Her Mad Hatter (6 page)

“I can’t, Danika.” He shook his head. “Take her back. Take her home.”

“You know that’s not how it works. She’s here. For three days. Try, Hatter.” Her blue eyes filled with tears. “You must try.”

He sighed. Couldn’t Danika see it was hopeless? And now she brought him the granddaughter of the woman who’d betrayed him and expected him to what-- trust the same blood didn’t run through her veins?

“Heal her feet. They... bleed.”

“Oh, Hatter,” Danika sighed. “Open your eyes, boy, see what I can, before it’s too late.”

He ran his hand through his wavy hair. “Wonderland’s not accepted her.”

She frowned. “She’s only just gotten here. Give her time.”

He curled his lips, always so positive Danika was. Every time it was the same thing. Next time. The next one. He was sick of it.

“No promises.”

Chapter 5

They walked again. Thankfully Alice’s feet were fine. Which was amazing. One second she wanted to cry from the stinging pain, and then, the next second, the ball of firelight ran across her feet and she’d been healed. Not only that, but she now had on a pair of glittering silver flats.

Hatter had stared at her, towering over her, and she’d sensed a difference in him. Not kindness. Hell no, nothing that drastic. But much less hostility, which, she supposed, was better than nothing.

“I’m...” he cleared his throat and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “The Hatter.”

Alice lifted her brow. “I pretty much figured that out.”

“Right,” he sighed and glanced to the side.

She rolled her eyes and huffed. “I’m Alice. Alice Hu.”

His jaw went rigid, but even so, her heart skipped a beat at the pure beauty and masculinity of his face. He was so much more than she remembered. Didn’t mean she’d forgiven him for what he’d done earlier. Not by a long shot.

But she hated silence. “So is this a dream, or what?” At this point, she was 99.9999 percent certain this wasn’t a dream, but she wanted to talk. Even if that meant talking with the most sexily infuriating man she’d ever met in her life.

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream,” he said, words laced with a bitter sadness that made her heart tremble.

“Sure.” She was confused. Was he agreeing with her or not? Why did she suddenly want to wrap him in her arms? The haunting sorrow in his gaze touched something in her heart.

She set her jaw and tapped her hand against her thigh. The man was ridiculous, spoke in riddles, and yet-- her stomach did a somersault-- she couldn’t stop the mental pictures of him nude with her sprawled on top of him.

She groaned. He was mean. She didn’t like him. He’d freakin’ made her walk through a forest without shoes on. Her tender feet had gotten bruised and bloody and it was so easy to give into the hate, but then he’d saved her from that damn snake and nothing made sense anymore. Since the moment they’d left the mushroom glade, he’d been acting different. Not exactly kind, but not so angry and cold, either.

Stems of grass brushed against her ankles like the softest satin. Stars gleamed brighter than any diamond in the navy blue sky. 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 different 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 were 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 come?” 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.

A part of Alice wanted to shove him back, make him let her go. His hard fingers bunched into the back of her shirt. But she just couldn’t because this was the man she’d loved her entire life. The man she’d craved since age 13.

“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 one and handed it 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 painted on it. As they neared, she noticed a white cottage covered in thorny roses at its center.

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. But 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 spots 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. Esher 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.