Tarnished Embers: A Dark Stepbrother Fairytale Retelling (Dark Retellings)

I wake up alone, and the emptiness that fills me has my breath catching and a lump in my throat forming. I shouldn’t feel this way after only two days with them in my life. Shit, it really has been a little over forty-eight hours since I’ve met them. A shiver runs through me at the thought of how close I’ve let them get, at how much I already depend on them for comfort.

I locked my door after coming upstairs last night, crawling into bed after changing, not able to face the guys after my run-in with Odette.

There’s a heaviness in my limbs as I lie there, thinking about what she said, what she didn’t say, and what it all means. Though the puzzle pieces just aren’t fitting together, and with a heavy sigh, I get up and head to my bathroom, screeching when I glimpse a dark figure outside on the balcony.

“Fuck! Prince!” I gasp, heading over and unlocking the door. I’d locked it too after the last time Kit came in that way. The sky is grey, an oppressive cloud covering it, and the wind is biting as it wraps its icy fingers around me. I pull him in, hissing when my hand makes contact with the bare skin on his arm. He’s only in a thin cotton T-shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

My heart thuds painfully inside my chest as I take in his expression. It’s intense, his green eyes travelling over me, even as his body shivers.

“Y-you didn’t c-come back last n-night,” he states, his teeth clacking together as he speaks and I swallow hard, tugging him into my room before slamming the balcony door shut, and then pulling him towards the bathroom. Leaving him just inside the doorway, I reach in and switch on the shower.

“Have you been outside all night?” God, what if he’s got frostbite? It’s only February, it can still get below freezing overnight. “What were you thinking?! You’re only wearing a fucking T-shirt for Christ’s sake and you could get sick or—” Panic makes my chest tight, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe, my eyes darting over him, looking for any sign that he might be ill.

“Sugar… Hey, baby, breathe.” He’s there, his frozen hands holding my face as my vision wavers. “In and out, follow me.” One hand grabs mine, placing it on his pec, and I suck in a desperate breath when his chest expands. “That’s it, good girl.”NôvelDrama.Org © content.

My head clears and the sound of the shower behind me replaces the sound of my racing heart that was all I could hear moments ago.

“D–don’t you ever do something so stupid again, Prince,” I tell him, my voice thick and my throat full of glass. “If anything happened—”

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I was worried about you. We were all worried about you, but the others said to give you space. I just couldn’t leave you alone.” His own voice is rough, and there are deep etches in his brows, his green eyes tracing my face as if cataloguing every movement. He was scared too. I don’t know his full story, but I know that, like me, he’s lost someone, and it’s left a mark on his soul as deep as my own.

“I won’t lock that door again. I won’t shut you out, Prince. I’m so sorry.” Using my hand on his chest to pull him to me, I bite the inside of my cheek when his frozen skin touches mine. “I’ll tell you why I did it, but right now, we need to get you warmed up, okay? I need to take care of you.”

A deep shudder runs through him, and I wonder if anyone has ever cared for Prince before or if he’s always been the one to take care of people. I see the way the others defer to him, look to him for leadership, but we all need to be looked after every so often.

Stepping back a fraction, I tug at the hem of his T-shirt, lifting it up and encouraging his arms to rise. Then I bite down on my lip hard to stop the panic from rising when I notice how pale his usually golden skin is underneath all his ink. He must have been outside all night.

We don’t speak as I undo his jeans, pushing them down his hips, but there’s no time for me to admire his beauty, my need to make sure he’s okay is too strong to pause for even a moment. My hands are shaking as I pull my sleep shirt off—a T-shirt I stole from Kit—and then grab his hand and lead him into the shower.

He hisses out a curse when the warm water touches his skin, and my breathing picks up when I try to recall the signs of hypothermia. Fuck, maybe a hot shower isn’t the best option right now. He might need to be seen by a doctor, or go to hospital, or—

“Ember!” I blink, gasping a breath when his now warm hands are on my face. Wide, bright green eyes stare back at me, his brows deeply furrowed. “Sugar, I’m okay. I don’t have hypothermia. I wasn’t out there all night. Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry I worried you.”

I burst into tears and he pulls our bodies flush as I sob loudly against his chest, which is already warming up. He holds me, the hot water pouring over us as he rubs soothing circles over my back and whispers assurances quietly in my ear.

“I–I don’t do well with people I care about getting sick,” I confess after a long beat of silence, my arms wrapped tightly around him. “N–not after what happened with Mum.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Ember. I shouldn’t have worried you like that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and I lost track of time, but I’m fine. I’ve the constitution of an ox.” I huff a small laugh, the sound unconvincing, but he pulls my face away from his chest and brings our lips together.

He kisses me sweetly, and it’s so unlike the Prince that is dominating but is exactly what I need right now.

