Rosemary A Johns

Rebel Academy: Curse

Wickedly Charmed: Book Three

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Chapter One

MIDNIGHT

Midnight’s Letter, Thursday September 5th

To my king, Fox, and future queen, Magenta,

Your love makes my blood sing.

Please, let me serve you.

Once, I served the King of the Under World's Court. I trained every day to become Lucifer's knight because I yearned for his Light. His spark burned temptingly bright.

I’d have walked into the fire for him because he was the flames.

Yet I was cast into the darkness. But didn’t I deserve to be, since I failed him?

I was the Cursed One. How had I ever thought that the moon would be allowed to love the sun?

When you read this, will you push me down to my knees in the shadows, silence my tongue, and curse me as nothing more than whipping boy?

Want me, want me, want...

I'll be your loyal knight forever, and for a vampire, forever is an eternity of love and blood.

The day in the Under World that I became Lucifer's Cursed, started with dad, Commander Scalds, dragging me into the Crypt for judgment. Scalds’ back was military straight, and his large ash wings beat in a display of dominance.

I curled my own wings around myself, wincing at the way that Scalds’ fingers dug into my arm.

I bit my tongue hard enough to taste my own tangy blood.

Don't make a sound, look down, or flinch at the taunts of the regiment who'd trained alongside me for decades (who would've been my friends if I hadn't been the Cursed One), at my nakedness.

After all, I'd failed the trials to become a knight in the ranks of the First Fallen, the FF. We were the first to Fall from Angel World with Lucifer, even if humans believed that we were vampires.

I wouldn't make trouble now. Didn't I deserve the shame?

I stumbled on a pile of bones, catching my foot on a skull. Scalds tutted, hauling me faster after him, and I hit my hip against a crypt. My world lit up with pain. I curled my hands into fists to keep in the cry.

Bones and blood, what would be the judgment for my failure?

Was I about to die?

My breath hitched, and my pulse pounded in my ears.

The Fallen sprawled on the dusty floor or leaned against the marble walls, watching like this was just another show in the wildness of the Under World.

My chest ached worse, when I caught the pitying gazes of my Midnight Gang. They were my best friends, who sneaked me out at night from under dad’s strict supervision to show me the revelry of the true Under World. We’d swagger to bet on the cage fights in the Bone Carnival or dance for hours in the arms of Blood Lovers.

Lost in a haze of tequila, blood, and the beat, beat, beat of the music, I’d never wanted to open my eyes the next morning to find myself back as Commander Scalds’ cursed son.

Don’t make me open my eyes.

My gang tried to blank their expressions, but their distress trembled through me.

I didn’t deserve their sympathy.

They’d passed the trial. I was the Commander’s own son, and I’d failed.

I’d brought shame on my name.

The fiery violet tips of the Fallens’ gray wings lit up the gloom of the medieval arched court room. I shuddered. This had once been a human cathedral that'd been bombed during one of the human wars. Our Under World was beneath London and built upon their dead.

It'd be a fine thing to explore the living human world, but I'd never even been above ground. There was nothing but the darkness and Lucifer's Light.

Don't let Lucifer kill me. Let dad wield the sword...

My waves of midnight black hair shielded my modesty down to my waist, but I blushed, covering my prick with my hand. On my fangs, I'd dreamed many times of Lucifer summoning me to him and then being stripped. Yet I'd have been a willing alabaster sacrifice on my king's silk sheets. I'd lost myself late at night in the fantasy of his eyes, which would hold me mesmerized beneath him like twin suns.

Without Lucifer there was only shadow.

Had he even noticed me? Even though he'd never spoken to me, could the king love me?

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

I groaned, as the thought knifed through me. As always, it split my head with a wave of nauseating pain, until I mouthed the words against my will.

"I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse," I muttered.

Scalds slammed me against a column, chaining my arms above my head, until I scrabbled to stand on tiptoes. The back of my thighs burned, and my arms ached.

To be Fallen was to embrace pleasure in the bedlam of our freedom, but Scalds kept me locked up, forcing me to study harder than any other soldier because he was terrified that I'd infect the rest of the FF. He didn’t know that my brave Midnight Gang broke the rules to show me a glimpse of how joyful life could be. They’d promised me that once the trial came, I’d pass it and become a full FF.

Then I’d be free.

How many nights had I shook, dreaming of my freedom? How many days had I suffered, holding on because of that promise?

Promises were nothing but pain. I’d never be tricked by them again. They were lies, lies, lies…

What was wrong with me?

I swallowed. Why had I been born the Cursed One?

Don't touch, speak, or listen to me, and never, ever love me.

I never knew another name, until I became a Fallen Angel and dared to believe that a creature like me was worthy to claim one.

Midnight.

As dark as my hair, eyes, wings against the paleness of my skin, and the blackness, in which I was hidden away.

"Cursed One," a boy angel once hissed at me. "I see the wickedness bleeding from you."

I'd drawn back, certain not to touch him. I'd infect him. Then he'd be cursed and unloved as well. I'd wrapped my wings around myself, flushing. My heartbeat had been too rapid, and my breathing had become ragged.

Was the curse in my feathers? The tumble of my hair or the strangeness of my mind?

Scalds tilted up my chin; I hadn't even realized that I'd ducked my head. "Never drop your gaze, see, that's for cowards."

I studied the furious gleam in Scalds’ black eyes. His hair was molded like gleaming oil, but he was quivering. I didn't know whether with rage or fear for me. He wore the chocolate blazer of all the FF, which was open over his bronzed muscled chest, and bondage trousers with a thick belt. I glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the regiment who were the devoted enforcers for Lucifer. Today, I should've been standing at their side, rather than hanging in chains.

I gazed longingly at Scalds’ feathered tattoo that marked him out as an initiated FF. The tattoo was inked on his neck, as if his loyalty to his king was the only way that he could breathe.

Lucifer was my breath, even if today, he stole mine.

I tilted up my chin. "I don’t lack courage, Commander.”

Scalds considered me. “You only lack everything else.”

I flushed. Why had I failed the test? I’d fought hard, taken the trial, and studied almost without sleep for the exams. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself demanding that on the heart of pain tell me how I could’ve still failed.

