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

by C. M. Stunich

  "Charming," I groan as I look down at my new tattoo and wonder how long I'm going to last before I pass out … or what I might think when I wake up. I manage to make it back to my chair, but just barely.

  "Now," March says, grinning and then biting down hard on a pastry. Red filling squirts out of the end like blood, making me feel dizzy. My leg, it still hurts like hell, too. "My turn." He watches me for a moment, and then turns to the Mad Hatter. "My quest for you … is to kiss the King."

  "Really?" Raiden says, looking irritated. He pops an elbow on the table, cradles his hand in it, and sighs. "I suppose if I must."

  "Really." March shoves the rest of the pastry in his mouth and then delicately wipes off his fingers with a cloth napkin. "That's my quest: kiss the goddamn King on the mouth."

  "As opposed to where?" Raiden asks, tilting his head to the side and giving March a pissy little look.

  "I'm sorry, but … if you must?" Brennin drawls, looking bored out of his fucking skull. I'm not sure what March is up to with this game, but I'm intrigued to see how it plays out. That is, if I can keep my eyes open. Twice the boost, they say. More like ten times. I remember how I felt dancing at The Pool; it wasn't nearly as psychedelic as this. "You'd only be so lucky."

  Raiden stands up and straightens his bowtie with a sigh, letting his gaze slide over to mine. Now I'm thinking about his mouth on the King's neck which, of course, makes my own neck tingle and throb. I put my fingers against it, smearing blood everywhere, and find myself letting out the most embarrassing fucking moan known to man.

  I sound like a dying cow or a birthing giraffe, maybe some combination thereof.

  "Why were you sucking on the King the other day?" I drawl, flopped over my chair like one of Salvador Dalí's melting clocks.

  "Royal blood has a certain …" the Mad Hatter pauses and adjusts his velvet top hat. "Je ne sais quoi. The King knows how to win over a mercenary's shaky loyalty."

  "What a non-answer," I drawl, rolling my eyes as Raiden makes a show of rounding the table. The King acts like a kiss with a blackmailing rival mercenary male means nothing to him, leaning back in his chair and waving a gloved hand around dismissively.

  "Let's get this over with, shall we?" He scoots his chair back, and then gets this super fucking annoyed expression on his too-handsome face when Raiden steps between him and the table, leaning down and putting his palms on either of the chair’s arms. The Mad Hatter is pinning the King of Hearts into his seat and getting ready to kiss him.

  Somebody pinch me please.

  "I knew you'd like this, the Alice," March drawls, eyes sparkling like maybe I'm not the only one who's enjoying the show. I can't decide if he's into the guy-on-guy thing or if he just likes teasing his boss and seeing the King suffer.

  Raiden Walker stares Brennin Red down, his top hat sliding forward to shield his eyes from view. Yet I can tell from here that they're both staring at one another. The Mad Hatter holds that position for an inordinate amount of time, letting the crackle of the fire be the only sound in the room.

  "Well?" Red demands, reaching up to adjust his crown. He just sits there with his stupidly stoic face until the Mad Hatter finally grins, flashing fang. Raiden closes the distance between them slowly, languorously, his mouth hovering above the King's scowl for an uneasy moment. I almost wonder if Brennin is going to shove him away and put an end to the Torrid Tea Party.

  Instead, at the last moment, Raiden walker rips his hat off—his last fucking hat!—and Brennin Red tilts his head slightly to the side. Their lips meet, and their mouths part. There is clearly tongue at play here.

  My jaw drops, and I find myself leaning forward in my chair to gape at them.

  The kiss doesn't last long—a few seconds maybe—but it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Not only do both men look like experts in the field of making out, they execute it with movie-style perfection, a single take that falls together in perfect unison.

  When they part, there's this thin string of saliva that connects them for half a second before the King shoves his gloved hand across his mouth, and the Hatter lets out a raucous laugh.

  "Now, that was fun, wasn't it?" he asks, standing back up and swiping his palms down the front of his jacket to straighten out imaginary wrinkles in the fabric. Of course, there are none because the Mad Hatter is perfection incarnate.

  He returns to his seat, as the King sighs dramatically and rubs at his temples.

  "White Rabbit, if you'd please. I have other business to attend to tonight."

