The Fellowship: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 2)

by Candace Wondrak

  The Fellowship

  Candace Wondrak

   All Rights Reserved.

  Cover by the wonderful Victoria Cooper over at Victoria Cooper Art!

  Chapter One

  Her breathing steady, her eyes flicking back and forth beneath closed lids, Faith was otherwise motionless. She was lying in the same bed that she had slept in when the Court would not let her leave, before her mother came and took her back to their world, with jewels sewed into the clean, white fabric. But Light had come up with an idea, one that he’d thought couldn’t go wrong. A foolish notion, for things always seemed to go wrong, especially where Humans were concerned.

  He said he hated the Humans, found them hideous and repulsive, and yet here he was, sitting beside her bed, watching over her like a doting partner, a loving mate. Neither of which he was. Oh, and his thoughts. His thoughts bordered on inappropriateness much more than they used to, and a lot more often after waking up with Faith in his arms, holding her to him, touching her, grasping a breast that was so large it filled one hand. Elven women were not built like that, for their kind was long-lived, thus did not need to procreate as much as Humans did.

  And, of course, all the kissing that had ensued. In the palace’s garden, in this very room…Light had to force himself not to think about it, because if he did think about it, he would start to think about the other kiss he was witness to, but not a part of.

  The one he had seen between Faith and Jag, one of his oldest friends, a Malus with the markings of a feline, with muscles and a certain cockiness that Light was certain Faith liked. Minus the hair, the ears and the tail, Jag could easily pass as a Human, one of their soldiers in their precious Division.

  He knew he couldn’t blame Jag, not really. Or Faith. They were not together; he had no claim on her. And as for Jag, Light had never told him that he felt something for the girl. It was all on him, which was why he should stop ruminating about it all and focus on the matter at hand.

  Faith. Unconscious.

  After handing her the cloak that belonged to the Dread King, her one true enemy, she had passed out. In front of the Court, too. She…froze in place and fell. Light had been already beside her and was able to catch her on her way down, but if he hadn’t been, she would’ve smacked the stone floor hard.

  He’d called her name, shook her gently, did everything he could think of, and yet she had remained still, unconscious, nothing more than a body that breathed and moved its eyes occasionally. And until he had closed them, her eyes were open. Very creepy, so creepy he almost couldn’t handle it.

  It didn’t matter much, because here he was, sitting bent over with his hands on his knees staring at her. Faith laid atop the sheets, her arms folded across her stomach. The cloak that started it all hung on the bed frame. Light wanted to burn it, but he knew he couldn’t. It was a relic, one that was entrusted to the Ulen. Camden had risked a lot to bring it here, and surely the Count was not happy at the deceit. After everything was dealt with—everything meaning the battle between the Harbinger and the Dread King—the cloak would have to be returned to them.

  How many hours had passed since Faith fell unconscious? Light didn’t know.

  Jag, perched on another chair near the wall of windows, stared at him. His bare feet were balanced perfectly on the chair’s armrests. He did a lot of staring, for there was little else to do. “So, Sunnytoes,” he used Faith’s nickname for him, grinning.

  Letting out a sigh, Light muttered, “Please do not start calling me that. It’s bad enough Faith does it.”

  “Yes, but admit it, you like it,” he replied.

  Light did sort of like it, but only when it came from Faith’s mouth. He would do anything to hear her call him Sunnytoes right now. He wouldn’t admit it to Jag though, for Jag would add it to his arsenal of mockings. He simply said, “Don’t call me that.”

  “Fine, fine. It’s a name reserved for Faith, I get it.” Jag paused, a heaviness settling over him as his blue gaze lingered on Faith. “Trust me, I get it.”

  What was there to get? Jag had only known her for less than a day. Light said, “No, you don’t get it.”

