed. "Give me one more chance to win my money back?"

  "You got anything left to bet?"

  I shrugged. "That depends. I don't have to bet money…do I?”

  I watched Hank’s eyes to see the 'sure thing' bulb light up inside his head.

  I sidled closer to him to seal the deal. "This way; whether I win or lose - I still get to win."

  It's important to know that if you try this grift one on one, it doesn't usually work, but in a group of a certain type of man, it works one hundred percent of the time. And here's why:

  "Hank, if you don't take her up on this, then I'm gonna!" Leon laughed.

  I turned unsteadily to look at Leon. "For how much?"

  Just like Hank's a minute ago, Leon's rodent eyes lit up and he fumbled for his wallet.

  "Now hang on..." Hank began. “The lady asked me first.”

  But the other men were now joining in. "I'll take a piece of that action."

  "Count me in!"

  I pretended to look concerned. "Guys, I'm starting to think you're taking advantage of me and my lack of skill."

  Immediately, they all rallied round to reassure me; it was just in fun, just a bit of a laugh, and besides, I've been losing all night, I'm bound to win eventually and, really, I'm taking advantage of them for encouraging them to bet so much on a pool game that could clearly go either way and from which they didn't stand to win any money.

  "Well..." I bit my lower lip, turning the matter over. "Okay."

  The men cheered and a pile of money went down on the table. I had to wonder what they thought was going to happen if they won. But they were all drunker than me by this point and this was apparently fulfilling some nasty little fantasy for them.

  "Rack 'em up," I said with a practiced, nervous giggle.

  This was where things got tricky.

  The most difficult thing in pool hustling is the final game. How do you make it look like anything other than hustling? The short answer is, you probably can't. No matter how accidental you make it look—and I'm pretty good at making a win look like an accident—they are still going to be suspicious. A lot of the time the men just don't want to admit that they've been hustled in front of their friends—especially by a girl—and so they let it go. That was best-case scenario and what I was counting on here.

  Worst case?

  I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

  The next twenty minutes went by in a blur of missed balls that mystically left my opponent without a clear shot of his own, peppered with a handful “lucky” shots that resulted in me winning the game.

  I strai
ghtened as the eight-ball slipped neatly into the pocket and squealed with as much excitement as I could fake-muster.

  "Look at that! I won! This is so cool."

  I scooped the money into my bag then grabbed a bar napkin—because there is one thing you can do to make proceedings marginally less painful for a male mark. I scrawled a phone number on the napkin—I always use the number of a guy I knew in school who grabbed my boobs at a party one time—then kissed it, leaving a vivid impression of crimson lipstick.

  I stuffed the napkin into Hank's hand and gave him a fleeting smile.

  "This was really fun. Big fun, but I gotta go,” I added with a pout before holding my thumb and pinky to my ear in the universal sign for ‘phone’. “Call me."

  I took another shot of tequila and headed out. Leaving the number and telling him to call me was always my exit strategy because it soothed the sting of things if they got to save face in front of their boys some. That said, in my experience, the effect wore off pretty fast when you've just taken a lot of money from them. Usually I had time to get to the end of the block, and that was all I needed. In my home territory of Brooklyn I have every escape route mapped out in my head. I knew the back alleys around the bars like I was brought up in them and I can lose anyone.

  But this was the Flushing end of Queens and, while I did a scout around beforehand to get the lay of the land, it wasn’t the same. My foster brother, Remi, who was also my occasional partner in these ventures, told me it would be risky coming out this way, but I didn't think we had much choice. You can only grift the same area for so long before you get known. I'd been banned from half the bars in Brooklyn, and the only reason I hadn't been banned from the other half is because my marks hadn’t complained to management. They wanted to get me in the door so they could have a frank conversation about where the hell their money went.

  I had told Remi that Queens was a risk worth taking, and based on the bulge in my bag, I was right. It was still only half of what I needed for the month, but that was a problem for another day.