Enchanted Addictions: A Reverse Harem Fairy Romance (The Twilight Court Book 11)

by Amy Sumida

  Drostan considered this, then nodded. “She might show up.” Then he grimaced. “If I even matter to her.”

  “I hope that you do, Your Excellency,” Nightblade said gravely. “If not, I'm afraid we'll soon be facing another wave of terrifying drug reactions.”

  “Will you be there?” Drostan asked me.

  “Of course,” I said immediately. “I'll use a glamour.” I looked at my husbands. “We all will.”

  Raza and Killian nodded.

  “Good.” Nightblade got to his feet and removed a couple of envelopes from his jacket. “I have invitations for you. Your extinguisher team will have to guard the perimeter and oversee the operation since they've been seen by Verisande and can't glamour themselves. They should be receiving their orders soon.”

  Raza took the invitations and nodded. “When is the gala?”

  “8 PM tonight,” Nightblade said. “You'll need to arrive in separate cars.”

  “I can take care of that,” Drostan offered.

  “Good. The plan is simple,” Nightblade said. “We go in, we watch for Verisande Osag, and if she shows up, we apprehend her. I've been informed that I will share command with Extinguisher Lance Sloane. With your permission, Ambassadors, I will meet with him now so we may coordinate our communications and discuss how the extinguishers will oversee things.”

  “Sure thing,” Killian said.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Your Excellency. Please know that I take no joy in being right.” Nightblade bowed to Drostan and then to us. “Your Majesties and Your Highness, you have roughly ten hours to prepare.”

  “We're already prepared,” Killian said with a smirk. “We were born prepared.”

  “Kill, he means that we need to go shopping,” I said.

  “What?” Killian frowned as if he didn't understand the words I'd just said.

  “We can't go to a gala dressed like this.” I waved my hand at our jeans, then looked over at Raza, who was wearing another of his suits. “Even Raza needs something more... gala appropriate.”

  Raza looked down at his suit with a slight frown.

  I sighed deeply. “Shopping. I hate shopping.”

  “I can help with that too.” Drostan gave me a smile—or at least something that was trying really hard to be a smile.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “This one's good,” I called through the bathroom door.

  I was in the bathroom because my guest bedroom was full of gowns, shoes, wraps, and makeup. They hung on rolling racks, draped the bed, and were scattered across the dresser. Drostan had made a phone call and an hour later, a store's worth of crap arrived on his doorstep. That store was now spread out through our guest rooms. My husbands and guards were in the other rooms, having their tuxedos fitted while I was stuck in prom girl hell, trying to pick out a dress under the watchful eyes of the saleswoman who had accompanied the traveling boutique.

  “Let me see,” she urged me.

  I sighed and strode out of the bathroom, the deep blue dress shushing as I moved. I've been a princess for awhile now and I was used to being manhandled by “helpful” seamstresses and browbeaten by “well-meaning” maids. I had long ago learned how to walk in a gown with a train, how to walk in heels, and how to walk like a princess—a lot of walking went on in my princess training. I also had a basic knowledge of applying makeup and could even put on my own shoes. All of which this woman didn't seem to comprehend.

  She was tall, slim, and poised, with perfectly applied makeup. She was also Seelie Sidhe and had insisted that I wear my glamour during my dress selection. It made sense, granted, but I hated wearing a glamour. Usually, I hated it because I inevitably scared the hell out of myself when I glanced in a mirror but this torture session had given me yet another reason to hate glamours. The image I'd chosen was smaller than me. That didn't mean I got to wear a smaller dress. No, glamours were only illusions. This means that I was handed a dress in my size and as I put it on, my magic made it look as if it shrunk... significantly. I don't have a problem with my body—I like it just fine—but there's only so much taunting an ego can take.

  Glamouring is another thing I had to learn when I became a princess. All fairies could do it but I hadn't tried at first because I didn't see the point. Now, I was grateful that I had put the effort in. It wasn't that hard, really. It was similar to making yourself invisible. All you had to do was hold an image in your mind of what you wanted to look like and compel your magic to push that image outward and cover your body in it.

  However, what Nightblade had mentioned was true—fairies tended to have one, or at least one prime, glamour that they used. You have to put a bit of focus into creating a glamour and if you focus on a particular image often enough, it becomes second nature to slide into it. This is encouraged because once a glamour becomes innate, you don't have to concentrate on it so much. Unfortunately, I had thought it would be fun to choose the image of a celebrity when I was learning to glamour. I decided on a young Sophia Loren because... well, because—Sophia Loren. Why wouldn't I want to look like her? Also, our facial structures were similar so it wasn't excessively hard to visualize her. It wasn't, however, the best choice for boosting my self-confidence.