  “Oh, I think I do. I see how you look at her. I’m not blind. You, the Human-hating Elf, love her. Her being a Human.” Jag jumped off the chair, landing without a sound. He could move as noiselessly as anyone, perhaps even more so due to his reflexes. Always landing on his feet, and never wearing shoes. It was a wonder he was currently wearing pants, for the Malus had sworn off all clothes. His black-ringed tail flicked back and forth, helping him balance when he was so often in odd positions.

  He came to the bedside, opposite Light. Light was slow to admit to himself that he did not like the way Jag looked down at her, like he wanted her, like…like she was the most beautiful thing he ever saw.

  Light whispered as vehemently as he could, “I do not love her.” Love, a Human? Preposterous. Such a thing was impossible. Sure, he may have felt something for her, but love? No. No.

  “So you would have no objection if I said I wanted to pursue her? That I fell in love with her the moment I saw her?”

  Was Jag testing him, or did he truly feel that way? Light ground his jaw. “You hardly know her.”

  “I’m sure you don’t know her that well either, but here you are.” Jag gave him a smile that was deceivingly friendly. “I do find her nice to look at, and I am curious as to what she looks like beneath those clothes. Her lips are very soft.”

  Light knew that all too well, and he didn’t like being reminded of it.

  Jag continued, “I bet—”

  “I do not want to make a bet with you,” he cut in, recalling the one Jag tried to make with him.

  “I was only going to say, Elf-Who-Interrupts-A-Lot, that I bet she’d pick me over you any day. Do you disagree?”

  Light stood. “I am done with this conversation.” He went to the door, about to storm out, to walk away from this stupid talk and not look back…only he did look back, right at Jag, and said, “Watch her. If she wakes…”

  Jag was serious, his cockiness gone, “I’ll send for you.” The Malus could be serious when it mattered, and it made him a good friend. It did not make him a good ally in matters of the heart, though. More like a rival.

  Light left, shaking off such thoughts. Matters of the heart? When in all the kingdoms had he gotten so, so...foolish? His hands curled into fists as he passed guards in the hall. They were stationed close to Faith’s room, but not directly outside the door for some semblance of privacy.

  Privacy for what? For the talk he and Jag just had? How ridiculous.

  As he wound his way through the halls, he couldn’t help but wonder if what Jag said was true. Did he love her? Light knew he felt for her more than he should, thought about her much more than he should, but to go so far as love? He was not ready to declare anything of the sort, even if she should wake up this very instant.

  Love. A Human? It was…barbaric. Moronic. Pointless, because should she survive her war with the Dread King, she would be able to have her pick of anyone, of any race. Every male in this realm would be more than happy to stand beside the Harbinger, as it was in the past where every female had fought for the right to stand beside Faith’s male counterpart.

  Love. He could not be in love with Faith. It would only end badly, especially with Jag sniffing around her. Jag always won his bets, after all.

  Once he got out of the never-ending halls of white and pristineness, Light came unto the garden, where flowers bloomed eternally and insects buzzed and collected pollen. Birds of all colors made their homes
in the bushes, picking up twigs and lost feathers for their nests. He found Camden crouched near the wren pond, gazing intently at the fish. He was as thin as any Elf, but his skin—a pale hue that would easily burn in the sun—was painted a metallic grey color. Even his hair was colored with the grey.

  Light moved near him, staring at the multi-colored fish with long, flowing tails. How Faith had laughed when she’d stood in the pond, the look in her eyes as she asked him what he would do to get her out of it. Dragging her out and laying on top of her…

  All right, he had to stop those thoughts before his mind got carried away.

  “These fish wonder why I look like this,” Camden whispered sadly, never once tearing his gaze from the wren to look at Light. Light didn’t want him to, for he couldn’t handle the weight that lingered in his eyes.

  “They are fish. They wonder no such thing,” Light told him.

  Camden, blast him, turned to stare up at Light. His lively amber eyes were no more. They were cloudy, as all Ulen eyes were, until they got hungry, until they fed. Then they were bright and red and full of life that they stole from others. It was hard to meet those eyes, harder to keep staring at them. “They are more intelligent than you think. It’s why the Court keeps them here, and Ophelia likes them.”

