[Kingdom 01.0 - 03.0] Kingdom Series Collection Page 5

  Stems of grass brushed against her ankles like the softest satin. Stars gleamed in the navy-blue sky, brighter than any diamond. Wind, pregnant with the fragrance of flowers, sifted gentle fingers through her hair.

  “I’d swear I was drunk as a skunk right now except for the fact that I don’t feel in the least bit tipsy. I just cannot accept I’m in Wonderland though. This is ridiculous.”

  A loud snore, like the braying of a donkey, startled her. She yelped, and Hatter pointed to a shadowy lump beside them. A huge skunk lay sprawled on its back, a glass bottle by its head. Its bushy black-and-white tail twitched back and forth, tiny feet jerking like a dog’s when asleep.

  “Is that a—”

  “Words have power.” His eyes narrowed, and he was looking at her differently now, not shocked or amazed exactly, but different. He turned. Alice hadn’t been aware he’d been standing so close until suddenly it seemed as if he took up all her space. She licked her lips, skin tingling with a rush of blood. He looked like he wanted to say more.

  “Alice—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as if he was working up the courage to say more.

  The hot shiver of the Hatter’s sherry-tinted breath fanned her face. She squirmed. She wanted to touch him, touch herself. Anything, just to end the madness of lust spreading through her veins like a sickness.

  Then his gaze grew hooded and he turned back around. She sucked in a shaky breath, knees suddenly weak. What was going on? Hadn’t she just been pissed at him?

  “What the hell happened back there? Did I make that thing appear?” she asked his back.

  He stopped and she caught back up to him. He looked down at her. “You tell me.”

  Pulse trapped in her throat because suddenly nothing made sense, she grabbed his hand. “Why am I here?”

  There’d been one other time in her life when words had shifted her reality, and it’d not been magic at all but a tumor the size of a golf ball in her brain. Was she sick again? Stomach revolting with worry, she squeezed his fingers.

  His jaw clenched. He looked at their clasped hands, and she expected him to let go. Hatter sighed and pulled her in for a hug.

  Stunned, she didn’t move. It didn’t seem like a kind hug, or even an I-want-to-strip-you-and-make-love hug. He trembled and she sensed that, much like the snake, power rippled behind the touch, and if he wanted to he could hurt her. Maybe he did want to.

  His hard fingers bunched into the back of her shirt. A part of Alice wanted to shove him back, make him let her go. But she just couldn’t because this was the man she’d loved her entire life. The man she’d craved since age thirteen.

  “You smell like cinnamon and tea,” she shyly admitted. “My favorites.”

  He cleared his throat. “It is time.” Was his voice shaking? Time for what? She wanted to ask but doubted he’d elaborate as he hadn’t done so yet, and if she’d learned anything in her short life, it was not to ask stupid questions she knew would never get answered. For now, she’d wait and watch.

  Alice looked and then blinked, trying to rattle the image loose. Much like the fictional Alice, she was presented with a table, empty, save for the small slices of strawberry-festooned cakes. Each one had a sign in it. One read: Eat Me. The other: Poison. And she couldn’t stop the delighted thrill that zipped down her spine as she recognized one of her favorite scenes from the book.

  Nibbling on her lip, she glanced at him. What was she supposed to choose? Alice hadn’t had a choice, so this was kind of different and whole lot confusing. Hatter didn’t move for one or the other, and his blank face gave nothing away. There’d be no taking a lead off his cue.

  Was he testing her?

  She looked around for any sign or clue, but it was pointless. Nothing could or would help her. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the Eat Me slice. Just as she ripped the tip off, the sharp slap of his hand made her drop it. Shocked, she glanced at her stinging hand. “Did you just slap me?”

  At least he had the good sense not to deny it. Most people would have said, “I didn’t do that,” or “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Bad is good. Good is bad.”

  Then he tore off two chunks from the poisoned cake and handed one to her.

  The white frosting looked delicious, but the cake was green. And not St. Patty’s Day dyed green either. No, this was sitting out on the counter, rotting from humidity green. She wrinkled her nose as the smell finally smacked her nostrils. Spoiled eggs and ten-day-old banana peels.

  Her stomach soured. “You know, I’m not actually all that hungry.”

  He rolled his eyes, popped his into his mouth, and before she had a moment to protest, he’d slid hers between her teeth. Reflex forced her to chew, her tongue bursting with the unexpected notes of strawberry cordial.

  But the delicious buzz lasted only a second before Alice was slammed with vertigo. The bit of rotten cake revolted in her stomach. She reached out blindly, almost falling as the world slid sideways and her with it, like looking at fun house mirrors while the walls around her rolled and rolled. She screamed. A firm set of hands clamped onto her waist and then she could breathe, because he felt so real and immovable. Blessedly still. She gulped in air and clung like a baby monkey to its mother’s back.

  “Breathe, Alice.” His hands petted her hair, calming the panic laying siege. After a second, trusting herself not to throw up, she opened her eyes.

  Either the world had grown or she’d shrunk. Grass towered around them.

  “Come.” He gripped her hand, and she allowed herself to be led, still feeling drunk and wobbly.

  He wound a tight path through the emerald forest. Any other time she might have enjoyed it, looked around and absorbed it all. She was finally in Wonderland. But right now she was too tired to care and simply wanted to get to where they were going.

  In the distance she spied a teapot with a twilight meadow scene on it. As they neared, she noticed at its center was painted a white cottage covered in thorny roses.

  He walked up to the teapot. What exactly did he plan to do with that thing? Gah, she hoped that wasn’t his house. While fitting, she had zero desire to curl up on a cold ceramic floor.

  Then he did a strange thing. Which was kind of stupid, because was the Hatter capable of doing ‘‘strange?’’ His name sort of implied the fact that he was as bizarre as seeing a man-sized white rabbit swearing at her.

  He reached for the red door of the cottage, and his hand phased through the teapot like it was little more than a mirage. The door swung open.

  She frowned and tapped the teapot, shocked at its solidness. He looked at her, and somehow she understood his intention.

  “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 her 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?”