Yet defiance when you were bound for punishment only made things doubly worse.

I could be a good solider in the war against the angels. I'd stand at the wings of my friends; I'd die for them...for my king.

I was more than the Curse corrupting me inside. I was a Fallen warrior. If I could only prove it.

My chest was tight. My pleading gaze met Scalds' hard one. Did I imagine the way that the creases of his eyes softened, just for a moment?

Give me one more chance...

Yet Lucifer was more likely to tear out his own fangs than to give second chances.

When brightness flared above my head, haloing across my eyelids, I blinked. Lucifer's Lights buzzed like fireflies along the roof towards me: Lucifer’s spies.

I gasped, recoiling against the column and shivering as its coldness shocked my naked skin.

Was Lucifer watching?

I twisted in the chains, wrenching at my wrists. Pink prickled across my cheeks and down my neck to my chest. By the shadows, I felt more naked than when dad had stripped me, before leading me in here, like I'd been reduced to a child again who wasn't even able to remove his own clothes.

Or didn't deserve to.

When the lights buzzed around my shoulders, I gritted my teeth, waiting to be seared. Yet the static of their spark thrilled through me like it was stroking me.

Scalds' eyes widened, and he shifted, unsettled. "This unworthy recruit failed the trial." He swung to the FF, clicking his heels together. "How shall I punish him?"

This was it. Let it be over quickly.

All of a sudden, the room shook. I choked, as dust tumbled from the roof. The bone wall glowed violently, before peeling back like ribs in an autopsy.

Had Lucifer truly seen and come here to...what?

I shivered, and the Lights buzzed even louder.

Lucifer stepped through into the Crypt.

My king, king, king...

Was Lucifer here to punish me himself or save me?

Save me, my king. I’d give my life to serve as your knight.

I bit the inside of my cheek viciously. No one saved the Cursed One.

I lifted my chin. I wouldn't look down. I wasn't a coward. Yet why did I have to be chained naked to a column for our first official meeting?

Although, I had noticed that Lucifer enjoyed his angelic lovers to be bound...

The FF straightened, prowling to stand in uneasy ranks.

"Oh goodie, do I get to pick?" Lucifer leaped onto a crypt.

I couldn't help the way that my tongue swept my lower lip at the way Lucifer’s tiny black shorts hugged his behind and how his leather shirt hung open to reveal FIRE branded from one pink nipple to the other. It was a fine sight. I shuddered at the memory of a vivid dream, in which I'd licked across each of those letters, tonguing them as Lucifer had writhed beneath me. At the same moment, Lucifer's Lights flickered across my nipples, and I arched, panting.

Did I only imagine the smirk that Lucifer hurriedly hid?

When Scalds stepped in front of me, I didn't know whether it was to protect or hide me. "My son failed the—"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but as much as I love a spectacle," a howling power that could transform angels to ash flared in Lucifer's eyes, as he leaped off the crypt and stalked towards Scalds, who quivered but didn't back away, "this is my Court. I get to pass judgment, punish, and all that jazz. Hmm, perhaps someone made you king without me knowing? Aren't you the naughty one?"

Lucifer waved his hand, and his leather outfit transformed into sleek black armor like he was going to war. I ached to be the soldier that he wanted at his side.

He was glorious.

His wings surged with demon fire. Over his spiky ash blond hair, a flaming horned helmet flared, as the regiment drew closer like they were enthralled.

Lucifer's Lights surged to meet him, flying to join the fire in his helmet, until his horns touched the ceiling.

Scalds' wings quivered, and he dropped to his knees, ducking his head. I gaped at him.

Was dad a coward now? Had he always been the true coward?

"F-forgive me, my king, I won't f-forget again. I'll obey. You have my loyalty." Scalds' hands clenched on his knee.

Lucifer winked at me, twirling around Scalds like it was the Commander who was the invisible shadow that I knew myself to be. Did Lucifer not know who I was?

By my fangs, don't let him find out...

I didn't expect the gentleness with which Lucifer gripped my chin, stroking my cheek.

He was finally touching me...

He smelled of bonfires, and his wings were warm. My eyes fluttered closed, and my breath quickened.

Touch me again...

"You beautiful, broken thing," Lucifer murmured. "Aren't you lucky that I have a weakness for collecting broken things?"

My eyes snapped open. The world exploded with the sudden brightness of hope.

Want me...

Lucifer clicked his fingers, and the chains melted. He caught me in his arms. The thud of his heart steadied mine.

"He's brought me nothing but shame," Scalds’ voice was hard. "He's cursed."

Hope withered and died. I struggled to back away, but Lucifer's hand clamped around my neck, refusing to let me go. I dreaded his words of rejection and hate. My anguished gaze met his.

"Yikes, somebody's tense." Lucifer grinned. "So, had any fun dreams recently?"

Without meaning to, my gaze dropped to my prick that was rubbing against Lucifer’s thigh and hardening. "You came to me at night, my king…?" Had Lucifer given me those dreams? Had he visited me each night? It was Lucifer's turn to widen his eyes in shock, as I wrapped my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder. I hadn't been alone. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You truly are a snuggle bunny, aren't you, champ?" Lucifer sighed. "I picked you to be my personal and most loyal knight. At night, I was inspiring you with my spark."

He'd chosen me…?

I froze. This was everything that I'd craved.

Don't stop this moment. Let me live in it forever.

"I'm yours," I swore. “Make me your knight eternally.”

It twisted my heart, when Lucifer shook his head. "On my fangs, your daddy's bitterness poisoned it. He wrecked one of my brightest."

Scalds leaped up; his eyes flashed. "The brat's unworthy."

Lucifer spun me against the column, before growing in size and towering above Scalds. There was infinity in his eyes.

It was terrifying: death, war, and anarchy.

"Tsk, bite your tongue. I'm the one who chooses the worthy. My Light shines on them: the cast out and shamed. Have you forgotten why we Fell? We were all deemed unworthy in Angel World. I led us to rebel to free us from shame. I'll bring down the sun if I have to." I shivered. Lucifer meant it. "All I demand is loyalty. Is that, you know, too much to ask?"

He touched his helmet, and flames leapt onto his palm. Then he leaned over me, holding out his hand.