  "Well, don't let my torrid little party interfere with your busy work schedule," the Mad Hatter says, putting his fingers to his chest in a very mocking way. He rolls his marmalade colored eyes and replaces his hat.

  "Is that an order to hurry my ass up?" Rab asks, checking his pocket watch and sighing dramatically. "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting." He tucks the watch into his vest and sighs. "What do you wish me to ask, Your Majesty?"

  "Wait, what?" I snap, getting just a hint of mental clarity back. "It's your turn: you pick the quest or question."

  "I live to serve," Rab drawls, propping his head on his knuckles and staring at the King with a rather disrespectful expression. Brennin ignores him, sitting up in his seat and raking his gloved fingers through his red hair.

  "Ask the room if anyone has been involved with the tampering of our network as related to the King of Clubs." Brennin pours himself a cup of tea from a red pot—I'm assuming this is just regular boosted, drugged tea as opposed to truth herb tea—and takes a sip. Seems to me like he's throwing a bit of shade.

  "We all heard the question," I mumble, but Rab repeats it anyway.

  "Is anyone in this room involved with the tampering of our network as related to the King of Clubs?" Rab touches his fingertip to the flickering flame of a taper candle. His eyes shift around the circle, waiting for the truth herbs to kick in and kick our asses.

  "No." There's perfect unison from the twins, a grin from the cat, and me rolling my eyes as I answer.

  "Intriguing question and good use of our time," the Mad Hatter says, watching the King carefully. "Well-played. And no, no I am not involved."

  "Nor me." March moves onto his third or fourth cupcake—I've lost count at this point—and flattens his ears against his head.

  "I would never." Lar fans his wings softly and takes up smoking a cigarette on a long, decorative gold holder, blowing blue smoke rings into the hazy darkness.

  "And we all know I'm clear. I kill things; I don't network." Rab smiles sharply and unbuttons his vest, like … it's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes sort of a thing.

  "You'll ask the Mad Hatter and the March Hare how the Clubs knew the Alice was with us on such short notice," the King says, looking to Lar next. "I mean, unless it was pure unhappy coincidence that the Mocking Turtle and the Gryphon showed up like they were summoned."

  "That's a low blow, coming from someone like you," Raiden says, but the way he's grinning at the King says he likes the way this is going. There's violence and sex in the air here, and I feel like I'm drowning in it.

  My body likes it though. As if I weren't wet enough from my encounter with Rab, from the Mad Hatter's mouth on my neck, his kiss with Brennin Red, the drugs also seem to have an arduous effect on my cunt. My panties are soaked, and my nipples hurt from staying pebbled for so long.

  "Where did the Clubs happen to come across information that might lead them to believe the Alice was in our care?" Lar repeats, leaning back in his chair and using his finger to draw dog-and-caterpillars in the air next to him. Ya know, bugs with cat and dog heads? I'm assuming they exist somewhere in this nightmare.

  "I haven't the faintest idea," the Hatter says, glancing over at his right-hand man. "March?"

  "My only guess is that they were keeping a pretty close eye on us, tracking our movements. I can't imagine the King of Clubs trusts us much. After all, we do have reputations, don't we Hatter?"

  "Oh M
arch, we most certainly do. And so undeserved, too!" Hatter replies, spinning his hat around on his head.

  March winks at me from across the table, and I cock a brow. Right. Undeserved. I shift in my seat because my pussy is so damn swollen, it almost hurts. March notices. Like I said, eyes, ears, and nose of the operation.

  The rest of us mutter our thoughts on the matter, or lack thereof. It's quite clear this is a chess match between the Hatter and the King. Nobody else matters much.

  "And now it's the damn cat's turn," the King snarls. "Horrid beast. I found hairs all over my finest robes this morning. How do you think they got there? I don't keep cats; I prefer dogs."

  "No accounting for taste," Chesh repeats, disappearing from view, and then reappearing as an upside down white smile. His grin is as big as his head. "Though I suppose with the truth herbs I can't outright lie to you. All I can say is that I quite enjoyed urinating in your shoes." The Cheshire cat laughs as I sway in my seat and notice that the darkness in the room has now begun to take on multi-colored hues. Oh dear. I'm quite high, aren't I? "For my turn, I'd like to offer up a quest for the Alice."

