Allison and the Torrid Tea Party: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Harem of Hearts Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  "I've set up a little la-bohr-uh-tory for myself down here," March drawls, stretching out the word laboratory while he sucks on his knife-shaped lollipop. He pushes open a door at the bottom of the stairs and welcomes us in with a flourish.

  "What did you mean about poisoning me?" I ask as I step inside and notice the various jars filled with colored fluids, the beakers, the tiny pots with handwritten labels.

  "I'm going to start you on a series of poison-pricks, so we can build your immunity to the most common ones." March moves over to a table covered in knives and picks through them, setting one aside. It has a purple edge that glows faintly, warming up the dark space with each pulse of light.

  Creepy.

  "I don't like this at all," Tee growls as Dee exhales and rolls up his sleeves.

  "Which is why I'm going to test the poison first," Dee says as his brother raises his brows. "Dear brother, you are the heir to our people's throne. And she”—he casts me a sly look—“she is the Alice. Please, allow me." Dee sits down on one of the stools as March shrugs out of his velvet trench coat, turning to face us. I can't help but stare at the bare expanse of mocha colored skin showing between the two unbuttoned sides of his white shirt.

  He, too, rolls up his sleeves, revealing two, thick muscular arms.

  Thief, poison expert, Hatter's lackey, shapeshifter.

  That's all I know about the March Hare—stupid facts. I have no idea who he actually is as a person, and I'm not sure I care to. He and the Hatter are, for lack of a better word, dickheads.

  "Eventually we'll move onto mixing poisons, but this'll do for now."

  "What are your other forms?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and glancing around at the old prison cells on either side of us. They still have their rusted gates, separating off these tiny cubicles that I can't imagine could even fit a twin bed inside. The people that were kept here, they suffered—greatly. "If you're going to poke and prod and stab me, I have a right to know a little more about you."

  "Oh, Alice-Doll," March says, his chocolate-colored hair cut short into a neat, polished style, like a model. The longer hair on the top of his scalp is slicked back and hidden partially beneath his purple top hat. I notice he never wears a larger hat than his boss. "I imagine when we bed each other, it'll be a lot less violent than all that. Nobody wants to be poked or prodded or stabbed with a cock. It's all about the thrust."

  "I meant the needles ," I snarl, narrowing my eyes as I point at the collection of shiny, sharp objects on the table beside me. Apparently, this is going to be like those allergy tests at the doctor, the ones where they poke your skin with tiny needles tipped in allergens. Hopefully, I don't die down here. That'd suck. "You know what I meant. I know you can shift into a bandersnatch. What else?"

  "You're a pushy little Alice, aren't you?" he murmurs, his brown eyes twinkling.

  "Can we just get this over with, so we can move on?" Tee snaps. "If the King hadn't personally ordered us down here, we wouldn't be here. And if anything—and I mean anything—happens to Allison, I'll kill you myself."

  "Oh?" March asks, and then he throws back his head with a chortling laugh. His ears, on either side of his top hat, twitch. "Glorious. I'd love to see which of us would win in a fight. I might bet against myself, to be quite honest with you." March stands up and moves next to me, a good foot fucking taller. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. "Would you believe me if I told you I could shape-change into a slithy tove?"

  "What the fuck is a slithy tove?'" I snort, vaguely recognizing the words from the original Jabberwocky poem, the one that Chesh recited for me earlier to keep my head calm. I've been sing-songing it in the back of my mind all day now. I'm not sure how calming it is, but it's certainly catchy.

  "A tove is a … sort of like a Pegasus," Tee explains as my eyes open wide in disbelief.

  "Okay, sure …" I start, but March is already laughing at me, and I can't decide if he's telling the truth or not. "So can you really turn into the Mad Hatter?"

  Well, now, that stops him dead.

  He pauses with his hands on a bottle marked … well, Poison before turning to look at me. He tries to hide his surprise with a smarmy smirk, but I can see it. I've well and truly shocked him.

  "Where would you get a ridiculous idea like that?" he says, but his voice is too casual while his shoulders are too tense.

  The Caterpillar was right.