The lights pirouetted. I leaned closer. They were beautiful. I craved their heat.

Lucifer's lips curled into a smile, as the fire settled around my neck. "Wow, others fall to their knees before me or flinch from my flames, but you welcome them like lovers or like you were born to burn."

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

I winced at the sharp pain, as the thought lanced through me.

"Like I'm born to serve," I replied.

Lucifer's expression darkened, and he pressed his hand to my forehead. "Who made you think like that? Who caged your mind?"

"I...don't know... I'm wrong. I don't think that I've ever been right."

I'd never told anyone that before.

Lucifer pushed my hair back from my forehead. "Shocking truth: there's no such thing as right or wrong." Then he twisted to the rest of the FF. "Pop quiz time. Who scored the highest in the exam?"

When Scalds opened his mouth to answer, Lucifer flapped his wing against him to silence him.

"Midnight," my Midnight Gang chorused, even as they ducked to hide in the shadows at the back of the Crypt.

My eyes widened.

Lucifer glared at Scalds. "Well, that's a shocker, since I’m meant to be punishing him for failing to become an FF. Okay, question two, a toughie now. Who came top in the Trial?"

At my gang’s calls of Midnight, I stiffened again.

Was it true?

No one was denouncing it as a lie, even Scalds. My fists clenched. If I'd scored top, why’d I been rejected and humiliated?

"Dad...?" I questioned, softly.

Scalds barked with laughter that hurt worse than if he'd struck me. "Did you believe that you were ever going to be passed? No one in the FF wants someone like you in their ranks.” He raised his hand to his neck like he was going to choke himself, but instead, clutched the feathered tattoos. “These have a meaning, Cursed One. We all sacrificed in the Fall, and you don’t have the right to wear this emblem or become an elite member. You’re no knight. Perhaps, you could be transformed into a Seducer whore, mind. The army always need someone to serve their needs."

Lucifer snarled, backhanding Scalds. Yet even seeing dad land in a tumbled heap amongst the bones couldn't erase the words that he'd branded into my mind.

Everything had been lies.

I stared out at the regiment that I'd trained so hard to join. Their expressions were hard, amused, or leering. Now that Scalds had called me a Seducer, they'd never respect me.

He'd ruined me.

Even Lucifer's Lights couldn't offer me safety. Yet I'd never wanted to shelter under someone's protection. I yearned to be a knight who laid my life at a king's feet.

Lucifer cupped my cheek like he understood what I'd just lost. "You're cursed." I flinched. It'd been said so many times that I thought it could no longer hurt me. But on Lucifer's lips, it turned me to ash. "But only to be his son." His sneer at Scalds promised pain. "I've made my decision on your punishment."

I stiffened.

Lucifer's wings beat. "Midnight is sentenced to the Rebel Academy."

For the first time, the FF burst into wild outcry, while my gang dropped to their knees like begging had ever changed Lucifer’s sentence before. I barely noticed them, however, because everything had dimmed. My legs were shaky, and my knees would've buckled, but Lucifer held me caged against the column. He stroked along my sides as if calming me.

On my fangs, how would I survive in an academy run by witches? They held a truce with us, but since all other witches were at war with us, transforming the vampires that they caught into familiars, how cruelly would they treat me?

Did I truly deserve exile from the Under World?

When Lucifer danced his lights away from my neck and back into his horns, I whined. I was desperate not to lose his spark.

Lucifer leaned even closer, and his autumnal scent was all that I could breathe, "Don't you want to serve your king?"

"Always."

"Then you can do it safely in the Rebel Academy. Your daddy will be banned from visiting. I'll strike a deal with the bad witches and voila!"

I hated the triumphant gleam in Scalds' eyes like he'd won. Yet why did Lucifer look like he'd won?

I couldn't help the way that my wings trembled. "I'll suffer bravely for you, my king."

Luficer tutted, as he dragged me closer. His breath was hot against my ear. "Don't pout, beautiful. Some serve me on the battlefield or in bed. You'll serve me by escaping your past. If you try hard enough, you'll discover freedom within your prison. One of us at least can have that, hmm?" When he drew back, his expression was flat and distant like he was lost in his own painful past. With desperate daring, I wrapped my wings around him, and his gaze softened. "Oh, I wish that I could keep you. When you're in the light and away from..." He cast a dangerous glance at Scalds, "...the dark of the Under World, you'll learn that you were never anything but blessed."

It's been fifty years since Lucifer sentenced me to the Rebel Academy. Fifty years as a whipping boy to the Princes. Fifty years on my knees to different Masters.

Fifty years of serving, loyalty, and dedication to the spark.

Such a long, long time…

But on my fangs, I don’t feel any more blessed.

Lucifer, do you still think about me? Dream of me? Would you be angry that I’ve found someone new to love or did you send me away hoping that I’d find a new king and queen?

You’d admire the witch’s delicious wickedness and the mage’s courage because I do.

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

Magenta and Fox, you give me the courage to believe that you want me. I'm no more than a whipping boy, but you accept me as your knight and that’s a fine thing.

Please, want me...

What's a knight without his king? A king without his queen or a queen without her king?

Love me...

Do you ever cry in your sleep and wake more exhausted than the day before? Is that normal or just...?

I cradle this...weariness...to myself. I've been trapped in the Rebel Academy for half a century. I'm proud that as a whipping boy I get to serve. It's what I'm trained to do. But you treat me like you can't see the curse weeping from me, and now I pretend that I'm simply another vampire who one day will be released…free.

Except, my sentence has no end, see, and I'm not the same.

I'll worship you silently in these letters, but you must never read them.

I can’t let you know that you're the blood in my veins, my heartbeat, and my Soul.

I'll share my darkest secrets with nothing but cold paper.

Bleed me out...ask me to die for you...and I'd open my own veins with my fangs.

Let me bleed for you.

Yet you don't want my blood. I wouldn’t like for you to know how warm that makes me feel. Instead, you demand that I hold on for you.

I swore that I wouldn't die, however, and I won't break an oath. I never dreamed that someone would desire me to be theirs. You touch me, until my skin prickles and my wings are aflame, and you kiss me like I'm something precious, the same as your other Immortals.