  "Of course you do," I ooze, barely aware of my own lips moving. "And what's that? A blow job? Because I'm not into perpetuating rape culture. A little bit high over here."

  "A blow job?" Chesh's smile asks, turning back around the proper way. "Not at all. I was going to ask if you might scratch me behind the ear?"

  The King sets his mouth into an ugly snarl, and sneers at the poor cat in a way that makes me furious. I stand up so quickly, my chair almost topples over, and Tee has to reach out to steady my swaying ass.

  "You, sir, are a prick," I say before I head over to Chesh's spot, throwing my arms around his neck before he even really has one. His human body fades into view and he starts to purr. I rub my cheek against his, feeling this white-hot heat flare between us. Oh, this is so much more than a simple pet; it feels like a mating ritual.

  My fingers stroke over his silky black and white ears, teasing the silver hoops, and noticing that there's a very distinct bulge in his lap that was not there before. His tail hooks around my ankle, and he makes this growling/mewling sound that has my panties all twisted in a knot.

  "We'll be explosive pussy partners, don't you think?" he asks as I stumble and end up falling into his lap. I don't bother to move because, well, is there a better seat in the house? That, and I'm not sure I'll make it back to my own chair.

  "Piss in my shoes again and you'll see the meaning of explosive," the King snaps, looking up as I chuck a teacup in his direction. He knocks it aside at the last moment with a gloved hand, and it explodes in the fireplace, sending bits of China all over the old stone floors. "That was not a particularly smart decision, Your Majesty."

  "The cat is mine; he belongs to me. Leave him alone." I rub my cheek against Chesh's as his grin grows to gargantuan proportions, like it may very well fall off of his face. "You're mine now, Cheshire Puss. I'll hug you and love you and snuggle you as if you were my very own Dinah."

  "Oh dear," Dee says, gritting his teeth from beside me. "You are quite out of it, aren't you Allison-who-isn't-Alice?"

  "She won't make it a second round," Tee says, but I'm barely listening. I'm too busy snuggling the Cheshire Cat. Never snuggled a cat with an eight inch erection in his leather pants, but hey, there's a first time for everything! "Dee, make this count."

  The chipper angel prince nods his head and offers up a salute, shifting in his chair to look at me, the feathers on his wings rustling.

  "Allison-who-isn't-Alice," he coos, reaching out to run a finger down the bridge of my nose. "I need to ask you a question, my little Mary Sue." I grin and try to smack his hand away, but it looks like it's flickering in about a million different colors, and I find myself simply staring. "Can you look at me?" He taps my chin, and I lift my gaze to those glorious blue eyes of his. Like oceans, I could swim in them.

  We stare at each other for what feels like eons, and I know in that crazy drug-induced moment that it will never be long enough. I want to stare at Dee forever.

  My hand lifts up and seems to cup the side of his face of its own accord; Dee leans into my touch.

  "Allison," he says, using my real name for once, "what should I ask?"

  I blink my eyes at him, and it takes a good twenty seconds for the question to sink in. Lar and Rab still defer to the King, but the twins … are mine.

  "What's Rab's third form?" I blurt, which is really a waste of a question, but I'm entirely wasted, so what does it matter? I reach over the table and snag a cupcake from one of the tiered silver trays. It has a crystallized butterfly on the top, which I eat in one bite. It tastes like marmalade and butter on toast.

  "Rab," Dee singsongs as the bandersnatch assassin rolls his red eyes, "what's your third form?"

  "It is a literal state secret that I've sworn on my life not to reveal without the King's permission," Rab says, looking like he's about to choke on his tea. The Duke grins and passes over a jug of ice water with tiny flowers dancing on the top.

  "Two magical oaths warring against one another," North says, smiling and teasing the tip of one of his horns with a finger. "Whatever shall you do?"

  "Your Majesty?" Rab chokes out, giving the King a look. But Brennin simply sits stone-still and says nothing at all. "Fuck." Sweat pours down the sides of his face as he leans over and curls his fingertips into the wood of the table. "May I simply say that my third form is a royal and be done with it?" After the words leave his lips, there's a visible loosening of the tight skin around his eyes and forehead. "Oh for Heart's sake, that was awfully cruel."

