The Mad King (The Dark Kings)

by Jovee Winters

  “This is your home?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  The way he acted, the apprehension in his gaze, she sensed this cost him a great deal. She wasn’t sure why, though she really shouldn’t care. He was a brute. Totally rude. And yet his hug and touch made her want to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet. Much easier to hate him when he was a jerk, and so much harder to do it when he wasn’t.

  Damn her soft heart.

  The cottage was quaint, the roof slightly sunken in, and the paint chipped off in a spot or two. The thing was in desperate need of work, and it was a wonder it still stood.

  “Hmm. It’s... nice.” She didn’t want to lie, but really, it was pretty bad.

  His lips twitched and, oh man, she forgot everything. His rudeness? Gone. His indifference? Gone too. All she could see was that smile. She was pathetic. Seriously crazy. If he’d been sullenly handsome before, now he was HOT to the nth degree. Her stomach flopped.

  The painting stretched, bulged, and when he stepped through, it almost seemed to absorb him. He hadn’t released her hand. She didn’t have a moment to panic or think, disoriented the moment her foot slid through the door.

  She was upside down. Or was that right side up? Hard to know for sure because the furniture and bookcases sat inches from her. But she clearly stood on the roof or, rather, a roof beam. The door they’d stepped through was definitely below her.

  Maybe?

  Then the world around them rolled like the display of a slot machine, and she plopped down on the floor, landing on her backside with a thud. She wasn’t moving, but felt like she was in the dizzying rush. When it finally stopped, she rubbed her butt.

  He snorted.

  “Don’t you laugh.” She wagged her finger.

  Hatter pressed his lips together and mumbled something.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What did you say?”

  “I said...” And that was as far as he got before he started laughing.

  She crossed her arms, but the longer he laughed, the harder she fought not to join him. Finally he held a hand out to her.

  Grumbling, she took it and noticed the door was where it should be and the beams above her head. “That gonna happen again?”

  His lips twitched. “No.”

  “You know what, Hatter, I don’t think you’re as crazy as everyone else thinks you are. I think you’re a big fraud.” She tried to be stern, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

  Light danced in his expressive, suddenly warm brown eyes.

  “Ah, I knew it.” She couldn’t resist teasing further.

  He snorted. “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”

  “And now it’s gone.” She rolled her eyes. “And just for the record, you might want to read something other than Poe. Incredibly depressing.”

  He jerked, shocked. “You know Poe?”

  She grinned, crossing her arms under her breasts, and experienced a momentary thrill of feminine delight when his eyes zoomed to her chest. “I know a great many things, Hatter. Like the fact you find my shirt fascinating.”

  He shrugged. She smirked—he hadn’t denied it.

  “Come on.” He turned and continued on down the winding maze of corridors. The cottage outside had been tiny, but this place was an M.C. Escher nightmare.

  Hatter would walk through one door and suddenly it was day, the sun beating so hard she’d been ready to chant “I’m melting” in her best Wicked Witch impersonation, only to then enter through another door and plop face-first in a mound of silver-dusted snow.

  Shivering, rubbing her arms to generate any heat, she stuttered “c-c-cold” through clenched teeth.

  Then they were walking through yet another door, and before she had a chance to breathe a loud sigh of relief at the blast of warmth, she was free-falling. Again.

  She threw her arms out, attempting to grab anything to stop the mind-numbing terror of total darkness.

  “Relax.” His deep voice rumbled next to her ear.

  She turned, blindly reaching out toward his voice. He grabbed her hand and the fear vanished, replaced by a thrill of excitement that bordered on lunacy.

  Wind surged past in a sickening rush. All she could focus on was the heat emanating from long fingers wrapped around hers. Her stomach dipped when his thumb caressed her knuckle.

  Then they landed on what felt like a hundred soft pillows, and she lost him.

  “Hatter,” she cried, scrabbling to stand. Everything was dark and she was disoriented, turning in circles, trying to find some source of light.

  “Hold my hand.”