Sometimes, I even allow myself to believe that.

Kiss me again.

I hunger for it, more even than your magical blood that calls to me. Your lips were the first to ever press to mine. At least, when I wasn’t dreaming.

It’d be a fine thing if you kissed me again.

Help me lose myself. I never want to be found again.

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

You haunt my every thought; I'm possessed by you. Bones and blood, don't wake me into reality's nightmare. These letters are my friends; they listen to my agony and joy. But they'll never tell.

Fantasy is safe.

In this fantasy, I kiss you each in turn and then whisper good night. I'm wrapped in your arms. You hold me between all of you Immortals in the warmth of your bed. We're in a nest of pillows, rather than cold and alone in my basket on the floor.

Tonight, I won't cry in my sleep.

You don't know that I love you, but that's all right, see. If all you need is my silent service, then you have it forever.

I love you. I love you. I love...

Please, love me.

Goodnight, my beloveds.

I have the honor to remain Your Royal Highness’ most humble, obedient, and faithful knight,

Midnight

Chapter Two

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Friday September 6th

When my three delicious Immortals freed me from over a century trapped as a ghost in Hecate's Tree, resurrecting me, I'd believed that I'd been granted a second chance at life.

But even second chances required sacrifice.

My Wickedly Charmed magic created Rebel Academy from the cradle, but it was my grief at Robin, my first mage lover's, death that cursed it to perpetual winter.

Yet even though I was all wicked, I could bless, rather than curse. I'd save the Rebels because Rebel Academy had always been mine.

I was awfully possessive, even if I intended to tear it up by the roots.

The vast stone that crashed down and blocked the Immortals’ and my path outside the ruins, however, was ancient and dangerous.

A Gateway.

In throbbing, pulsing crimson, it didn't belong inside the academy. It'd been stolen from the angels, and it roared its fury at being tamed.

I gasped, clutching harder onto Sleipnir's aquamarine mane, which glittered as if with crushed gems.

Sleipnir had transformed into his giant eight-legged horse form to carry Bask, Fox, and me out across the snowy grounds of Rebel Academy to the Gateway for our mission. It'd been glorious to ride him through the churning snow, away from the dragon stables and the castle. My magenta magic had wound out of the floor and sky to form a tunnel, which was our connection through the veil of life, love, and death.

All of a sudden, a wave of dark magic blasted from the stone, and Sleipnir reared back. His ears flattened to his head. He squealed in alarm.

Just for a moment, the sun speared through the clouds, blinding me.

My fingers slipped.

No, no, no...

The stone's magic lashed against mine. Pink sparks exploded from me, and I screamed. The stone dragged out my magic in agonizing bursts.

I was losing control...

My magic faded, driving the breath from me.

Bind my body but don't take my magic. Snap my broomstick, even ban me from a decent cup of tea or forever pour in the milk first.

See how serious I was?

The Gateway didn't listen to my plea. Admittedly, I'd only voiced it inside my mind, but it also screamed through the last withering tendrils of my magic.

It was rather rude of the Gateway to mess with my magic but not understand its language. It was even ruder to threaten the students who it was meant to be transporting on an assassins’ mission.

Who’d have guessed that a Gateway through to other realms was actually alive?

Ah, the wonders of a magical academy.

Was it not deadly enough to send us Rebels to the Gold Court of the Dragons as unwilling kidnappers without testing us first with this killer rock?

Behind me, Fox's curls brushed my neck, as his arms tightened around my waist. His scent of wild raspberries washed over me. I couldn't lose him because he was my second chance: the mage who mustn't die.

The mage who I loved, as I'd once loved Robin. As I still loved Robin.

Sleipnir's breathing was loud and panicked; his flanks gleamed with sweat. The Gateway blasted a jolt of shocking magic, and Sleipnir reared again.

Bask hollered, tumbling off Sleipnir’s back. My breath caught. Then Fox and I were falling too, and I screamed.

My magic looped around my lovers to hold onto them, before they hit the ground.

Sweet Hecate, keep my Immortals safe.

Why could I never remember not to pray to goddesses? Perhaps, I should write a thousand lines of:

Praying to Hecate is the same as wishing that you’d transform into firewood.

When I tumbled from Sleipnir's back, my life didn't flash before my eyes. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the sight, touch, and taste of my lovers. Their blood was mine because they'd resurrected and awakened me. We were connected eternally, after death and beyond love. On the witching heavens, I’d never let them go.

I shook, battling the hold of the Gateway's magic.

My own magic twisted and turned, keeping Bask and Fox safe in the air, while I slowly sank lower.

Don't let them fall...

Sweat dripped down the back of my neck, as I landed face first with a thud in a snowbank. I spluttered on the freezing snow, spitting it out of my mouth and blinking, as it hung from my eyelashes.

Then the threads of my magic drew taut and with a twang that made me wince, began to snap.

Alarmed, I threw myself onto my back, wiping my sleeve across my face. My vision was blurry with snow. When my lovers were hurled through the air like puppets between my magic and the Gateways, I struggled onto my knees.

I wouldn’t be defeated by a rock.

I yanked harder, but then another thread snapped, two, three...

Then the last threads of my magic broke.

With a delighted snarl, the Gateway hurled Bask and Fox against the walls of the ruins.

I howled, slamming my fists into the snow. My pulse thrashed in my ears. If I hadn't already been on my knees, I'd have fallen onto them.

I stared at the still bodies of my lovers, who lay like shattered ice sculptures. Sleipnir snorted, standing over Bask, as if he could protect him. His whole body was tense and trembling; his nostrils flared.

I regretted to inform the universe that this was my story. I might be the wicked witch, but I'd become the heroine, and the Rebels who I loved wouldn't die in the cold...like so many students before them.

How many students had been killed on missions or by this Gateway? There was a whole gallery of portraits of the dead. It was an academy of ghosts, which was shadowed by its dark past.

No more Rebels would die, blessed be, no more.

I forced myself to my feet and staggered to Sleipnir, patting his flank to calm him. He pawed at the snow like a soldier, guarding Bask and Fox. He'd been frightened that I'd think his shifter form monstrous and reject him.

