Fevered: A Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance (The Carnal Court Book 1) Read online

  Fevered

  A Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance

  Devyn Sinclair

  Contents

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-one

  22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  23. Chapter Twenty-three

  24. Chapter Twenty-four

  25. Chapter Twenty-five

  26. Chapter Twenty-six

  27. Chapter Twenty-seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  31. Chapter Thirty-one

  32. Chapter Thirty-two

  33. Chapter Thirty-three

  34. Chapter Thirty-four

  35. Keep in touch!

  About the Author

  Coming soon from Devyn Sinclair

  Copyright © 2019 Devyn Sinclair

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Charlee Hoffman

  Created with Vellum

  CHAPTER ONE

  ________

  KARI

  The sunlight pouring through windows hits the rose petals floating above the water. An invisible wind is carrying them slowly through an infinite spiral, and I feel the small pulse of magic connecting through my fingers, moving up my arms and down again deep into my gut.

  It’s a simple potion, a combination that a lot of customers ask for—beauty and prosperity. None of my creations will ever make anyone truly rich or beautiful, but they’ll have just enough luck to make them feel special, and enough of a shine to make them feel gorgeous. At worst, it won’t harm them, and the benefits depend on the magic I’m able to use that day.

  Today feels like a good day, as far as that goes. All day I’ve been completing orders, and they feel good in a way that they haven’t in a while. Maybe because I’m looking forward to something for once. I shouldn’t complain; I’ve got a good life. It’s just not the life I was prepared for, and I still miss my old one.

  I pull my eyes back to the spiral of petals—I need to concentrate, or I’ll have to start over again. The customer asking for this is waiting, and she’s a new one. I don’t want her to wait any longer than she has to.

  Closing my eyes, I search internally for that little string of magic that’s coursing through my gut and focus on it. I envision it becoming brighter, clearer, and more potent because today it feels different. Today I can almost feel where the magic is coming from, the source, from somewhere far away.

  Light flashes behind my eyes, that thread of magic suddenly a flame. It’s like a flood of new power just entered my orbit, and it all comes rushing into me at once. I can barely control it.

  It pulses and swirls and ripples and soothes. I’ve never felt magic like this before, and I can tell, somehow, that it’s only for me. Bright, sunny magic that turns cool and spicy and finally a tail end of silver glitter. It’s just a burst, like the most beautiful firework in my mind, and then it’s fading, slipping out and into the spell and leaving me emptier than before.

  My eyes fly open. The petals are swirling with terrifying speed, changing colors before stopping, freezing, and sinking into the bowl of water in front of me. I watch the liquid turn a deep shade of crimson, so rich that I could swear it’s glowing before the magic slows and winks out as the spell finishes.

  Holy shit. What was that? That’s never happened before. I have no idea what this potion will do now. I’ve never experienced that level of connection, and as I funnel the potion into a bottle, I can feel the tingle of power in my fingers. I’m not unhappy, because that felt…special, but I’m not sure I can guarantee the effectiveness.

  Suddenly I feel ill, sick and dizzy, and I have to hold on to the desk in front of me so I don’t fall over. Like that magic is being yanked back out of me, leaving nothing but an echo. So, so strange.

  I take a second to recover before turning to the front of the store, smile on my face. “All finished,” I say to the woman sitting near the window. Potions and spells take a while to complete, so I’ve created a comfortable and homey waiting space for my clients. Overstuffed armchairs and bookshelves filled with magic recipes along with popular fiction. There’s a circular fireplace in the center, the flames enchanted to keep the temperature perfect for whoever is near it. Plus, I have a selection of coffee and tea if the wait is going to be too long. We’re a specialty store, so we’re never so busy as to be crowded.

  However, the woman currently sitting there is not like my typical clients. She’s stunning in an otherworldly way and is wearing a dress that’s more suited to the red carpet than my little shop. It wouldn’t seem like she needs beauty or prosperity, but that’s not my place to judge.

  I’m pretty sure that she’s fae. I mean, I’m not going to ask, but it explains a few things. I don’t really care, the few fae customers I have are always lovely, and many of them buy potions to enhance traits that they already seem to have in abundance. I think the taste of magic reminds them of Allwyn—of home.

  She rises gracefully from her chair and approaches the counter, and I can feel the magic rippling off her. She has to be fae; and a more powerful one than I usually encounter. Blonde hair curls down over her shoulders, framing her perfect face and dark eyes. She’s staring at me in a way that most people would find uncomfortable, but it’s not unusual for fae.

  “So it didn’t really go as planned,” I say. “There was a burst of magic, something I don’t usually have. It got caught in this potion. I’m afraid I can’t guarantee the results of this. I’m happy to make you another one if that makes you uncomfortable.”