  I smirk back, because even if I have no idea if he's telling the truth above the tove, I know at least this much is true.

  "None of your damn business,” I ooze, enjoying my temporary feeling of superiority and smugness. It’s not often one gets the jump on a mercenary bastard asshole. “How many poisons are we testing today?" I ask as I take a seat on the stool next to Dee; he immediately starts up a game of footsie with me. Cheeky bastard. It lightens the mood in that dreary dungeon with its long hallway, its straw-filled cells, and the light but persistent reek of sweat and urine.

  "Just a handful," March says, dipping a tiny needle into the bottle, and then turning to face me. "Don't want to overwhelm your fragile system, Doll. Now, arm." He gestures with his fingers, and I sigh, removing my red and black military coat and pushing up the sleeve of my button-up.

  The Vorpal Blade is strapped to my thigh, the Queenmaker is on my hip, and I'm wearing the corset filled with knives. I have to say, I feel like kind of a badass.

  "Me first," Dee says, gesturing with his own arm.

  March obliges him, cleaning Dee’s skin with alcohol, and then poking just the tiniest prick into the pale flesh of Dee's underarm. He tosses the needle and readies a new one while the twins and I wait in tense silence. I think we're all half-convinced that Dee's going to keel over at any given moment.

  Fortunately, several pass and nothing happens.

  "Oh give me some credit where credit is due," March says as Tee very carefully watches him poison a new needle. "Killing the Alice in the King's castle with two angels to face off against, knowing my boss is eventually going to hunt me down and kill me, while I've already pissed off the King of Clubs with no way to go running back. Must think I'm bloody daft, eh?"

  He moves over to me, running his fingers up my arm. I swallow hard, but I refuse to let him see that he's having any effect on me. March carefully pushes my sleeve up a little further, running his thumb over the pulse in my elbow. He swabs my arm in slow, lazy circles with a cotton swab, the sharp sting of alcohol teasing my nostrils. And when I say alcohol, I don’t mean rubbing alcohol—I mean, like, fucking whiskey.

  "You look like Rob Evans," I blurt, and March raises an eyebrow just before he pricks me. There’s something weirdly intimate about that moment that I don’t like, and I jerk my arm out of his grip, cradling it against my chest.

  "Who?" he quips, sounding a bit like an owl.

  "A model from Topside," I murmur, rubbing at the sore spot. I feel a little tingle there, and start to panic, but it fades as quickly as it came. I’ve had worse wasp bites or bee stings.

  "A model, huh?" he asks, as I refuse to look at how tight his pants are over his firm ass. Underland is turning me into a freaking nymphomaniac. "You think I'm that pretty, do you?" He grabs up a banana from a bowl of fruit, peels it, and stuffs half in his mouth while he readies the next needle.

  "Hardly," I say, but I'm probably the only person in that room who believes what I'm saying. Even then, it's questionable.

  "We're going to work our way through these poisons," March continues, flattening his rabbit ears against his skull as he struggles with a corked bottle. "And then I'm going to give you a test kit to keep with you. At any time you suspect something is poisoned—food, clothing, even a fucking handrail—you take the swab out and test it. If the liquid turns cloudy, it's poison." He turns back around and moves to prick Dee with a second needle.

  "Cloudy, huh," I murmur, thinking how ingenious that would be, to poison say, a doorknob or a banister. Something innocuous and unexpected.

  "It'l
l test for ninety of the most common poisons." March murmurs after he's finally sucked the rest of the banana into his mouth and eaten it all. Impressive. Bet he could give good blow jobs with that gag reflex. Speaking of … I've sort of been wondering if he has a thing with the Mad Hatter?

  Wouldn't surprise me.

  "And if you leave it for about a week," he continues, taking care with what he's doing to Dee. That makes me happy, to see that he actually does give a shit about this poison stuff. It’s the first time I’ve seen him really show off his own personality, aside from being the Mad Hatter’s second-in-command. "You can test for another nine."