He was my beautiful monster, and I'd never fear him.

"You're an excellent guard for your lovers," I whispered, "but I can save them."

I didn't know what advancements this modern age had made in medicine (perhaps, they'd even discovered a way to look inside the body without carving it open or cured the common cold), but it wasn't pills or operations that’d heal my broken lovers.

It was magic.

In a blue spray of glitter, Sleipnir transformed back into his godly form. His hair was spiky and cinnamon red. In his distress, he was linked to his brother Fenrir. He wrapped his long woolen black coat around himself, but I didn't believe that it was because of the cold.

I pulled him closer, pressing his forehead to mine. "It's not your fault."

He shuddered. "Yeah, it is. They trusted me enough to ride me. Look what revealing my monster led to, right? Why do you think I trap it inside?"

“There shall be no more trapping. My lovers are wild and free. You’ve seen this Gateway before. Some warning that it intended to squash us would’ve been nice.”

Sleipnir huffed. “By the Norns, it didn’t act like an aggressive guard dog before. But then, your magic appears to have pissed it off.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How flattering. It believes me more threatening, a challenge, or…wicked.”

I dragged Sleipnir to crouch over Bask and Fox, who were tangled together like they were only sleeping back in our bedroom and any moment would wake up.

Except, I knew that wasn't true.

All of a sudden, I was shocked by the memory of Prince Lysander’s distress, as he’d crouched over Midnight. The vampire’s wings had been broken by Principal Damelza’s hex because the Princes had lost the Rebel Cup.

Lysander must love Midnight, just like I loved Bask and Fox.

The Immortals lay at the entrance to the ruins, which was a tumbledown stone house. The ceiling was caved in at one side. Almost five hundred years ago, this had been where the last Blessedly Charmed witch before me had been forced to live, isolated from everyone to keep her magic pure. Perhaps, her family had been afraid of her power.

Had mine…?

The hairs on my nape rose at the thought of her stuck out here alone, only able to stare longingly at the life inside the castle.

I'd take being wicked over that any day.

Yet I could feel her power, which reached out of nature like an echo. It was still trapped here. It wound around me, leeching into my faded magic and reenergising...strengthening...it. I ducked my head in case the Gateway realized the way that the new strength was bleeding back into me.

I pressed my fingers to Bask's lips; his breath ghosted across my skin.

Thank Hecate.

I shivered in relief.

Then I turned to Sleipnir, and my expression became steely. "Holding onto your mane, as we rode together through the snow, was the most freeing experience of my long, long life. Don't ever hide again."

Sleipnir flushed, clenching his jaw, but he saluted. He had excellent manners when he tried.

Bask's uniform of pink blazer and tie with black pants, was ripped, revealing his alabaster skin beneath. I itched to pet him like he loved. Instead, I forced myself to lean down, pushing his silky ebony hair away from his ear.

"You please me.” My lips grazed his ear on each word, and my magic that was imbued with the thrilling power of my Blessedly Charmed ancestor coiled out of the ruins and around him, until he was cocooned in sizzling pink. Pleasing your bonded fed an incubus' power, and I didn't care that the Duchess thought she had a claim over Bask; I was the one who'd save him from dying. "You shall always please me. Once, I told you not to say always but I was wrong because I shall always save you. Without you, there's no pleasure or life for me. You're my pleasure: my Crave. My immortal love."

Bask's eyes shot open, and his adoring ruby gaze met mine. My breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze, and the way that he raised his gloved hand to stroke down my cheek in a gesture that was deeply intimate for an incubus, before skimming it along my jawline. My pulse fluttered in my throat.

He was alive...

Sleipnir let out a choked sound, as he dropped to his knees in the snow and clasped Bask's hand. "Odin's cock, I'm sorry."

Bask's expression softened. "Let's not bring a bad bastard like Odin or his cock into it. Pet me."

I kissed his petal soft lips, and his breath against mine was life after death. He smelled of coco and almonds, and I wished to devour him.

Then Bask squirmed. "This isn't a comfortable pillow nest."

I blanched, grabbing him by the shoulders to still him. "I'll be certain to tell Fox when he...wakes up."

Bask's eyes widened, and he scrambled around, tumbling into Sleipnir's lap. "Fix my foxy," he demanded, gesturing wildly at Fox, who lay sprawled across the ruins’ entranceway. "And I don't mean cut off his balls because they’re important to me, as well as to him."

Fox must've hit his head on the corner; his forehead was bruised and swollen. I wished that I could just kiss it away, but his injury was worse than Bask's. I reached out a shaky hand, tracing the purple outline, as I cradled Fox. I smoothed his blond curls back from his forehead. He was so cold in his thin whipping boy uniform; his skin was like ice.

Yet I was even colder. How could I warm him?

Fox's face was pale. It was unnatural for him to be silent and still. Fox was a whirlwind of words and hyperactive movement. I never wished for him to be silenced again.

I couldn't lose my mage. Not like this...please, not like this, not like...

My magic burst out in a storm that buffeted the ruins in my grief. Pink snow swirled from the clouds, blinding me.

"Valhalla!" Sleipnir yelled above the roar of the storm. "We haven't lost him yet. Seriously, control yourself and remember that our incubus has the power to heal, if we feed him enough pleasure." Bask slipped over Sleipnir's lap, and his eyes glittered with a predator's light. "How about I command you?"

Bask cast Fox a final concerned glance, before he smirked at Sleipnir. "How about I command you, Slippy?"

Sleipnir swallowed. "You're kind of freaky when you come over all dominant. Okay, whatever supercharges you."

I nodded. "My crow familiars have often told me that fast and dirty is quite a charming approach."

Sleipnir flushed again. Was fast and dirty not a popular style?

Bask clapped his hands together, and his eyes gleamed. "Fast and dirty coming up."

Mist, the tiny eight-legged horse who I'd created in transfiguration class out of my magic and the special plectrum that Loki had given Sleipnir, poked his head out of Sleipnir's pocket. Sleipnir's emotions were magically shown in Mist, even if he tried to hide them. He whinnied with excitement, pawing at the air like he could gallop to me.

When I laughed, Sleipnir glared at Mist, pushing him down into his pocket. "This is for my eyes only. Well, unless you count the incubus."

