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

by C. M. Stunich

  We need to get help for the King, but I see Tee's point.

  If I die, there's not just a paltry thirty-five percent chance to save Underland … there's nothing at all.

  I let Tee pull me down the hallway, but when we reach a T-shaped intersection, both sides are littered with the bodies of card servants, and the Mocking Turtle is waiting for us.

  "Hello Alice," he says, whistling a tune under his breath as he leans against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets. He lifts his dark eyes to mine, their murky, swampy color making my stomach churn. "You really have saved a lot of lives today—we were going to slaughter everyone inside the ballroom to get to you. But popping down to the catacombs for a fuck? Brilliant."

  Tee puts me behind him, spreading his wings to block off the hallway, as he removes his knife from his belt. I push his feathers out of my way, so I can see what's happening. Behind me, the King continues to struggle with the Gryphon, the clank of their blades echoing against the stone.

  Whipping my attention back to M.T., I catch sight of his eyes flicking briefly up to the ceiling and then back down to Tee just a split-second before he launches an attack, yanking out a knife of his own.

  But it's that quick flick of the eyes that saves me.

  I spin around just in time to see a girl fall from the ceiling.

  She doesn't come from a secret hatch in the wall though, no, it looks like she was simply clinging to the stone like a spider.

  When she does land, she twists her body in a way that I just know isn't natural. If I were to move like that, my spine would break.

  I adjust my grip on the Vorpal Blade and take a deep breath, waiting for the girl to lift her face and look at me. She smells like death, but not the sickly sweetness of fresh death, more like cobwebs and dust and forgotten tombs. When she lifts her head, I recognize her and almost choke.

  "Edy?" I whisper, because for the briefest of moments, the woman—if you can even call her a woman—looks just like my little sister. Or me. Fuck, she looks like me. But this is no dark version of Allison Liddell; this is someone else entirely. And this is a someone else I feel I should recognize, but don't.

  Her mouth is black, her skin gray, her hair as white as bones, but her eyes are as blue as my own.

  I take a step back, an icy shiver working its way through my blood. Moments ago, I was gettin' hot and sweaty with the King of Hearts. Now, I'm staring at something that could very well be my own corpse.

  The Anti-Alice.

  This is the Anti-Alice.

  I move my feet apart into a fighting stance. Because I know for fucking sure I'm going to have to fight right now; there's no way around it. All those lessons with North, I hold them close to my heart and take a deep breath. If I'm good at anything, it's reacting well to a stressful situation. Well, at least good at reacting. Like how I chased Rab after he shot Brandon. I mean, it's better than freezing up, right? Even if I do make mistakes.

  The Anti-Alice is wearing a ratty pink bow on her head. It's rotted away at the ends and riddled with holes, but somehow seems important. It's the only thing on her entire body that's in color. She's literally a color study in black, gray, and white. And she's wearing a dress that's eerily similar to the one Edith gifted me, with a skirt that goes to the knees, short sleeves, and a dirty white apron. It's black and white striped, like an old prison uniform, but it's pretty, in a morbid dishabille sort of way.

  Well, okay, so I lied about the pink ribbon being the only color on her body … that white apron is spattered in blood.

  She stares me down for what feels like hours, but what I know can only be seconds.

  There are wounds all over her body, rough and scarred over but clearly visible against the ashy gray of her skin. Her nails are black and chipped at the ends, but far too long and sharp for any normal person. I can't take my eyes off of them as they curl around a curved sickle blade that looks like it's made of bone.

  She doesn't say anything, but the way she looks at me says it all: I'm going to consume you, Alice.

  There's a—how should I put this—lack of energy in the air around her, like she's sucking the color from the world. I can feel her disturbing lack of power as strongly as I can sense the blood flowing through my veins. Whatever she … it … is, it isn't human.

  When the girl runs her black tongue over her lower lip, I know I'm in trouble.