  I'd had to glamour my hair as well because the purple ombré stripe was hard to ignore and a dead giveaway if you knew anything about me. I went with a shoulder-length, wavy style, figuring I might as well go as different as I could with it. I had tried to pin it up but the saleswoman—who called herself my personal shopper, AKA personal torturer—refused to allow it. She insisted that I looked better with it down. Now, she frowned at me as I sashayed over to her; it's impossible not to sashay when you look like Sophia Loren.

  “No, no, no.” Ms. Halstrum—that was the name of the Sidhe-demon (see, it's funny because it sounds like she-demon, just go with it)—exclaimed. “The color is all wrong for you and the neckline doesn't go with your hair.” She took a slinky black dress off a rack and handed it to me. It had tiny straps adorned with glittering beads and a draped neckline. “Try this one.”

  I tried not to glare at her as I snatched the dress and headed back into the bathroom amid an angry swishing of fabric. Shush, shush, shush. It sounded as if the dress was urging me to hold my tongue. Which, of course, just pissed me off more. As I was furiously changing, I heard someone come into the bedroom.

  “How goes it?” Drostan's voice carried into the bathroom.

  “Good, Your Excellency,” Ms. Halstrum declared brightly. “She's lovely. Absolutely lovely.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Drostan said as if that were a given. “Has she decided on a dress yet?”

  “Not yet. She's trying on another option.”

  “I would have been fine with the first five dresses,” I said as I stepped out of the bathroom.

  Drostan looked over at me, took in my slinky gown and new face, and grimaced.

  “What?” I huffed. “This is a nice dress.”

  “Yes, the dress is beautiful,” he agreed. “I just...”

  “Oh, for Danu's sake, spit it out,” I grumbled. “Do you not like the hair?”

  “Honestly, Your Majesty, I don't like any of it,” Drostan declared.

  Ms. Halstrum fidgeted uncomfortably beside him.

  “But since you can't wear your true face, I suppose this will do,” he added.

  I blinked at him. “Was that a sly way of giving me a compliment?”

  Drostan grinned. “Perhaps.”

  “You know, Sophia Loren was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world.”

  “Who?” He asked.

  “Her.” I waved my hand at myself. “She was an actress. Italian, gorgeous, a sex symbol—any of that ring a bell?”

  “Whoever she was, she couldn't hold a candle to you,” Drostan said softly, his stare searching mine as if he could see the real me beneath the magic.

  Ms. Halstrum sighed.

  “Nice one.” I nodded. “A bit cliché, but it worked.”

&nb
sp; “Did it?” He drew closer. “Work, that is?”

  “Drostan.” I pointed at him in a warning way.

  “Yes?” Drostan grinned as he glided closer.

  “You're supposed to be backing off, remember?”

  “I seem to have forgotten.”

  “You said you had to settle things with Verisande.”

  Drostan stopped, his smile fading. “Yes, well, I think things are clearly over between us.”

  “I'm sorry.” I deflated, feeling like an ass. “That was mean.”

  “Ms. Halstrum, would you give us a minute?” Drostan asked politely.

  “Yes, Your Excellency.” She stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  “I want to make one thing clear, Seren,” Drostan said sternly. “I don't want this.”

  “What?”

  “The Call of Danu—I don't want to want you,” he explained crisply. “Do you think I like the idea of chasing after a woman who has no interest in me? Who merely thinks I'm attractive but doesn't want to rip my clothes off.”

  “Drostan,” I whispered.

  “No!” Drostan snapped. “There's a reason I fled from Fairy and Danu's Call. I want what I had with Verisande. I want passion! I want a woman who craves me as much as I crave her. And I don't want to share her with four other men!”

  I drew back, a little shocked by his anger.

  “I'm sorry.” He held up a hand as he collected himself. “It's been a trying day and I've just taken it out on you. That's the last thing I wanted to do.”

  “No, it's okay,” I said gently. “I get it. No man wants to share a woman. Well, I guess I should say most men don't want that. And I should have considered that you might be having contradicting emotions regarding me. After all, we barely know each other. It must be difficult for you to feel this attraction for me, especially when things have gone so terribly wrong with the woman you do love.”

  “Thank you. And yes, it is difficult. When King Raza said that if this were the Call, we'd only be together long enough to conceive a child, I felt this... panic. I don't want to have a child with you and just end it at that. But at the same time, I felt relief. Part of me hopes that once you conceive, this will stop. That this ache will vanish and I can resume my life.”

  “Drostan, I'm not going to have your child.”

  “No, of course not,” he said placatingly. “I'm just explaining how I feel. I want you to know that the way I'm behaving right now is not the way I wish to behave. I hope you will remember that and not think too poorly of me.”

  “Of course,” I whispered. “And I don't think poorly of you at all. You've been nothing but a gentleman to me.”

  “I'm relieved that you think so.” He looked me over and grinned. “You do look lovely. I like the dress.”

