Deadly Secrets: Paranormal Reverse Harem (Dark Realms Book 1) Read online

  Deadly Secrets

  Dark Realms Book 1

  Abby James

  Copyright © 2019 by Abby James

  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.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Author’s Note

  Poisonous Lies

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers

  Thank you for buying Deadly Secrets, book one in my Dark Realms reverse harem romance. I hope you enjoy reading Malachi’s story as much as I enjoyed creating it.

  Interested in hearing more about my books?

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  Chapter 1

  I redirected the headlamp on my helmet so it faced downward before yelling up at Marshal, “Try it now.”

  From inside the cab, he signaled he’d heard with a thumbs-up. The engine made a pathetic chugging sound, while the engine mount shuddered, then fell silent.

  “God dammit.”

  Marshal tried again, but this time the only response was a faint clunk. I waved for him to stop. The pits were the only place this piece of junk was heading. The capital allocated scant equipment and expected it to last well beyond its lifespan. The metal philmidian was found only in this region, but it wasn’t a highly valued metal nor handy in manufacturing, so the capital was loath to waste any more money than it had to keep the mine afloat.

  I repositioned my headlamp and stared at the engine block. Short of a complete overhaul using a few scavenged parts, there was little else I could do right now, which meant this one would need to be towed back up the tunnel.

  I lowered my lamp again. “Marshal.” I waved him out of the cab.

  His own lamp bobbed as he climbed down toward me. “No go.”

  I shook my head. “It needs to be towed.”

  “Useless piece of shit.”

  While Marshal cursed, I radioed salvage. “Hartung, we’ve got a tortoise. Tunnel F.”

  Beside me, Marshal struck a match and lit a cigarette. The blend of tobacco and elbian wafted in a cloud around my head.

  “Hey.” I smacked him on the arm. “You know the rules. Put it out.”

  Marshal grumbled and flicked the glowing end off the top of the self-rolled cigarette. I stomped on the orange glowing ash, now sitting on the engine block, and a dull thud from the metal echoed off the tunnel walls.

  “You want to blow yourself up, do it when I’m not around.”

  “Geez, you’re titchy today.”

  “Because I’m forced to work with you meatheads. What are you doing smoking that stuff on the job?”

  “You need to ask that?”

  “You stay put and wait for salvage. I’m heading back up.”

  I positioned my headlamp so it shone into Marshal’s face.

  He shielded himself from the glare. “Jesus, Malachi, what you do that for?”

  Seeing the cigarette between his fingers, I snatched it away. “If you blow this bogger up, I have to do the paperwork. And I hate bloody paperwork.”

  I climbed down the ladder mounted on the side of the engine cowling and headed for my maintenance vehicle, deserting Marshal to the loneliness that was tunnel F, the deepest of the labyrinth of tunnels, which extended in a fifty-mile radius, running veins like tentacles, intersecting and branching like the knotted roots of the shimbark shrub.

  The location of the metal, deep underground in a village far east of the capital, made it hard to mine and the mine even harder to supply. For years, the people of Ladec expected the capital to close the mine down and redistribute half the population, namely the kids of age, in the harvest trucks, but for now, it seemed they were making enough of a profit selling philmidian to the bordering territories to keep the mine operational.

  I was the mine’s only female mechanic. And bizarrely enough, I’d volunteered for the job. It turned out I was good with engines, danger, the dark and confined spaces, which made me the ideal employee. I was also the only mechanic willing to enter tunnel F, which had been rebuilt and reinforced five times in the last ten years because the explosive bolts used to mine the metal were unreliable, especially when a bogger bucket accidentally hit an undetonated sleeper. In a village where the only thing changing was a person’s age, I thrived on the adrenaline and danger. And if I made myself indispensable on the mine, Myles might put in a good word for me so hopefully I wouldn’t be swept up in the next harvest.

  Because of the tunnel width, I was forced to reverse back up the incline. Rear lights had been fitted to the maintenance vehicles, so I could at least use the tunnel walls as a guide to keep me going straight.

  At a distance, the high beam from the salvage caterpillar rebounded off the tunnel wall. I slammed the accelerator and roared the guts out of the engine in order to make one of the alcoves cut into the wall on my left. I swung in and slammed on the brakes so I wouldn’t bury the back end of my vehicle into the rock face and risk setting off a sleeper bolt. The caterpillar lumbered past, vibrating the tunnel walls as it went, without showing any sign of having seen me or slowing. Typical. Most of the time those guys were high on elbian.

  Once salvage had passed, I reversed back into the tunnel and spun the wheels as I mashed the accelerator to the floor, backing as fast as I dared to the exit. Marshal was sure to be carrying another elbain-laced cigarette and salvage caterpillars were also known to set off sleeper bolts.