  This is going to hurt, I think, seconds before she throws herself at me like a rag doll or a zombie, like she has no bones and exists as simply as ashes in the wind. I barely manage to stumble out of the way of her weapon. It crashes into the wall next to my face, shattering the stone into pieces. Shards rain down on the back of my head as I roll out of the way, narrowly avoiding a second blow that slams into the floor inches from my face. Some rainbow strands of hair flutter away as they're sliced off.

  Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, I think as I struggle and fail to get to my feet, slipping on the shards of debris and thanking whatever spirits or gods are listening that I'm wearing thick-soled boots instead of regular heels.

  My skirts wrap around my legs as I fall on my ass with a grunt, keeping my hand wrapped around the hilt of the Vorpal Blade only with serious effort on my part. All I have to do is stab her, but there's no chance for it. She's on top of me before I can even think about lifting up the blade. Her sickle sword comes down at me with a speed that'll probably sever my head from my neck.

  I have just long enough to recognize that fact, but not enough time to do a damn thing about it.

  The Mad Hatter's cane whips down and deflects the blade, sparing my head. Arms go under my pits and drag me to my feet—it's March—and then haul me out of harm's way, trading places with Raiden Walker.

  He flips off his black top hat with his cane, and pulls out a revolver from underneath it, leveling it on the undead girl's face and pulling the trigger. Instead of sparks and gunpowder, the weapon releases a net that drags the Anti-Alice to the ground with a wicked screech. It's ten fucking times worse than the jabberwocky noises, and I feel hot crimson liquid draining from my ears.

  "Let's go," March says, hoisting me up and holding me in his arms like a baby. Not my favorite position, but I'll take this over decapitation.

  "Tee!" I scream because the Anti-Alice is already clawing her way out of the net, and the Hatter is already on his way back over to us, leaving the angel prince alone with two enemies instead of one.

  The King is still fighting the Gryphon, but now there are men in black armor, decorated with clubs. Soldiers sent by the King of Clubs, aka the Carpenter. Fuck. Brennin’s outnumbered almost ten to one.

  "Oh, get on with it, would you, Your Majesty?" Raiden rumbles, but even he sounds stressed.

  The vampire mercenary badass that the fucking dragon doesn't think he can beat … is nervous.

  As I watch, the King rips off one of his gloves and reveals a palm as red as his outfit. He slams it into the chest of the nearest man. The effect is instantaneous. Blood begins to pour from the guard’s mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. And his screams, they echo like nightmares in the skulls of the insane.

  The guard's head twists around in a circle … and then his neck splits, decapitating him.

  What. The. Fuck?!

  Red does the same to the next guard, and the next, and the next.

  There's so much fucking blood. No wonder his name is friggin' Red—he's painting the roses red, that's for sure.

  "We have to save Tee," I scream, fighting my way from March's arms, so that I'm standing on the stone floor again. I'm penned in between him and the Hatter, and neither of them look all that interested in giving into my request.

  Actually, they're not looking at me at all.

  "Do we take her to the Looking-Glass?" Raiden asks, staring instead at the King. Red manages to take out the guards, but the Gryphon is another matter entirely. I notice Red doesn't even try his magic hand technique on his sparring partner.

  "The entire palace is overrun with Clubs," Ma
rch says, looking up. His ears twitch and he bares his teeth in a snarl. As if in response to his statement, the sounds of pounding boots echoes from overhead.

  "Are they here?" the Hatter asks, his question sharp and jagged as it rolls off of his tongue. They? Who’s they? The Gryphon and the Mocking Turtle are already here. He doesn’t mean … the Walrus and the Carpenter, does he?

  "If the Anti-Alice is here, it's safe to assume they're nearby," March says, turning at the sound of shattering stone behind us. The wall caves in from the right and a jabberwock head snakes through with a hiss.

  And this jabberwock is not the Duke of Northumbria, I can tell you that.

  The face is all wrong, and the eyes are black, not gold. It screams at us and continues to dig and scrabble at the stone. If we don't hurry, it'll block our way completely and we'll be trapped in here.

  While Raiden and March are distracted, I turn and run in Tee's direction.