  Her eyes flick down to the bottle, and for a brief moment, I see a flare of interest in her eyes. “May I see it?” Her voice is rich like honey. Dark and deep, and I can imagine her being able to get whatever she wants with a few simple words.

  I hand her the potion, and she accepts it with delicate fingers. She closes her eyes and tilts her head, almost like she’s listening to what’s inside the bottle. Motionless like a statue, enough time passes that I wonder if she’s gone into some kind of trance.

  Finally, her eyes snap open, directly onto mine. “This feels lovely. Thank you.”

  Okay. I clear my throat. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  She studies me for a moment, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. “I’m sure I will.” And then she’s gone, disappearing out the door and into the afternoon sun soundlessly.

  I wonder about the fae who come into my shop, why they chose to leave Allwyn and live here in the human world. It’s not common, and from the stories, it’s not exactly smiled upon. But still, I have a steady stream of otherworldly customers who come into the shop, and I want them to feel safe. So I don’t ask. Even though I’m dying to. I�
��ve always wanted to see the land of stories—to explore what must be so much better than the human world.

  The shop is empty, and I’m going to close early today because tonight is the gala. The official start of the season, and the biggest party of the year in the ballet world. Plus, both Emma and Odette are being promoted tonight.

  I should be there with them, being promoted alongside them. I ignore the hitch in my chest at the thought, freeze it before it can overwhelm me. That part of my life is gone. At the very least I’ll be able to see it happen for my friends. That’s enough. It will have to be enough.

  I’m cleaning up the ingredients I used for the mysterious potion and the remnants of supplies from earlier in the day when I hear the tinkle of the doorbell behind me. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I forgot to lock the door, but we’re closing early today.”

  “It won’t take long,” says a warm and familiar voice. I feel myself smiling before I even turn around.

  “Well if it isn’t Mr. Williams,” I say. “Hello.”

  Kent Williams has been coming into my shop since the first day it opened a year and a half ago. We didn’t get off on the best terms either. He’s a cop—a detective. He makes sure the small fae population in New York don’t break human laws and investigates the ones that have magical elements. Sometimes that involves tracking down magic users, and a magic shop opening up was the perfect stalking territory for him. Until I set him straight. My shop is No-man’s-land, including the surrounding streets. I don’t sell anything that brings harm, and I won’t contribute to the tracking of anyone.

  Once he agreed to my terms, we’ve gotten along perfectly. And thank god, because I think I’m a little in love with him. Kent is gorgeous and funny and smart and every time he comes in he manages to make me smile.

  He leans his elbows on the counter, instantly drawing my eyes to the way his shirt stretches around his arms. I have to look somewhere else so I don’t give myself away and start blushing and stuttering. There’s a soft smile on his face. “How are you, Kari?”

  “I’m okay. Almost done for the day. Going to a party tonight.” I don’t mention the burst of magic. As much as I like Kent, I don’t want him to go looking for the source.

  “Sounds fun,” he says, and my breath catches as his hair falls into his eyes. He’s got these delicious brown eyes that I can get lost in, and I swear to god it feels like eating a brownie sundae.

  “I hope so. More likely to be painful and a little awkward, but there will be wine.”

  Kent laughs softly, “Sounds like I should take you to a better party.”

  That laugh makes me feel things deep in my gut. “As fun as that sounds, I have to go. It’s kind of a business thing, or it used to be my business. It’s a ballet gala. My friends are getting promoted, and I want to support them.” He knows I used to dance, but he doesn’t know the whole story. Not many people do. But I suspect he’s figured out most of it from our conversations. I like that I don’t have to spell it out for him.

  “That’s nice of you,” he says. “Guess I’ll have to take a rain check on taking you to a party then.”

  I grin, “You actually want to take me to a party?”

  Kent catches my eye, and I feel myself go still, the breath leaving my chest. He’s not teasing me now, face serious. “You know I want to.”

  Kent and I have been circling around each other since we met, parrying and flirting back and forth, neither one quite ready to make a move. I’m ready, though. I’ve been feeling it lately—the loneliness—and his visits are one of the few things that make me forget. I could get used to having that around more often. But it feels so strange and so fast. Even though it’s been more than a year. “Did you come in to buy something today or just in the neighborhood?”

  “Both,” he says, stretching up to his full height again, “I’ll take any luck potions you have, and I wanted to say hi. It’s been a while this time.”

  I blush and look away, “Yeah, it has.” I don’t want to let him know that I noticed.

  “There’s been a lot of work outside the city. Attacks on magic users like you. That’s why I’ve been away. But I didn’t want to be.”