  Drostan walked out of the room and sent Ms. Halstrum back in.

  “Yes, this one will do nicely,” she declared. “Now, for the shoes.”

  I groaned and plopped down on the bed.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Holy fucking hot rods, Batman!” Killian exclaimed.

  We stood inside Drostan's garage—a mammoth space of cement floors and chrome walls. Over forty cars waited before us in military lines, not a single one of them worth less than 50 grand. Aston Martin, Ferrari, Rolls-Royce, Lamborghini—think of a luxury car worth more than most people make in a year and it was in Drostan's collection.

  “Seren—” Killian looked at me.

  “No,” I said.

  “Please.”

  “Where would we put this many cars? We can't have them in Fairy.”

  “That house Dad bought you in Oregon.”

  “That could hold five at most.”

  “We could build a garage in the backyard,” he said wistfully. “If you build it, I will come. Probably in my pants like an adolescent boy.”

  Drostan chuckled. “Take your pick.” He walked to a metal box on the wall, pulled a keyring out of his jacket, and unlocked the box. He flicked the door open to reveal a multitude of keys hung neatly inside. His hand hovered over the selection and then snatched up a set of keys. “I'm taking the Lamborghini.”

  “Aww,” Killian whined.

  “Did you want it?” Drostan offered generously.

  “No, it's fine,” Kill said with a grin. “I would have been upset over any choice you made.”

  Drostan chuckled. “Choose wisely, Ambassador.”

  Councilman Williams and the extinguishers were already at the art museum, setting up a perimeter around the building and getting settled into whatever command room they had commandeered. As guests, we would arrive later—in one of these ostentatious cars.

  “I'll go with the Bugatti Chiron,” Killian decided.

  “Good choice.” Drostan tossed him a set of keys. Then he looked at Raza. “Your Majesty?”

  Raza scanned the vehicles with an imperious air, then declared, “The Koenigsegg Trevita.”

  Drostan tossed him the keys. “A better choice.”

  I lifted a brow at Raza, surprised that he knew the make and model of any car, much less that car. “Nice,” I said approvingly as I headed for the Trevita.

  It was gorgeous, black, and looked capable of tearing up the roads, just like Raza. Not just a better choice but a perfect one.

  “Hey, I thought you were going to ride with me?” Killian whined again.

  “That was before Raza picked the Trevita.” I grinned at Killian and reached for the Trevita's door.

  Raza's hand was suddenly there, opening the door for me. “My queen,” he said in a sexy rumble and helped me into the car. Raza gave Killian a smug look before heading for the driver's seat.

  Drostan strode to his Lamborghini, glancing at me as he passed by, and Killian stopped pouting as he headed to the Bugatti. Within minutes, we were tearing out of Drostan's garage and shooting down his private driveway toward the city, Raza grinning like a madman. Dragons love to fly and driving an expensive sports car was about as close to flying as you could get without actually leaving the ground.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Raza and I pulled up to a modern, almost-industrial looking building made mostly of bare cement. It looked as if slabs of the stuff had been stacked on top of each other—the bottom one recessed a bit and lighter in color than the rest while the top one veered up a slight incline and stretched out. The front of the building was all straight lines and held only one window—an enormous picture window in the top slab—but the right side curved away toward the parking lot with another huge window in the bottom portion. On first look, the recessed wall made it appear that the building had two stories but that wasn't the case, at least not at this end of the structure. It was a single-story meant to look like more than it was. Behind it, the museum sprawled out in a collection of blocky buildings that covered an impressive amount of land. For the gala, the front, top slab—that straight facade—of the main building had an image of outer space projected on it as if it were a movie screen.

  Below the blooming galaxies, canister lighting and red velvet partitions led the way to the front doors. Two men waited before the open glass doors, checking invitations. The arriving guests pulled up to the curb for valet service and sashayed straight from their cars to the front doors, dressed in elegant gowns and suits. You'd never know that they were extinguishers, hunters, and vexes—the deadliest people on the planet. Somewhere around the lot, a few extinguishers from the team we'd been working with were watching it all carefully—scanning every guest for our target.

  Raza pulled up to the curb. An extinguisher disguised as a valet opened my door and helped me get out gracefully—not an easy feat when the car I was exiting was so low to the ground and the dress I was wearing was an evening gown. He went around the car and took the keys from Raza before jumping into the driver's seat with a barely-hidden grin of anticipation. Not even extinguishers on duty were immune to the effect of a sports car like that.

  Raza straightened his suit and h
is shoulders as he slid me a wicked grin. He had shifted into the body of a slim man with short, sandy blond hair and bright green eyes. There wasn't even a hint of my husband in his face but that grin was all Raza.

  “Shall we?” even his voice was different, up an octave or two.

  “I believe we shall,” I put some posh into my voice.