  His hand slid into hers, and for a second, a whisper in time, she felt the world shift. Small. Minute. Like a butterfly’s wings taking off from a rose petal. She jerked, eyes widening, feeling his heat spread through her palm, up her arm. Her heart twisted almost painfully in her chest at the rightness of the very strange moment.

  He didn’t slow his pace or turn as they advanced through door after door, each room more strange than the last. A green sky with blue grass. A room filled with thirty moons. Another smelling of the heavenly scent of vanilla and spice. One after another, shifting in a blurry daze she couldn’t track.

  They stepped through yet another door, and all she had time to do was groan, “Dammit.” Just how many times would she have to free-fall?

  She closed her eyes when she got too dizzy to keep them open from the constant rotation. Her hair hung above her head. Lovely. She was falling headfirst. At that point, she wasn’t even scared. Sort of like riding a rollercoaster twenty times in a row—after a certain point, it failed to terrify.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling in the best she could. With his big frame shielding her, she felt safe, protected in the madness of his home.

  And then they were there, landing gracefully on their feet. She looked, breathing in the wonder of a land that defied description.

  The world sparkled with the deep-hued shades of jewels. They stood in an open meadow. Flowers, petals looking like they’d been dipped in gold, swayed from a gentle breeze. A flock of birds gracefully sailed overhead, their birdsong a trilling, haunting melody that pierced her heart. And in the distance, she heard the faint roar of rushing water.

  “My home is this way.” Somewhere between her falling at his feet and her falling in his arms, he’d gentled, reminding her forcibly of the man etched in her memory from years ago.

  She nodded, feeling as if the world hushed around her, held its breath with an expectant hum.

  Hatter led her to a white cottage with a red door. It looked exactly the same as the one painted on the teapot. She halted, narrowing her eyes.

  His lips quirked, and heat nestled deep in her belly.

  “Don’t worry.” He shook his head. “No more tricks. This is home. You’re probably exhausted.”

  He’d read her mind. For a second she’d been afraid she’d have to endure more tricks and turns.

  A thick wave of dark brown hair fell into his eye, and she felt the oddest desire to reach up and tuck it back into place, run her fingers through it and see if it felt as soft as it looked. She bit her lip and nodded.

  The moment they stepped inside, she waited for the dizzy inertia of a spinning room, but he’d told the truth. It was a simple living room. A stuffed blue love seat and rocking chair sat before a fire burning in the hearth. Beside it, a wooden bookshelf lined with books. Colorful rugs were strewn haphazardly around the dimly lit room.

  She sniffed and her stomach rumbled when she identified the scent of buttery scones. Everything had a homey, comfy feel to it. Not at all what she’d expected from the Hatter’s home.

  The crazy rooms and falling into nothing, sure... but not this. This was nothing short of a dream home for her.

  She’d always wanted to live in a place just like this. A simple, cozy, warm haven. She could picture herself here, reading in front of the fire.

  Alice glanced at Hatter from the corner of h
er eye.

  Or maybe making love, while outside a storm raged and the world seemed bathed in madness and chaos. Safe in her lover’s arms.

  Heat crept up her neck, and she rocked on her heels as she became aware of his large presence and the fact that they were very alone.

  She swallowed, wishing she knew what he was thinking.

  His eyes were shaded, and it was hard for her to make out his expression. But he kept casting her shifty glances. Maybe... he was nervous? Her heart skipped a beat. Did he like her being here?

  “This place is so awesome. So un-mad-like. In fact”—she gushed, not filtering her words—“in fact, I wish I could stay here forever.”

  He dropped her hand. “But I am mad, Alice,” he muttered, and the ease they’d shared just seconds ago vanished.

  The air thickened with tension, and even though he stood right next to her, it was like a wall had suddenly slammed up between them. If he had fangs, he’d be growling.

  What had she done now? His moods were as random as trade winds. Up and then down. Hot and then cold. For a second she’d thought he wanted her here. Maybe she’d been wrong.

  Her stomach rumbled, a loud sonorous boom in the stillness. He turned and walked into another room, leaving her to wonder whether to stay or follow.