  Searching the shelf for the golden bottles he wants gives me a second to catch my breath and wrap my head around this. It’s the closest that we’ve come to admitting anything. I can’t breathe. “Your job was so boring that you missed No-man’s-land?” I put the bottles on the counter in front of him, still not meeting his eyes.

  “You know that’s not what I missed, Kari.”

  I swallow, rubbing my finger on a worn patch of wood, feeling the grain. Managing a breath, I sort the scents in my head, the mixture of incense and cardamom that I use in the common area. Pine and rose and thyme from today’s work. And deeper, the undercurrent of wood—maybe cedar—and fog that is Kent. “What changed?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I rub my thumb harder into the worn spot, focusing on the pressure so I can get the words out. This shouldn’t be so hard, not when it’s something I really want. “We don’t do this. You come in, and we flirt, and we don’t talk about the line that we’ve never crossed. What changed?”

  There’s something in his voice that I can’t name, “I’ll tell you if you look at me.”

  It takes me longer than it should, which pisses me off. I’m not the shy girl. I can hold my own, but raising my eyes to meet his feels like moving a mountain. And then I’m looking at him and he’s looking at me and I can breathe again.

  “What changed?”

  Half his mouth tips up into a smile. “Nothing. Everything.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It is,” he says. “Nothing’s changed. Because I’ve wanted this since you threw my ass out of your shop. And everything’s changed because I see you’re down today, and I was hoping that I could make you smile.”

  I fight against the impulse to look away. “How did you know?”

  There’s that smile again, and he leans forward, pressing his palms to the counter. “You don’t think I know you well enough by now to tell when you’re putting on a smile?”

  Shit. I didn’t think it was that obvious. I don’t feel that bad. I really don’t. That magic earlier felt amazing, and I get to see my friends tonight. But I can’t deny that there’s an ache in my chest and maybe I’ve gotten so used to this feeling. So much that I can’t even recognize it in myself.

  It’s not a comfortable thought.

  I manage a small smile. “I guess you do. Thank you.” We hang in that moment for what feels like forever, until I realize that I can’t. Not tonight. “I wish I could let you take me to a party, Kent.”

  He smirks, grabbing the pen that’s sitting on the counter and one of the many sticky notes I keep around for jotting down orders. “We’ve waited this long,” he says, scribbling, “I think we can hang on a few more days.”

  “I suppose so,” though I’ll admit that I’m tempted to ditch everyone at the gala for this. If it were anyone but Emma and Odette, I would say fuck the gala.

  He slides the note across to me, and I see that it’s his number. “That’s in case you need cheering up. Or anything else, really.”

  A laugh bursts out of me. “It’s amazing that we haven’t done this yet.”

  “Not as amazing as it’s going to be now that we’ve done it,” Kent says with a wink.

  I shake my head, “Smooth, Mr. Williams.”

  “I try.” He steps towards the door and I follow him, watching as he exits. He turns back as I go to lock it, and I peek out for just a second, feeling the late evening breeze hit my skin. “Really, Kari, if you need anything.”

  “I’ll call you even if I don’t.”

  The smile on him blazes brighter than the setting sun as he walks backwards down the sidewalk, almost crashing into someone. He’s laughing as he turns away and I’m laughing as I lock the door to the shop.

  I’m both looking forward to this gala and dreading it in equal
measure, but either way, it’s still time to get ready.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ________

  KARI

  As soon as the door is closed, I put Kent’s number into my phone and send him a text so he has my number too.

  There’s a text waiting from Odette as well:

  I can’t wait to see you! Let me know when you’re on your way.

  I’m excited to see her too. It’s been a little while, and she’s going to be busy this season. There’s a big part of me that’s trying not to think about that. Or trying to figure out ways to keep myself busy so that I won’t notice as much.

  Making sure the sign on the front door is flipped to closed, I grab my bags from behind the corner and retreat to the bathroom. I brought all the stuff with me to get ready here, because going all the way back to Queens and coming back to Lincoln Center is not a trip that I’m willing to make. Not when I’m only ten blocks away.

  The dress I’m going to wear tonight is one that’s been in my closet for a while. It’s actually the dress I had planned on wearing to my own promotion gala before it became clear that that would never happen. If Odette knew that she’d probably kill me, but I don’t exactly have a lot of events to dress up for anymore, and it deserves to be worn.

  I don’t think I’ve worn a dress since the surgery. I’ve had no reason to, and I don’t want to see the scars that took everything. Swallowing, I pull that train of thought in. It wasn’t the surgery that made it so I can’t dance. It was my own stubbornness and moving far too fast. But sometimes it’s easier to tell myself that it was the surgery. I shake my head. I can’t think about this or I won’t come out of the spiral.