  Light said, “So they’re Ophelia’s, are they?”

  “Ulen are intuitive,” Camden spoke, slowly standing beside him. “I wouldn’t expect you to know that, though. There are a lot of things you don’t know about us.” They were a mystery to other kingdoms only because they hid in their mountain, in their underground tunnels. They kept to themselves, unless it was time to hunt. Or unless they were rogue.

  Like the Ulen who was going to sacrifice Faith before the statue of the Dread King.

  Crossing his arms, Light narrowed his gaze towards Camden. He did have some questions for his long-lost friend. At least the questions would get his mind off Faith.

  Faith, he willed, wake up.

  Chapter Two

  To say Faith Reed grew tired of this space and her present company would mean that she, at one point in the past, was not tired of it, and that was simply not true. She never liked the water world, hated the Dracon she shared it with, and despised the fact that, even though she sat on the water with a furry cloak around her body, she never once got wet. It didn’t make any sense.

  The sky above them was black, save for a small speck of a sun in the far distance, its yellow light creating a dim, dusk world as it reflected off the water. No matter how far or how long she walked towards it, Faith never got closer. Eventually, she gave up trying. Also because her legs started to ache.

  She currently sat, legs crossed, mirroring the Dracon who did the same behind her. Their backs faced each other, twenty feet apart. Faith seethed inside, hating that she could not end it here. She had no power here, wherever here was, no Victi. Her wrists were free of their magical tattoos. She was useless here, unless she was able to spring a well-planned trap and surprise him. But there was nothing to use to surprise him, and nothing to end it with besides her hands, which were far too small to wrap around a neck as thick as his, or her cloak, which wasn’t even hers to begin with. It was his, but she wasn’t giving it up, otherwise she’d be as naked as he was.

  And she did not want to be naked.

  Unable to take the silence any longer, Faith asked, “How long do you think it’s been?” She spoke quietly, having learned that if she spoke any louder, her echoes would bounce through the air and drive her mad.

  It was a while before the Dread King responded, “Time is irrelevant.”

  “To you, I guess,” Faith muttered. “For me, since, you know, only the one life, time does matter. I don’t want to waste it all away by spending it here with you.” Her skin wanted to crawl any time she thought about being stuck here with him. It was officially the worst.

  “This is not ideal for me either,” he hissed, his voice low yet thunderous simultaneously.

  Faith turned her head, staring hard at him. He sat straight, his shoulders wide, white scales lining his shoulder blades and traveling down his back. He seemed to be growing more ripped by the second; more muscles upon muscles. Muscles she didn’t even know existed. His long, white hair ended halfway down his back, his horns curled and nearly as long as her forearm. “What do you normally do when you’re here?” Her voice dripped with disgust and disdain.

  She saw his hands clench on his knees. “I meditate, grow stronger, and wait.”

  “That seems very boring.”

  “You seem very irritating.”

  “You seem very ugly.”

  “I—” He tossed a glare over his shoulder, his black eyes narrowing at her. He didn’t expect her to say that, clearly. “Mock me all you want, Harbinger, but once—”

  “Once you’re free from this prison, you will wreak havoc on me and anyone I’ve ever loved,” Faith finished for him, cutting him off. “Good luck. My grandma’s a handful, and my mom can be quite the bitch, if I say so myself, but I love her anyways.”

  Dracyrus straightened himself out again. “You are insufferable.”

  “I don’t think you’re the first person to tell me that,” Faith said, thinking back to Light. The strange loneliness that accompanied this world faded somewhat when she thought about those in the real world, in both the Second and on Earth.

  “I am not surprised.”

  She let the silence permeate the space between them again, until she asked, “So, besides fighting Harbingers, do you have any hobbies or anything? Anything you like to do? Any weaknesses you’d like to tell me about? What’s your take on pie?”

  Did the bastard even know what pie was?

  The horror.