  A second later, he came marching back in holding a golden-brown bun in his hand. “Here.” He tossed it at her. “Eat something. You’re too skinny. Like all the rest of them.”

  She caught the yeasty projectile. It was sticky and warm. It smelled so good, and she was so hungry. Rest of them, who? She was curious and even recognized a hot tendril of jealousy spark through her veins despite her resolve not to care that other women had obviously tramped through his home. But she wouldn’t ask. It was the Hu pride.

  He was hot one second, cold the next. It aggravated her because she wanted to like him, wanted to see him as she’d seen him before. And just when she thought maybe she’d been wrong about him in the beginning, he did something to make her doubt her memories of him all over again. The man was just like Wonderland, always throwing her off-balance.

  She tore into the bread with her teeth. It’s not like she’d asked to come here. Tabby was right; she was sick in the head to be so turned on by him.

  “Come on.” He turned and walked off.

  “Come on. Come on.” She mocked. “It’s always ‘come on’ with you. I’ve got a name, you know.” She swallowed the bite of bread, unhappy to find she’d liked it. It tasted like butter and honey. Any other time she’d lick her fingers to claim all the sticky goodness, but she refused to show him how much she’d enjoyed it.

  “Alice.” Again he sounded aggravated.

  There’d not been a thought in her mind to do it, but as if having an out-of-body experience, she watched her arm draw back. Saw the half-eaten bun sail out of her hand toward the back of his head.

  The moment it hit him, she gasped, then covered her mouth, horrified. He jerked, came to a complete stop, and grabbed the back of his skull, crumbs still clinging to bits of his hair. When he looked at her... All she had to say was, if looks could kill. But then his stare turned incredulous, as if to say: “Did you really just throw that piece of bread at me?”

  Her fear turned to laughter, and she couldn’t stop it. She grabbed her stomach and pointed. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea what I was thinking. I’ve never...” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she lost all words and laughed until her sides ached.

  His anger quickly subsided, and he cocked his head as if confused by her. Which only made it funnier. He was the Hatter, yet she was the one acting like a complete idiot.

  She held up her hand. “I’m sorry.” She huffed, gulping in air. “Sorry. Won’t do it again.”

  “Yes, well, I... deserved it.” His lips tipped up, and she knew he fought back a smile. And seeing that was like pouring salt on snow; it killed her laughter cold. She grabbed her chest as her blood heated and her head swam with naughty thoughts.

  Like shoving the stupid jacket off his broad shoulders, stripping him of the colorfully striped pants, and then proceeding to lick her way down his body until she came to the bit of male beauty that would be hard and proud. Just for her.

  She shivered. His nostrils flared as if he sensed her thoughts. Something wicked, and not altogether displeasing, glinted back at her from the depths of his chocolate-brown eyes.

  The room charged with a snap of sexual hunger so intense, so arousing, she knew if she touched herself she’d find herself soaked.

  His hot gaze danced across her form, lingering in all the right places. Heat coiled like a sling between her thighs. Focusing, trying to remember to breathe around the lump in her throat, she held her ground, pretending he wasn’t making her tremble.

  Her reaction was more intense than any she’d had in years, maybe ever. She wanted him with a need that came a hair’s breadth to being insane.

  His mouth thinned. “Come on. Please.”

  She nodded regally and tried to pretend his words hadn’t just turned her insides to mush, then followed him down another hall. This one was full of closed doors. At least twenty. The dimensions of the place made her light-headed; it was small, yet large. Compact, yet unending. Madness. Like the man himself. Was he taking her to his room?

  The thought made her want to purr.

  Stopping at the seventh door, he turned the knob and opened it to her. “Is this okay?”

  Her eyes widened as she stepped in behind him. “My room?”

  Had it really been a dream? She could have sworn... She sighed. Seeing the clocks and scattered plants, all Alice could think was how drab it all looked. She’d gotten Wonderland all wrong. What must he think, seeing her room, knowing how silly her notions of his world were?