  The Anti-Alice is already coming at me, her skirts catching on her legs as she sprints full-tilt down the hallway, shattering the glass sconces on the wall as she passes. She doesn't even have to touch anything to bring destruction.

  I stop suddenly, my full skirts billowing around me as I feel the tingle of my own magic. I can’t use it on her, but I can make an assist, right? Using what little power I can summon on short notice, I chuck the Vorpal Blade as hard as I can. It embeds itself in the Anti-Alice's throat, and she stops dead in her tracks, choking on blood. It pours out of her mouth and down her throat in a crimson waterfall. But I'm already running again, shoving past her and pulling out the knife March gave me. The poison sparkles on the edge like glitter.

  "Tee!" I scream, but he's too locked up in the fight to turn and face me. Doesn't matter. I can't leave him here to die. There are Club soldiers streaming down the halls on both sides. Tee's holding his own against M.T., but it's only a matter of time before he's overrun.

  I move up beside him and stab the small blade into the Mocking Turtle's shoulder. Because of their violent struggle, it's the only place I can aim for that I know I won't hit the angel, too.

  The Mocking Turtle barely acknowledges that I've stabbed him, not at first. But then I figure the poison must be setting in because he’s shoving Tee away and stumbling back into the onslaught of soldiers.

  I snatch Tee’s hand and take off.

  "What a stupid move," Raiden says, but he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder while Tee follows along behind us. On our way past the King, Raiden tosses his gun to March, and the man fires off another net, pinning the Gryphon just long enough for Brennin to join us.

  I notice then that the Vorpal Blade is in March’s other hand, and the Anti-Alice is nowhere to be seen. So where the fuck did she go?!

  Now we're all running down the hallway, slipping past the jabberwock before she—because this just has to be a she—cuts off our exit completely.

  Red leads the way, taking us up a set of narrow stairs and into what I'm assuming is a servant's hallway.

  This is where Tee showed me the Looking-Glass, I think as we round the corner and run straight into Dee. He's holding his cell phone in his hand and smiling tightly.

  "Thanks for the text," he says, blood spattered across the front of his new shirt. It's sticky and glossy, making the fabric cling to the hard planes of his chest. "I might've gone down the main hall and gotten myself killed."

  Dee pushes past us, opens up the main screen on his phone … and hits the bomb icon.

  With a whistle, he chucks it back in the direction we came. It lands on the floor with the sound of shattering glass, cogs and wheels scattering across the stones.

  "Go!" Dee screams as our ragtag little group pushes around the corner seconds before the jabberwock scrambles up the hall behind us. There's the distinct smell of sulfur in the air and then … boom.

  The phone explodes with so much force that we're thrown forward. The Mad Hatter manages to keep me in his arms as he rolls, shielding me from any injury. When he stands up, he sets me down and then steps aside for the King, watching as the man unlocks the door with a simple wave of his hand. He doesn’t even need the key that Tee stole.

  "What about North?" I ask, panting and choking on the smell of smoke. There are spatters of blood and gore on the walls behind us, the heat of the flames chasing along the tapestries and carpets in our direction. "Lar? Chesh? Rab?"

  "Not our problem," Raiden grinds out as Brennin opens the door and steps aside to let us in.

  "Not your problem, you mean," I scream, shoving him away from me, feeling this frantic energy clawing at the inside of my throat. I put my palm against my chest, feeling my heartbeat fighting to escape my skin. "The prophecy says the Alice has nine husbands, right? So what happens if four of them die here today?!"

  Ugh, I'm overreaching like crazy, I think as the five men in the room stare at me like I've completely and utterly lost the plot, as North might say.

  Sapphire, amethyst, ebon, chocolate, and marmalade. Those are the colors blinking back at me with disbelief and anger and frustration. And like, there's no way in hell I'm committing to all these guys, but I'm also too invested in them to let them die. Lory's in there, too, somewhere with Dodo and Eaglet, and if I can, I'll find her, too. Oh, fuck, and the White Knight! I can’t leave them all behind.