  “You do not have to fill the silence with your words. I much prefer the quiet, so I can focus on growing stronger—”

  She interrupted him again, much to his annoyance, “So if I keep talking, when you wake, you’ll be as weak as a kitten? Hmm, interesting.”

  Dracyrus turned his torso to her, glowering. “I am sure you find moss growing on a stone interesting.”

  “Was that supposed to be an insult? Because I’ve heard a lot better.”

  He reached out his hand, though they were too far apart, as if he wanted to strangle her. But he slowly withdrew it, curling his fingers into a fist. He let out a growl that sounded very animalistic.

  “What was that?” Faith asked, stretching her head back, drawing a finger down her throat. “Did you want to attack me just then?” Egging on her archenemy was probably not the best thing to do, not to mention pretty stupid, but she was bored. She had nothing else to do.

  Dracyrus stood, letting out another growl before storming away, walking in the opposite direction as her. His butt, she hated herself for noticing, was scale-free, just like other certain parts of him—which she really wished she had no clue about.

  Stumbling to her own feet, she trailed after him, jogging somewhat to catch up to him. Or, more precisely, to catch up to his back, for there was no way she was going to walk beside him. “So is this how it normally goes? You throw insults at me. I laugh them off and bug the shit of you until we’re both out of here?”

  Dracyrus walked a few steps before muttering, “Normally, I am alone here. Which I prefer heartily compared to your incessant talking.”

  “Right,” she said. “So I’m going to keep talking, then. Just to annoy you, because I hate you.”

  He abruptly halted, and she rammed into his back. His skin was like steel, strong and tough, and she immediately felt her nose to make sure it wasn’t bleeding. She wrinkled it, her nose piercing moving slightly. At least she didn’t get a hoop. That was asking for trouble, especially when she had an archenemy to deal with.

  Turning to face her, sneering down at her, Dracyrus stated, “And I loathe you entirely. You, specifically. Even if you were not the Harbinger, I would find you and end you simply so the world would not have to listen to your continuous rambling.”


  Faith blinked. “Well,” she said, crossing her arms beneath the cloak, “that seems a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Not at all.” He stared down at her, the hatred in his metallic irises evident. “Even now, when I look upon that tiny, squishy face, I think about all the ways I can kill you. The more you speak, the worse your fate becomes.”

  “Yeah? Where am I at now? Curious, is all.”

  “As I look upon you, any death I can imagine is too good for you. I want you to desire death before it takes you. I want you to scream until you lose that infuriating voice of yours. I want you to beg me for your life, knowing that I would never give it to you.”

  Okay, that was a bit much. Faith coughed, saying, “Cruel. I can see why everyone hates you so much. Your personality sucks.”

  “They hate me only because they do not know the truth.”

  Faith chuckled. “And what’s the truth?” She was anticipating him to say something dark and gloomy, something that she could easily shake off, for that’s what she was doing with all of his other insults.

  But he didn’t insult her. He didn’t threaten her. He was serious as he said, “That you are not their hero. You are as villainous as I.” A cold smile formed on his face, a face that was cut sharp, angular. A face that was probably attractive when it came to Draconian standards of beauty. “You are just like me, Harbinger.”

  Her breath caught in her lungs. This was not an insult, hurled at her in a pointless effort to get her to stop talking. This was not a threat to her life, not said out of their shared hatred for each other. He spoke it as though it were a fact, like he truly believed it.

  For a moment—just a quick moment—Faith felt her heart hurt. She felt like a small child. She did not want to be just like him; she wanted to be more, to be better, to stand on the side of good. How could he say that they were alike in that way?

  He smirked, hand lifting as he said, “Such a despicably innocent face you have, Harbinger.” Fingers curled around her jaw, digging into her cheeks. “So small.” That was an understatement; she stood level with his abdomen. He was as tall as any basketball player on Earth, if not taller. His black eyes locked with hers as he added, “But looks are deceiving. You might look innocent, you might be small, but beneath it all, you are like me. Destined to throw it all away, fated to lose it all. We are the same, you and I.”