  She felt his eyes on her, hot and searching. Drawn to him, she looked back. And for a moment, it seemed like his eyes swirled with light, round and round and round. Mesmerizing her, locking her in place, black rolling into brown and then into amber. Around and around, over and over, pulling her in with its sad, haunting symmetry. A staircase that fell into forever; unending, unceasing torment.

  Then he blinked, and it was gone. His hand hovered above her head, so close she felt the heat radiating from his palm.

  His hand shook as it lowered inch by agonizingly slow inch. She moaned when he touched her—she couldn’t help it. His touch did something to her, made her feel alive, tingly and on fire. The sound spurred him on, and with a sharp groan, he wrapped a strand of hair around his shaking finger, lifting it to his nose.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled. Tremors wracked his body as he moved closer. Something thick and large pressed against her thigh. She purred, responding to primal lust. Alice wanted to touch him, hold him. She slid her arms around his back, wishing she could touch naked flesh, hating that he was so covered up. She settled for laying her head against his chest.

  Bump-bump. The beat of his heart was a song in her ears. Again her world tilted, flipped on its side, and made her question where up was, where she started and he began. She clung to him; he was the hope in a swirling torrent of senselessness.

  “I know everything there is to know about you, Alice.” His voice, whiskey rough, was an erotic caress against the nape of her neck. “I always have.”

  Alice’s heart thrilled, raced, and she could taste the adrenaline surge on her tongue. But then he stepped away, and she felt bereft. She dropped empty arms as he walked away.

  Chapter 6

  Hatter paced the length of his bedroom. His arms were crossed behind his back, fingers flexing as he contemplated what to do about Alice.

  Danika said she wasn’t the same Alice. But she looked the same. From her almond-shaped brown eyes to the beguiling widow’s peak at her forehead.

  He rubbed his jaw, pulse thudding. She even talked the same—soft, with an exotic lilt to it. And her hair, all black and silky, and when he’d inhaled he’d known she’d smell of salt and hints of buttery car
amel. Just like the other.

  He paused against his bed frame. But she did not act the same. Watching his world, her eyes sparkled with wonder rather than greed. She’d called a creature. Other Alice hadn’t been able to do that. She’d only been able to summon small things. A teacup, butterflies... His pulse pounded so hard he thought he’d choke on it.

  Was this Alice really the one? Was she his? Blood rushed to his groin and he groaned. Danika wouldn’t lie; she was many things, but not a liar. She’d said this wasn’t the same girl, and as much as he wanted to hate New Alice for reminding him so forcibly of the evil one, it would be cruel and wrong.

  Damn that meddlesome godmother. This was all her doing anyway. His nostrils flared, the essence of Alice’s scent lingering on his coat, his skin. She was beautiful and spirited. His lips curved in a slow grin. She’d thrown bread at him.

  The minx.

  Hatter couldn’t stop thinking about the skunk. She’d called it. With her silly nonsense words, she’d called it into being. Other Alice had manifested magic, and he’d thought then she might have been the one, but it hadn’t been enough. Wonderland had said no.

  But a skunk, a large, fat, and drunken skunk, was vastly stronger magic than a mere cup of tea. His heart raced. And her look when he’d touched her—she’d not shied away from the contact but had leaned in. She’d wanted his touch, and he’d wanted to keep touching and petting and caressing. Pretty, silly little Alice. Maybe. Maybe...

  He jerked as if slapped; he’d not go down this road again. He punched the wall, heart hammering a wild rhythm in his chest. Sick beyond endurance, he slammed a mental door on that thought. He could not afford to grow soft.

  To want.

  She had to go.

  “I am not yours, not lost in you. Not lost...”

  Chapter 7

  Alice lay in her bed. The constant ticktock, ticktock of her Cheshire cat wall clock kept her from sleep. She stared with unfocused eyes at the ceiling fan, her breathing taking up the singsong rhythm of the clock. She shoved the silk sheets down, hot and confused, too awake to sleep and yet too tired to move.