  Rab exhales and leans back in his chair, my curiosity peaked to high hell. A royal, huh? Perhaps his third form is the King, like March's is the Mad Hatter? It wouldn't surprise me.

  "An intriguingly insightful question," North says, glancing over at the King. Brennin returns his look and they hold each other's gazes for the longest fucking time. Or maybe I'm just high on boosted tea? Either way, that look is sketch as fuck. Makes me wonder if Rab's third form is actually something worse? What … if he's got the King's father's form in him or something?

  "Surprisingly so," Tee replies, narrowing his eyes slightly. He doesn't trust North, and I know it's because of the Duke's close relationship with the King. But I think—think—that North is on my side now, or at least leaning that direction. "I won't waste your time because I can see Allison isn't faring well. Lar." He turns to the Caterpillar who's still lazily smoking his cigarette. "In any of your visions, did you see us as being the Alice's nine?"

  Oh.

  Damn.

  Tweedledum does not fuck around.

  Lar smiles slow and easy, tilting his head to one side, earrings swaying with the motion. His jacket is black today, to match the dress code, but the epaulettes and fringe are still gold, rustling in that supernatural breeze of his. When he opens his mouth to speak, smoke escapes and begins to dance in the air with fantastical shapes.

  "How doth the Alice prophesied

  Improve her all-male harem,

  She dates assassins, kings that bleed

  princes, angels, dragons!

  How cheerfully her kitty grins,

  How neatly shifts her rabbit,

  She welcomes winged seer men in

  While dating thieves is habit!”

  The Caterpillar fans his wings as he recites and then executes a very small bow from his seated position.

  "That's about all I know," he replies cheekily, a saucy smile taking over his lips. "Make of it what you will."

  "That's not at all subtle," I drone, trying to push up from Chesh's lap. I don’t believe in destiny or prophecy anyway; if these guys are interested in being one of my nine, they better show me their true colors and let me decide if they’re worthy of my time. "Is it time to drink and switches places again? I could very well use a clean cup." I try to grab a teacup half-filled with tea, but Dee extracts it from my wobbly grip.

 
; "Nah ah, Allison-who-isn't-Alice, you must wait for the official pouring and the blood prick to drink."

  "But I'm thirsty," I whine, throwing my arms around Dee's neck. I end up tumbling out of Chesh's lap and straight into his. He collects me in his arms and holds me close.

  "No more extra tea for you," he starts and then pauses suddenly, like he's seen a ghost. Slowly, I crane my head around to see what he's looking at.

  It's Lar, bent over his empty teacup with a severe frown in place on those perfect pink lips.

  "Oh, dear," he says, as the King glances into the cup alongside him. "Well, this certainly isn't any good." Ah, he's reading the tea leaves. I'm both fascinated and terrified to find out what it is that's caught his interest—doubly so, considering my intoxicated state. "We need some whiting, and promptly."

  Rab scrambles up and out of his seat, moving to a cabinet in a dark corner. All I can see of him as he digs around in it are his white ears. When he returns to the table, he has a hookah, and he quickly readies it to be smoked.

  "What does it say?" the King asks, gesturing at the chipped tea cup in the Caterpillar's hands. "Don't be coy, Lar, spill the tea, please."

  The Caterpillar sighs and tugs on one of his earrings.

  "The cup spells danger, clear and immediate danger." Lar snaps his fingers and the White Rabbit passes over the hookah. He takes a drag, exhaling blue-gray smoke, and then passes it around the table, starting with the King.

  We all take turns breathing in the sweet scents of tobacco and blueberries. The high hits me like a ton of bricks, compounding on the two cups of boosted fucking tea that I drank.

  I hope I'm awake long enough to see Lar's premonition, let alone act on it.

  He stands up and pushes his chair to the side, spreading his wings wide behind him. They're bigger than the fireplace, blocking out the flicker of flames, and turning into this hazy dreamland that I can't seem to look away from.

  Images flicker to life within the black-gold edges, sucking me into the dark gardens of the castle and beyond the wall. It's like I'm inside the head of whatever's watching us, staring up at the tower from the safety of the woods.