“Let’s get washed up. Can’t be late for the first day of home-school,” he teases as he pulls away, and I pause when I remember what day it is.

“I’d forgotten about that,” I say, twisting to grab the shower gel and squeezing some into my palm. “What will you be doing today?”

I don’t even know my timetable, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. A pang goes through me when I think about my friends back at Morley College. I still don’t really see why the guys couldn’t have joined me there. It’s one of the best private colleges in the country.

“Oh, the usual,” he says, his eyelids fluttering as I rub my hands over his torso and down his arms. I love the feel of his skin underneath my fingertips and the way his muscles twitch and flex. “Sugar, you keep touching me like that and we’ll definitely be late.”

“Sorry.” I chuckle, heat lighting up my body as his dick hardens between us.

“Never apologize for touching me, baby,” he replies, reaching past me to grab the bottle and squeezing some shower gel into his palm. “I love that you want to take care of me, that you want your hands on me as much as I need mine on you.” He glides his soapy palms all over my body, paying me back for my teasing touch just moments before, and when I try to arch into him, he tsks and shakes his head. “Later.”

Frowning, my core on fucking fire, I let him turn the water off after we rinse and then watch his biteable arse as he gets out. He wraps a towel low around his hips before grabbing another and holding it out for me.

We head into my room and all the while my mind tries to think of ways of getting him back for leaving me with blue ovaries.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” he says, kissing me on the lips and then heading back out of the balcony door.

Sighing, I turn to my walk-in wardrobe and contemplate my choices, a smile tugging my mouth upward when I spot my old college uniform still hanging there.

Fucking perfect.

I’m the last one to enter the dining room for breakfast, and four pairs of jewelled eyes swing my way, heat making the colours shine brighter as they trail down my body.

“Fucking hell, little sis,” Oct rasps, his eyes burning as he takes in my outfit. I tucked my white school shirt into my plaid mini skirt which hits high on my thighs. Combined with knee-high, white socks, chunky-heeled Mary Janes, and two French braids, the naughty schoolgirl look I was going for is complete. Looks like my efforts have paid off too.

“One should always try for the first day, don’t you agree, Prince?” I question, my eyes locked on his green ones. He swipes his thumb over his lower lip as he studies me, and I’m glad my father and Odette aren’t here because the sexual tension in the room is off the fucking charts. Turning to Kit, who’s closest to me, I catch his gaze. “I bumped my hip on the way down, can you check there’s no bruise for me?”

I keep my expression all wide-eyed innocence as I lift the side of my skirt, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek when four groans sound out as they realise that I’m not wearing any underwear.

“What the fuck did you do, bro?” Cas grumbles just as the door handle rattles, and I drop my skirt, twirling to face the door I just came through while flashing the guys my bare arse as the material lifts a little.

“Miss, the first of the tutors is here,” Reginald announces with a small bow. Gosh, I wish he would stop doing that.

“Thank you, Reginald. We’ll be along presently,” I reply, and he gives a nod before leaving the room and shutting the door with a quiet snick.

“Not until you’ve eaten, Sugar,” Prince commands, his voice slightly strained, and I mentally high-five myself.

“Of course, sir,” I sass back, and the growl that vibrates from his chest has my thighs clenching. He clearly enjoys being addressed like that. Noted. The chair between him and Cas is free, but I decide that I’m not quite done playing the brat, so instead, I turn back to Kit. “Is this seat taken?” I indicate his lap, and he gives me a boyish grin that has wetness coating my inner thighs.

“No, miss.” Scooting his chair back, he pats his knee and I lower myself to sit on it, biting my bottom lip between my teeth when my bare pussy rubs against his jeans. His arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me back until our upper bodies are flush. “Remind me never to piss you off, Pretty Thing,” he whispers in my ear, and this time a peal of laughter rings out from my lips.

I haven’t felt this…free in so long; the feeling goes straight to my head, leaving me almost dizzy with the rush of how much fun it is just to not be serious and mess around a little.

I eat whatever Oct feeds me, Kit’s hand resting on my upper thigh but going no further, his form of payback. I’m just glad his jeans are dark, perhaps the damp patch I’m pretty sure I’m leaving won’t be so obvious then.

After a few minutes, I quickly finish up.

“We should probably get going. What’s our first class?” I ask as we get up from the table, annoyed that Odette didn’t even leave a timetable, never mind letting me choose what subjects I’m doing. I know a one-on-one tutor is better than a full-class situation, but I can’t help feeling like I’m losing all control over my life.

“We all have English first,” Oct tells me, settling his arm across my shoulders as we head toward the library, where our lessons will take place. “Then Maths.” He laughs when I make a face. “And after lunch, you’ll be doing art while we do fencing and other sports.”

“What about the subjects you guys want to study?” I ask, and he pauses, all of us stopping just outside the library doors. “And shouldn’t Prince and Cas be at university by now?”