  My neck was complaining from craning around as I navigated my way. When I spied the shaft of daylight, I held my breath and planted my hand on the horn. Soon I was blaring my way out into the day. It was unlikely anyone else would be coming down tunnel F at this time, but I wasn’t taking chances.

  I spun the vehicle around, scattering gravel in a wide arc, and headed back to the compound. This late in the afternoon, the sun streamed in through my open window, giving me an instant tan, not that I tanned; Seb was the one with the olive skin, not me. He was like Dad in that regard, or so I was told, whereas I was like Mum.

  The maintenance building was squeezed onto a twenty-meter space at the back end of the mining compound, coined by us maintenance personnel—all three of us—the forgotten place. Despite this, our services were in high demand given the antiquated equipment. The gravel carpark out the front of maintenance was empty, and I found the door to the building locked. Typical. Come the drinking hour, Reg and Hacksaw were out the door faster than the lizards that lived in the desert, which were impossible to outrun on foot.

  I logged my duties in the logbook, which no one ever read, then headed for the bathro
om. The wiring to the hanging bulb was faulty and it flickered and made a sort of sizzle sound before coming to life. Hands resting on the basin, I looked at my reflection. The dust rimmed under my eyes and caked along my forehead. A grease mark smeared down one cheek and, on one side, my hair had worked loose from its ponytail. Marion would have something to say about my lack of personal deportment, but she was too young to realize that desirable women of age were usually the first ones on the harvest trucks.

  I used a hard detergent to remove what I could of the grease on my hands, then dried them on the rough towel, which should’ve been changed months ago. After all the scrubbing, my hands glowed red and felt scaly and dry. Most of my nails were chipped or I’d peeled them back to the skin—maintenance hands. After a couple of flushes of water, creating a murky swirl down the plug hole, I looked at my semi-clean pale skin. Perhaps Mum was right. I needed a little more sun.

  The caterpillar would tow the bogger into the yard later on tonight—that’s how long it took to salvage a vehicle from underground—so there was no reason for me to hang around. I finished off some last-minute paperwork, then headed for the door, hitting the light switch on my way out.

  The handles on the antiquated rust bucket I called a bike still held the sun’s warmth. It radiated through my overalls when I sat on the seat. In the cold months, the heat would be appreciated, but the sun’s rays were too weak to do anything more than light the day. In the hot months, the warm seat cooked my butt and was definitely not appreciated.

  Our house was on the other side of Ladec. By the time I was halfway home, my overalls clung to my body like a skin suit, stuck in place by sweat. Wisps of soaked hair dripped sweat onto my cheeks as the dry wind blew the fine strands about. A faint throb at the backs of my eyes threatened to turn into something more substantial before I finished my ride. It was near impossible to keep hydrated enough around this place. And riding a bike in thick overalls was guaranteed to send you to bed with a wet cloth on your forehead.

  A shrill whistle, and I looked over my shoulder. Shacks leaned against a post, which propped up the awning out the front of Cardwellion’s shop. He raised his bottle of drink toward me as a salute when he saw me looking. With his other hand he waved me over. What I really wanted to do was head home, wash the sour smell from my body, down a mug of water and lie flat under the rattling fan. Instead I turned in an arc and headed over.

  Shacks was, perhaps, Ladec’s most eligible bachelor. At twenty-five, he was four years older than me, a good age difference according to Reilay. She’d recently married the village baker’s son, a quiet man, stretching to six foot six. His body had put so much effort into growing north there was nothing left to fill his skin, making him look like a walking skeleton. She married him because he was a decent guy, kind, gentle, and the right age of thirty-four to her thirty. Not that she needed to marry. At thirty it was unlikely the harvest truck would bother with her anymore.

  Shacks, on the other hand, was built from a better mold. He worked the farms, like my brother, which kept his body trim and his muscles firm. When my breasts had grown at the age of fourteen, I’d become an instant success with the few local boys, none more so than with Shacks. Mum, wisely, kept a close eye on me because Shacks had a reputation, not hard to gain in such a small village. Seb was quick to become Mum’s eyes when we were out with the rest of the town’s kids. Although four years younger than me, Seb was bigger than all the boys in Ladec, which Mum capitalized on when it came to babysitting duties for his older sister.

  But a brother didn’t want to be hawk-eyeing on his sister all the time, especially not when his own hormones were kicking in. By the time I was eighteen, I was lured by Shacks’s seductive words and his seeming experience and let him fondle my breasts. Liking the feeling of that, I’d slowly progressed to letting him put his hands down my pants, which felt even better. Of course, it was never going to end there and we mashed together in desperate anticipation in the woodshed out the back of his parents’ house. The first time hurt. It hurt a lot.

  Conversations with Reilay taught me that I had to make Shacks slow down. It turned out he wasn’t all that experienced, at least not when it came to pleasing a woman over pleasing himself. I agreed to have sex with him a few times after that because Reilay said it got better and that I would really enjoy it if I made him do…and she gave me a long-winded explanation of all the things he should do to me. She was right, it did get better, a lot better, but more so because I allowed him to touch me only if he did…and I proceeded to show him.