  I move to the leave the room, and the King steps in front of me, looking down at me with this wild expression on his face that both turns me on and infuriates me at the same time.

  "Get in the Looking-Glass, Alice," he whispers, low and dangerous. I glare at him as the March Hare slides up beside me and forcibly curls my fingers around the hilt of the Vorpal Blade.

  "Go to hell," I growl out, but Red is grabbing me by the arm so hard that I let out a small scream. He shoves me back and into Tee and Dee and they wrap their arms around either one of mine. "Fucking traitors!" I scream, thrashing against their grips.

  With another wave of his red palm, the King orders the giant chess pieces aside as if they’re as harmless as puppies.

  "Take her Topside and don't come back until I send for you," Red says, moving toward the door and pausing to put his glove back on. Now that I know what he can do with his hands—in more ways than one—I'm even more terrified and turned-on by him. Not a healthy combination, is it?

  As he moves away, he gives me a dark look, curses under his breath and slams the door behind him. I hear several locks slide into place.

  Is he going back for the others?

  There's no way to find out because the twins are turning me around and leaving me to face my own reflection. Now that the mirror’s magic has been … enabled, or whatever, it's as wild as a storm. The silver surface stirs up my image, creating a disturbing mess of color that’s supposed to be me.

  The gold and silver nightmare leans against the wall, like a wonky melted caricature of a real mirror. The edges are inlaid with carvings of all four suits, and there's a single red heart at the top. It'd be a pretty mirror, if I had time to fucking admire such things.

  As it were, Tee's putting his mouth close to my ear and whispering in a tense, low voice, "I'm sorry, Allison," and then he and Dee are shoving me forward and into my own messy reflection. There's no time for me to scream or wonder if this is going to work. I slip straight through the liquid silver, my hands and arms blurring to a bright silvery mist as I start to fall. Much like the Rabbit-Hole, there's this sense that I've reached a new reality, like I'll just be falling forever and ever and I should get used to it.

  This fall, however, doesn't last nearly as long.

  For a few seconds there, I'm suspended in a silver liquid, falling and drowning at the same time. In the next instant, I'm tumbling out of the mirror above the living room fireplace and landing in a messy heap on the carpet.

  Dinah arches her back, hissing at me, while my little sister Edith rises to her feet … and starts to scream.

  Edith darts past me and grabs the metal poker from next to the fireplace. I'd be pro
ud of her for defending herself is she hadn't started beating me with it.

  "Fuck!" she screams randomly, hitting me in the legs with the weapon. I roll onto my back between swings and use my lessons with North to bring the Vorpal Blade up, connecting with her next blow. Our eyes meet and everything goes still—even Dinah stops hissing.

  "Son … Sonny?" Edith whispers, her eyes widening as I lower the blade and wait for her to put her own weapon down. Instead, she just stands there with it hanging in the air above my head.

  I'm too busy shaking and lying there in a pool of silver goo to do much but freak the fuck out inside.

  I've been fighting to get home for weeks and now that I am home … I want to go back.

  This isn't right, I think, sitting up suddenly and leaning my head over my bloodied skirts. I feel like I might throw up. I just had sex with the King, and now I'm sitting in Dad's living room?

  The mundane normalcy of my old life crashes into me with the force of a freight train, and I find myself gagging. Mostly on the mirror goo, but also … I'm suddenly desperate for the wicked depravity of Underland and the crazy men that I said I hated but maybe actually liked.

  "This can't be happening," I whisper as Edith drops the poker onto the floor and stumbles back, falling onto the smaller sofa like her bones have just turned to Jell-O. "This can't be happening," I say again, pushing up to my feet and stumbling into the fireplace. There's a roaring flame burning, and it singes the edges of my skirts, but I don't care. I'm too busy putting my palms on the surface of the mirror and choking on my own doubts and fears.

  Did I imagine all of that? Surely not, right? I mean, I am still wearing a bloody ballgown and holding a knife.