"You always count the incubus," Bask declared.

Sleipnir turned me, hauling me close to his hard chest. I could feel the thud, thud, thud of his rapid heartbeat against mine. I wished to make him lose himself, until the anguish clouding his eyes and vibrating through him was gone, and there was nothing left but our love.

I vanished the skirts and my inconvenient layers of undergarments, allowing myself a smile at Sleipnir's appreciative groan.

Well, we were going for fast.

Bask tutted. "As much as I love the sight of your fine arse, did I say you could do that?" My word, I hadn't known that Bask had a stern voice. I certainly hadn't imagined that it’d make me shiver so deliciously. "Slippy, punish her."

Sleipnir met my eye, and I nodded my permission. His hand cupped my tit, rubbing across my nub in teasing circles, and his other slipped between my thighs. I widened my legs in encouragement.

If this was punishment, let me be wicked.

"Lower," Bask commanded.

Sleipnir's fingers dipped lower, thrusting into my pussy. I flushed at the way that Sleipnir held me on display for Bask.

Bask crawled closer with predatory danger. His ruby gaze never left mine. "Crook your fingers. See how that's pleasing her? Faster now, and deeper. Tease her with your other hand."

I squirmed at the shocking intensity of the pleasure. Sleipnir's breath gusted hot against my neck. His prick pressed hard and ignored against my hip, but he didn't appear to notice because all his focus was on me.

Both my lovers were lost in my pleasure, and I was carried away on it.

When Sleipnir locked his legs around me, drawing me even closer, I groaned.

It was too fast, too much, too...

Bask's face was almost touching mine. When his tongue darted out to wet his plush lips, devouring my pleasure, I darted out my own tongue to capture his. I might be the one arching in a haze, but Bask's pupils still dilated. I crushed my mouth to his.

Then he drew back. "Now kiss her," he breathed, "like she's life itself."

Bask turned my head to hold me in place for Sleipnir, as he kissed me as slowly as his fingers thrust rapidly.

The difference broke me, pushing me over the edge. My hands clutched onto Sleipnir’s thighs, and my eyes fluttered closed.

"If you desire it," each word that Bask purred was like honeyed sin, "come."

My magic burst out in a wave of pink sparkles, before unfurling within me in wracking spasms. As Sleipnir worked me through it, my black mists stroked over him, until he was panting too.

At last, Sleipnir kissed me again and chuckled against my lips. "Was that fast and dirty enough for you?"

He wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Delightfully." I rematerialized my skirts with a modest wriggle.

Truly, modest.

When Bask pressed his gloved hand to my cheek in thanks, my breath caught because he didn't need to say a word: the gesture meant thanks for allowing an incubus to take control, rather than be controlled, to take pleasure, rather than give it, and to feed his power to become strong.

It was thanks for everything that his ex-bond, the Duchess (who wished to claim him back on Sunday), would rip away from him.

Then Bask turned to Fox, pulling his still body to his chest.

Witching heavens, let this work.

Don't let me watch another lover die.

Bask hovered over Fox like he was about to awaken our mage like a fairy tale prince (as if from death), with a kiss. I held my own breath. Bask licked over the seam of Fox's lips, tonguing open his mouth. But then, ruby sparkles glittered a trail out of Bask's lips and into Fox's mouth.

Such beautiful magic... I'd sacrifice every moment of my freedom for it to work.

I truly did love Fox. Yet did I love all my Rebels with the same breath-taking need?

I rather thought that I did.

Behind me, the Gateway growled as if in triumph. I twisted around, as the Gateway stalked towards us.

"No matter how villainous a rock you believe yourself to be," I snarled, "I'm the wicked witch of this academy. Now, as my crow familiars would say: fuck off."

"Well said," a voice rasped, just as a hand clasped mine. "What did I miss? Did Bacchus just teach a class on Swearing and Spells because that would be brilliant…"

I spun back to Fox, stopping his bewildered rambling with a kiss. His lips still fizzed with Bask's magic, and I sucked at the combined taste of coco, almonds, and raspberries.

Fox was alive.

Yet he was shivering, and his skin was frozen.

As one, Bask and Sleipnir threw their coats on him, before tumbling on top of him. He let out a startled oomph. We fell together in a laughing heap of life and love, in the shadow of ruins and death.

Soon, we'd have to face our mission. But for now, let us have this.

When Fox spluttered, pushing a coat arm off his face, Bask cast a wink at me. Then he tied his coat around Fox's waist, rubbing Fox’s legs to warm him (and I was certain by the tenting in his pants enjoying the touch as much as Fox). Sleipnir grinned, then he pulled his coat over Fox's shoulders, and Fox burrowed further into it, sniffing at the collar with a satisfied sigh like Sleipnir's scent was coming home.

Mist peered up at him and gave a low nicker. Fox patted him.

I smothered my laugh in the back of my hand because Fox looked adorable bundled in the coats, and equally adorably uncertain of how to react to others caring for him.

I'd change that.

"Wow, horse riding is more exciting than I remember." Fox's smile brightened. "Can I go again?"

Sleipnir’s lips pinched. "You'd trust me after...?"

Fox grasped Sleipnir's chin, forcing him to meet his eye. "I've never ridden a god before, and I've ridden a lot of exciting things: a goth unicorn, bad-tempered kraken, and a drunk Pegasus. Okay, so that didn't end well...okay, more like don't drink and fly." I'd missed my hot pathological liar. "But don't they say that if you're thrown, you should get straight back into the saddle?"

"Don't they also say," Sleipnir growled, "that if you piss off the horse, it spanks you?"

Fox let go of Sleipnir, backing against me like I'd defend him. Foolish mage, he incited a god at his own behind's risk.

Perhaps, that should be in the Rebel's Mottos. I'd put it in the Suggestion Box for Damelza.

"Only at kinky witch parties. My cousin once told me about them." Fox wrinkled his nose.

“Can I stop him talking again?” Sleipnir muttered. At my censorious glare, he raised his eyebrow. “Too soon?”

"You know, the ones where the horses have to push their tails some place more uncomfortable than yours,” Fox continued with pretend innocence like Sleipnir simply didn’t understand him.