  After our fourth sweaty session, this time lost in the stalks of the cornfields, I told Shacks we weren’t going to do it anymore. He couldn’t believe he’d heard me right. When I repeated myself, his face flushed red and he yelled at me, You pant like a dog for me, so what’s the bloody problem? I never wanted to think ill of Shacks, but I felt grateful Seb had suddenly appeared in the corn and pulled me away. Shacks got over his mood pretty quick, or should I say, once Norella invited him into her bedroom.

  I pulled my bike alongside him.

  “Hey, Mac. You just heading home?”

  “A bogger broke down in tunnel F.”

  He shook his head, telling me without words what he thought of my work.

  Norella worked in the grocery store, which, in the days leading up to the next supply vehicle, was left selling a few meagre, less essential items. She was never smelly and sweaty. Her hair rarely clung to her head with perspiration, nor did she wear overalls that stunk of grease, tobacco and elbian. Double bonus for Shacks was that she adored him, in a desperate-puppy sort of way. I guess he did better things to her in her bedroom than he ever did for me out in the corn. And they were in her bedroom because Norella’s mum wanted her daughter married. She was two years older than me and very attractive. When the next harvest truck came, she would be on it. But not if she was married. Unless the capital decided a young married couple was better off populating another village somewhere else in the territory.

  “You forgetting the dance tonight?”

  No, I hadn’t forgotten the dance. “I’ll be late.”

  He winked. “Good. I’m glad you’re coming.” He pushed off the post. He leaned over as he walked past so his face brushed dangerously close to mine. “There’s slim pickings enough as it is to lose even one girl for the night.”

  He dipped his hat at me and strode off down the dirt street. Shacks didn’t love Norella. Even without his constant flirting, it was plain to see, and not because she was a bitch. She was filling his time until the harvest truck came. There was no way Shacks would let anything undermine his chance of leaving Ladec. And there was no way I would let the harvest truck take me from my family. But I would do it on my own. Not shackled to a man.

  Chapter 2

  I knew it was Seb who knocked on my door because he always gave one sharp rap and then waited for my reply. When he was younger, my shut door was no barrier, but once he turned thirteen and his hormones hit, he grew intensely private and awkward whenever he saw me in my underwear.

  The only body part he felt comfortable putting in my room these days was his head. He snaked it around the partially opened door. “You going tonight?”

  “For a bit.” I shouldn’t feel bored at the thought of a dance. Trouble was, with so few interesting guys in Ladec, the music sounding the same and the supplies running low, which meant food and drink would be limited, sometimes sitting on our veranda and watching the sun set over the desert fields was a better idea, despite the fact that was an option almost every night.

  “Mum wants you to take Marion with you.”

  “I was planning on it. But why can’t you take her?” I knew why. Lately he’d been flirting with one of the Lannel girls. She was one year younger than him, but I’m sure her mum would find a match with Seb favorable and it could mean the possibility of keeping her daughter with her in Ladec. I knew Seb wasn’t a virgin, but I also knew, like Shacks, he was determined to be on the next harvest truck o
ut of here. No matter how pretty Cherel’s golden curls, he would be careful.

  “I’ve got plans.” That was all Seb said before he shut the door behind him.

  Seb used to follow me everywhere, throwing tantrums every time Mum refused to allow him underground. I became his teacher when Mum was busy with the baby. I would walk the fields with him every day and tell him everything I knew about the growth cycle of plants, the cycle of day and night and the cycle of birth and death. We upturned rocks and logs and scavenged under bushes to discover all the hiding places for the small critters wanting to keep cool from the harsh sun. We sat on the top of Parky Hill while I made up stories about how our territory began.

  Over the last few years, he’d withdrawn into a private world neither Mum nor I could touch. The unreachable curtain inside his head had turned him into another person. He’d begun to assert himself as the father figure in the household, become super protective of Marion and gave me lectures about careless mistakes that would seal my fate. Despite his inner secrets, I knew what thoughts plagued him. Seb’s moods stemmed from an inner prowling. He was a wild animal stuck in a cage. The distant horizon was a beacon. He saw farming as a means to keep him busy until the right moment came along to get him out of here.

  Mum rarely shared her thoughts with me. She didn’t have to. They rolled off her in waves. Her sadness and fear choked me most of the time. How many times did she look at the young man that Seb had become and see his father? Enough, I would say, if the sadness that increasingly shuttered her expression as he neared eighteen was any indication of the truth. And like Mum, I couldn’t bear the thought of Seb leaving us. If he left, then Mum would’ve lost three men in her life and I would’ve lost two. Dad died too young for me to remember him, but I grew with an ache in my heart without even knowing why until I was old enough to understand how much death could destroy a family, how much death could make you feel abandoned.