“We’ll talk to Odette once she and your dad get back,” Cas says from the other side of me, and I glance at him, seeing the way a flush creeps across his cheeks, and the fact the others won’t look at me but down at the floor instead.

“It’s always been this way, us being home-schooled, we get a better education,” Oct adds, but his tone is uncertain, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is me.

“You have to fly the nest sometime,” I tell them gently, all of their faces snapping towards me, and I can’t help wondering why she’s kept them at home for so long. “I’m sure Dad will be happy to help you guys with anything if you want to go to uni.” I look at Prince and then at Cas.

“You are too good for us, Cinders,” Cas replies, a slight rasp to his voice as he cups my cheek in his palm and kisses my lips softly. I should worry that someone will see, but with my father and Odette away for three weeks, I can’t find it in me to care right now. So instead, I enjoy the feel of his mouth against mine. “We should go inside,” he whispers against my lips, and I nod reluctantly before pulling away and taking a deep inhale.

“Let’s go to school?” I say, but it sounds more like a question, and the guys laugh as they open the door and we walk inside.

The morning goes by faster than I thought it would. Our English tutor, Mrs Brown, is engaging and animated. I enjoy her discussion on how a study found only six narrative plots, which pretty much every story fits into.

I struggle a bit more with Maths, having bid that subject good riddance a long time ago and fully intending on never studying it again. Mr Green isn’t a bad teacher, he’s interesting, and with his moustache, round glasses, and waistcoat, he looks every inch the old mathematician. Kit, Oct, and Cas are all really fucking good at Maths. Prince is like me, hopeless at sums, and I whisper to him it’s our creative brains that make the subject difficult after Mr Green asks him a question that he can’t answer. Poor Prince’s cheeks bloom in embarrassment as he fumbles his response. It’s nice to see one of them blush for a change, though I wish it weren’t through shame.

The grateful smile Prince gives me is enough to make me not hate Maths so much, but I vow to chat with Odette when she and my father return, telling her I won’t be continuing with the subject. They can’t force me to take it—I haven’t done so for the past couple of years—and it’s not one I need for getting into Goldsmiths.

We have a quick lunch, then the guys make their way down towards the gym in the basement that I’ve never used, and I head into the sunroom, squealing when I see an easel set up and a table full of art supplies laid next to it.

“I’m glad to see your excitement, Ember,” a deep, feminine voice says from my left, and I turn my head to find an older woman, her grey hair up in a messy bun, wearing the brightest dungarees I’ve ever seen. “I’m Mimi, and I’ll be your art teacher.”

“Hi,” I reply, giving an awkward as fuck finger wave, even though she’s standing in front of me. Ugh, sometimes I wonder about how I ever managed around people. She just chuckles and then holds her hand out to indicate two of the wicker chairs.

“Odette mentioned that you’d like to attend Goldsmiths?” she asks, tucking her legs up under her after she sits down. I cross mine, slightly regretting my life choices right about now as I’d love nothing more than to get comfy, but I’m not sure Mimi wants to see my clamshell.

“That’s the goal, yes,” I tell her, my fingers toying with one of my pigtails. “I’m not sure if I’m good enough though.” I suck my lower lip in between my teeth, worrying it.

“Hey, from what your previous tutors sent over to me, you are very talented, Ember. We just need to make sure you’ve got all the things they’d like to see in your portfolio. Can you bring that next time?” I nod eagerly, the need for Mimi’s approval after such a compliment making my heart beat faster. “Fab. For today, how about we let go and you show me what you enjoy doing best?”

“Okay,” I say, excitement flooding my veins as I get to my feet and head over to the table. Everything is in neat rows, unlike my nook upstairs which is organised chaos. My fingers itch to rip open all the packets and I hear a soft laugh.

“Use anything on there, Ember. It’s all yours to do with as you see fit.”

Reaching out, I snag a pencil, an idea already beginning to form in my mind of what I’d like to draw, then I touch the tip onto the fresh piece of paper. It’s so blank, so bare, and ready to take whatever I give it.

Taking a deep inhale, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach of having someone observing, I drag the lead across the page and make my first mark.

Hours drift by, and when I come back to myself, the paper is no longer a pristine white. Instead, a portrait stares back at me, one half a young woman, her gaze fierce and unyielding, yet colourful flowers tangle in her long hair on one side. Her face morphs into the head of a lion, his mane a riot of jewel colours, a look of protection about his features.

“Absolutely stunning, Ember,” Mimi says, coming up behind me and placing a hand on my shoulder. “You were so lost in your creativity, as happens to many eminent artists. I adore the use of colour, the way the ink drips down. It’s beautiful. What does it mean to you?”

I trace the lines of the piece with my eyes, my pulse slowing as the adrenaline from simply creating wears off.

“That sometimes your heart knows things that your brain refuses to acknowledge.”