I coughed, reddening. Certainly, this new age invented wonders that even my familiars hadn't fantasized, and after over a hundred years stuck alone together, they’d fantasized a lot.

"Uncomfortable but fun," Bask added. When we all stared at him, he pinked. "I'd imagine."

Fox tapped my knee. "Is it just me or is that freaky stone closer than before?"

I only just had time to look up, before the Gateway rushed up with a howling roar. It thrummed with fury, and just for a moment, I was fascinated by the sharp point at its center almost like the nose in a human face.

What knowledge hid inside this angelic library, which was much more than simply transport between realms?

Then I shook myself. Knowledge tempted with dangers, as much as the quest for power. The House of Crows had always searched for both.

My magic reached out like ivy, tangling around the Gateway to hold it back. "Inside!" I hollered.

The Immortals scrambled backward through the entranceway into the ruins. My magic battled with the Gateway’s.

The ancient power sparked and hissed, but I didn't think that it was trying to defeat me. Rather, us Rebels were the sheep being herded to our slaughter.

I stumbled back, and Fox caught me in his arms, then the stone slab slammed over the entrance, shutting us in the black like a tomb.

I shuddered, as the darkness enshrouded me. The air was stuffy and rich with the incense laden magic of the Blessedly Charmed witch, who'd been shut away here for her entire life five hundred years ago. I could breathe in her ghost, even when the rest of her had faded. How powerful must her magic have been that I could still feel it?

They pretended to worship her, but this had been her prison.

"You feel that?" Fox whispered. His hand slipped from my waist to clasp mine. "It's echoes of magic."

"What I feel," Sleipnir's breath was hot across my cheek, as we pressed together in a circle, "is that some asshole rock has us trapped, when it should be helping us travel through to the Court of the Gold Dragons.”

“It’s a sad thing that you can’t trust anyone nowadays,” Bask smirked, “not even bad bastard Gateways.”

My magic trailed out of me in glowing roots, lighting the inside of the ruins. I shivered at the connection to the cold stone floor and walls, as it climbed like brambles across all that remained of my ancestor’s home.

I’d never been more grateful that I’d been trapped in Hecate’s Tree with Flair and Echo. Had she had a familiar as well? Her magic wailed through my mind. Juni had warned me before that I’d been wrong to believe only bad boys had been imprisoned here.

Why did I keep forgetting that all of us alike were caught in the academy?

By the light of my glowing brambles, I glanced around at the Immortals. “Even if we travel through the Gateway on our mission, we become kidnappers, stealing the dragon archduke’s freedom.”

“His name’s Marcus,” Fox murmured.

I reached up to the metal collar that was twisted in the shape of crows’ feathers, which hung from my black pearl necklace. Its wretched magic called to mine, yet it poisoned me every moment that I carried it.

The unnatural collar was cursed, and I had to force it around a shifter’s neck.

I clutched the sparkling bag that Professor Ambrose, the Seelie fae, had tied around my neck. The bag contained a Sleeping Charm that Ambrose had made. Next to the witches’ collar, it felt natural and safe.

Yet, appearances were awfully deceptive.

Sleipnir noticed the way that my fingers caressed the charm. “If the Gateway ever stops being a dick, then it’ll transport us straight to Marcus. You crush the bag, he’ll fall asleep, then someone else will have to buckle the collar on, before we bring him back because being a kidnapper is kind of about being stealthy…”

When Sleipnir reached for the collar with a grimace, however, Bask batted him away, which was like a kitten pawing at a lion.

Yet Bask’s expression was fierce. “Away with you, like I don’t know how caging the shifter who you set free would hurt you. I’ll collar the dragon.” He slipped his fingers across the collar, and I shook as the searing weight was removed from me. He unhooked it from my choker and slid it into his blazer pocket. “I’ve already done a lot of bad things.” His intense gaze met Sleipnir’s. “But I won’t let this academy ruin you.”

“And what about Marcus?” Fox said, deliberately emphasizing the archduke’s name. “So, he’ll just go to sleepy byes in his Land of the Dragons and then wake up whipped and…”

“Ambrose swore that he wouldn’t punish him for escaping,” I said.

Sleipnir snorted.

“You’re truly not helping. I believed him because as much as he pretends to be a…”

“Hardass?” Sleipnir suggested.

I tilted my head. “Whereas in fact his behind is quite soft. The fae listens to songs about snowmen with his son and protects him above all else, as well as risking punishment by granting me this illegal Sleep Charm to try to save our lives.” The memory of Fox’s still face and broken body in the snow choked off my words. “Did you forget that if we fail, then you shall be executed, my sweet mage? Do not tell me that I’ve yet to convince you that your life has worth?”

Fox’s expression was thoughtful. “I’m convinced, but just not that my life’s worth more than any other shifter’s.”

“When we break open the wards on this academy, all the dragons will be freed.” I gripped Fox’s curls like that would stop him escaping or sacrificing himself.

“I don’t trust our furry assed lover not do something…noble.” Sleipnir narrowed his eyes at Fox.

Fox glanced between us, alarmed. “Ehm, why did that sound like an insult? If it balances things out, I’m pretty certain that I have the makings of a brilliant villain, since I have the tragic backstory, criminal powers, and epic sounding name.”

“You’re not to become a villain,” Bask ordered.

Fox grinned. “You never let me have any fun.”

“Huh, well how about this, why don’t you have fun as a hedgehog?” Sleipnir drawled.

Ah, that must be shifter fun.

Fox blinked. “Cheers for the offer, but Mr. Fierce doesn’t want to come out and play right now. I’ve never heard of prickle kink…okay, it’s one of the more unusual furries…”

Sleipnir wrenched Fox away from me, clutching him by his neck. “Honestly, since I don’t trust you to understand why we all…value you…you’ll be riding along as an observer. On the name of the Valkyries, it’s only your first mission. I won’t risk losing another Immortal.” Bask’s pained gaze met his, then he shifted, awkwardly. “You lying unmoving in the snow was like a premonition. Now get your hedgehogy arse out here because I’m feeling possessive…”

That was as close to I love you as Sleipnir got.

Ah, our Romeo.