  "Ninety-nine poisons, huh?" I ask as March steps up next to me again. When he gets close enough, the stale reek of the dungeon fades away, and I get a hint of gardenia and the musky bitterness of dark tea on the back of my tongue. He smells like a tea party in a garden, this giant dude with all the needles and knives. "Can we test the Knave's dress? I don't trust her for shit."

  The March Hare smiles at me and looks up, meeting my eyes.

  "Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in and puts his lips disturbingly close to my ear, stirring my hair against my overheated skin. "Neither do I."

  I shiver as he grabs hold of my arm, rubbing my pulse with his thumb, and then pricks me—all while staring into my eyes. Those shifting flecks of color in his gaze remind me of fall again, of pumpkins and changing leaves and apple cider. The March Hare has all of the colors.

  “You know what,” he says, taking a step back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Take this.” March reaches behind his back and pulls the glowing purple knife off the table, balancing the hilt on his fingertip for a moment before he flicks it up in the air, lets it spin, and then catches it again. He grabs a leather sheath off the table and slips it inside before offering it up to me. “Just don’t stab yourself with it, love, or you are f-u-c-k-e-d. Up bloody shit creek with no paddle.”

  He winks at me as he hands over the knife, tangling our fingers together in a very purposeful way. I notice then that his fingers are covered in rings, and I have to wonder if it’s just for looks … or for beating people up. Hmm. Considering the way he flanks Raiden Walker, like some movie bad boy bodyguard, I’m guessing the latter.

  “Why?” I ask, sliding the knife out and gazing at the glowing poison. Not particularly subtle, but I don’t think this is meant to be. No, a weapon like this is a threat, a warning, like a caterpillar patterned in bright colors. Fuck off, jubjub bird. “There’s no antidote?”

  “Just my cum,” he says with a bright grin, and I swear on Hearts and Diamonds, I almost stab him with his own blade.

  Why does everything in this world have to do with drinking semen?!

  “Well, shit, if that isn’t motivation to take care …” I use the leather straps on the back of my new sheath to hook it to my thigh holster, putting the poisoned weapon right next to the Vorpal Blade.

  Look at me: I am a veritable freaking badass.

  “If you get into any trouble at the ball,” March says, leaning his tight ass against the table and crossing his huge arms over his chest. His grin is cheeky as fuck, white-white teeth in a face cloaked in shadow. “Stab the cocksucker with that, and I’ll know exactly where you are.”

  I glance over at Tee and Dee, both of them watching my interaction with March with interest.

  I turn back to him and smile, touching my fingers to the knife.

  “Thank you,” I tell him, and both brows go up. Pretty sure he expected some witty banter.

  He’ll get that … later. For now, I’m just trying to be nice.

  “You’re welcome?” he says, almost like it’s a question, tilting his head to one side as a single one of his ears flattens back against his skull. Aha. He doesn’t know quite what to make of me, and I love it. “Now, shall we prick you again, Doll?”

  Doll.

  Fantastic.

  Another goddamn nickname.

  North is naked on my bed when I get upstairs.

  "Oh for fuck's sake," I whisper, but I'm actually seriously turned on when I find him there with nothing but a scrap of blanket over his erect dick. "Look at you, jumping the gun like that." I fill a plate with goodies from the refreshments table as Tee goes about preparing cups of chamomile tea for Dee and me. I've learned from conversations with the twins that it's boosted with a drug that makes you go to sleep fast, and sleep well. That, I can handle. It’s just, like, melatonin or something.

  "I'm just making myself available," the Duke drawls as I sit down on the bed and accept the cup of tea from the angel prince's fingers. Tee gives me a tight smile as he does the same for his brother, and then sits down at the desk to pull out his journal.

  We both like to write down our thoughts, me and Tee. It makes me like him more. If I do get to go back home, I should grab my diary while I'm there. I'd even start a new one tonight if I felt I had the energy. But after the sex, the shooting, the dancing, and the poison … I have nothing left.

  "If you're too tired to change into pajamas," the cat purrs, curled up in a black and white ball on his cat tree," you could certainly sleep in the nude."

  I kick my boots off onto the floor and give him a look.

  "Sorry, dude, not tonight. You're just going to have to use your imagination if you want to see my boobs." I give him a tight smile, flip him off, and then take a sip of my tea.

  "Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality," Chesh purrs, shifting into human form as he leaps off the cat tree and lands on all fours on my bed. His collar jangles as he slides up between North and me. "Jules de Gaultier."

  "How do you know who Jules de Gaultier is?" I ask. I mean, you have to admit, it's weird as hell that the Cheshire Cat knows a quote from an obscure French philosopher.

  "He used to live in Underland, before he traveled Topside after the Riving," Chesh says, grinning widely at me. "Don't you love how full of useless information I am? All cats are, you know. We’re keepers of knowledge."

  I snort in response, picking through the banana bread on my plate as I look for insects or flowers or whatever other weird shit might be in it. Working off a random thought, I pull one of the March Hare's test bottles from my pocket, unscrew the top, and swab my food. I put it back into the liquid, put the top back on, and shake it up as instructed.

  "Not poisoned," I say as the liquid stays clear. March had said it would turn cloudy right away if there was even a trace of poison.

  "Likely not," Chesh purrs, kneading the pillows next to me with his black painted fingernails. "The card servants test all your food before they put it down. If it were poisoned, you'd see their corpses littering the floor around the table."

  "Thank you for that image," I say as I eat my food, smiling when Dee begins to snore.

  "You're quite welcome," the cat replies, pillowing his head on his arms and swishing his tail as he closes his eyes.

  The door to the room opens, and Lar and Rab walk in, completing our little evening routine. To be quite honest, I'm starting to enjoy it. I'm glad we have a few days before the ball. There's a weird feeling in my gut, like everything's going to change after that. So even though I know it won't last, I want to enjoy this peace for a few more days.

  "Evening, Miss Alice," Rab says, taking off his shoes near the door and getting comfortable in one of my chairs. The Duke makes an annoyed sound, but he doesn't bother moving from his position on my bed to put any clothes on. I'm quite enjoying the bronze expanse of his chest, so I appreciate that.

  Besides, I never said I'd changed my mind about, uh, mating.

  "Sunshine," Lar says, sweeping his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it up.

  "Evening to you both." I set my empty plate and cup aside, unstrapping the Vorpal Blade from my thigh and setting it on the nightstand. North had originally said the blade was owed to him. I wonder why? But that's a question for another day. I'm too tired to delve into it tonight.

  "How was your appointment with the March Hare?" La
r asks, lips twitching as he spreads his wings open wide and stands with his back to the fire. Based on the cheeky expression on his face, I think he already knows.

  "You dropped that information about his Raiden-form on purpose." I don't even phrase it as a question; I know it's true.

  "He liked that, did he?" Lar pushes his hair back from his face and uses a gold hairband he pulls from his pocket to tie it back. "I know all sorts of things about the Mad Hatter and the March Hare that would, well, not drive them mad since they're already mad, but perhaps madder still."

  "He told me his third form was a slithy tove," I say, and several of the men laugh. Tee ignores it all, scribbling things down in his journal. The clock strikes twelve as he's writing, and he gasps, his wings folding into his back and leaving the glossy sheen of feather tattoos on the backs of his arms.

  Note to self: break that fucking curse!

  I care about the twins now, and I want to see them freed. Plus, I'm a smug bitch. I would love to see the Knave's face after I fuck up her spell. That'd be priceless.

  "He is a tove, I believe, yes," Lar replies, surprising me. "It's a useful form, I'd think."

  "It's a throwaway," Rab growls, looking toward the painting on the wall that depicts the March Hare sitting at a tea party. It has not escaped my knowledge that the nine men I'm now surrounded by are all featured in these paintings. Or that I find them all physically attractive, even if their attitudes stink.

  Fucking prophecy.

  "What's your final form?" I look Rab straight in the face when he turns to stare at me, his gaze as icy as his voice. I feel like I must be getting frost on the tips of my eyelashes.

  "State secret," he says, and I groan in frustration, flopping back into the pillows.

  If there's a polite way to ask the rest of the men in the room to vacate so I can fuck a dragon, please point me in the right direction because I don't know how to go about doing it.