Fox laughed. “Who am I to prickle shame? Mr. Fierce at your service.”

With a pop of glitter, Fox transformed into an albino hedgehog with ghost white prickles and red eyes. I forced myself not to coo. He tried to curl into a ball, but Sleipnir swung him into his blazer pocket.

When Fox’s little paws and whiffling nose poked over the pocket, however, I gave up and cooed anyway.

Was that his new power: cuteness?

Possibly, I shouldn’t ask him that.

Unexpectedly, the Gateway crashed against the entranceway. The ruins were lit a hellish crimson. I recoiled, as it bellowed.

Its magic was calling to mine.

Could the others feel the stinging darkness, singing through their blood?

Bang, bang, bang.

The Gateway slammed itself again and again like it’d crush us, if it could only reach us. Except, we were safe within the blessed sanctuary.

Yet the Gateway thirsted for my blood, and the joining of our magic. Its roar echoed through me, and the infinite number of realms yawned.

Such power…

I stumbled towards the Gateway, smacking my hand against the rock. Its sharp nose cut me, and my blood melded with the stone.

The Gateway screeched victory.

Shouts behind me… My Immortals clutching at my shoulder…

Then my Immortals and I were dragged inside the Gateway and torn to burning pieces.

Chapter Three

FOX

Rebel Academy, Friday September 6th

Traveling through the Gateway felt much like becoming a cooked hedgehog.

Mage's balls, that tickled. If tickling meant doses of electricity frying me from the inside, at the same time as my insides were torn to teensy weensy pieces.

It was the type of tickling that I'd have imagined the kinky witches inventing as a cruel method to travel through realms. Except, they'd stolen this technology from the angels.

Wow, angels were dicks.

Yet right now, I felt like one too because my lovers and me were on our way to kidnap the dragon who'd shown me on my first night in the academy that shifters could be more than monsters. I'd been brought up to hate my shimage heritage, but Marcus' gentle beauty had shown me that I didn't need to fear transforming.

Yet I'd spent over a decade locked in an attic with my magic bound by a Blood Amulet. How could I condemn Marcus to the same cursed magic in the collar? Sleipnir had wanted Marcus to be free, and this mission was wrecking him the same as me.

I'd do anything to stop the look of devastation that passed from Magenta to Bask, as the collar passed between them.

Another wave of electricity washed over me, and I let out a panicky squeal, curling into a ball of prickles.

Mr. Fierce did not show fear.

Rage built in me at the same time as waves of agony. I worried at the bottom of Sleipnir's pocket with my sharp teeth.

Die cottony threads...

When they unraveled, I smirked at my clothes conquest (smirking in animal form was one of my many...okay, several...okay, a talent). Then all of a sudden, the pain stopped, and Sleipnir stumbled to the side, before righting himself.

My prickles fizzled and sparked with the remnants of ancient magic, and it felt like my body was working out how to put itself back together.

Sleipnir wouldn't be pissed off if I hurled in his pocket, right?

We must be through the Gateway.

I wobbled onto my hindlegs, peering over the top of his pocket. Blinking, my eyes burned against the bright light.

Great Pan, the Court of the Gold Dragons was like a miracle that I'd been waiting all my life to witness. Wooden pillars that coiled with exquisite orchid designs soared to the glazed roof of the study, which was decorated with swooping dragons between the beams. The walls glowed like the sun.

It was warm and smelled sweetly of summer on the turn. How easy it was to forget that only Rebel Academy was cursed to winter. Coldplay’s atmospheric “Magic” piped from the pillars; each yearningly loving chorus tongued me, pulling me further into the love song’s melody.

Marcus sat bent over a gilt-edged desk with his back to us, calmly writing.

The sun streaming through the window over his desk lit the soft blond waves of his hair that fell to his waist like dancing flames. Even seated, Marcus’ bearing was that of a warrior. His muscles were coiled and tight in his yellow jacket and trousers, which were embroidered with orchids and cut like a military uniform.

I'd had enough time to imagine what a deadly dragon court might be like, and it'd included fire-breathing contests, heaving treasure rooms, and naked ice-cream wrestling (rocky road flavor, of course).

A fox could dream.

Yet I'd never guessed at this hardworking tranquility.

Damn my prickles and call me a hamster, Marcus truly was this kingdom's leader, and we were about to destroy his kingdom as much as the archduke himself.

When Magenta took a step forward, her boots clacked on the golden floor, and Marcus' shoulders stiffened. But he didn't turn around. When Magenta's fingers clasped around the Sleep Charm, I hissed.

Mage's balls, don't do it...

Sleipnir slammed his hand over my mouth to silence my furious hissing. I licked his palm with my little tongue, but he only held on more tightly.

Why wasn't Magenta crushing the bag?

Marcus finished his curling signature on the paper, before laying down his pen.

My gaze flicked to the ornate archway out into the corridor. If anyone walked in, then we'd be discovered at the heart of the court. They'd believe that we were here to assassinate their archduke.

That was treason.

I didn't want my head to roll. I mean, where would they even get an ax small enough?

If this kidnapping was going to happen, it had to be now.

Bask slipped the metal collar out of his pocket. His hand shook, and its poisonous magic wound around me. At last, Sleipnir removed his hand from my mouth, crouching into position. Like this, he was all predator on the hunt.

Crush the bag... Wait, please, don't... Just do it…

Mr. Fierce was more barbarian rage and less clear-headed decision making.

Marcus sat up straighter, and Magenta's fingers tightened around the Sleep Charm.

All of a sudden, a wave of golden magic burst from the study's walls and the mouths' of the painted dragons in the roof. The magic curled around the other Immortals and me like warm treacle. It was pleasurable but so intense that I jumped, letting out a startled clicking sound.

Then I froze.

I couldn't move. Slugs and snails, I was paralyzed. When I stared in panic around at Magenta and Bask, I realized that we were all frozen as well.

I hissed my protest, and Magenta met my gaze. She was flushed with apology.

"Free us," Magenta demanded, although her voice shook.

"Like you intended to allow me to remain free?" Marcus' voice was rich and deep. He blew on the paper to dry the ink, before pushing himself out of his chair and turning to face us like we were his guests and not now his prisoners...or would be kidnappers.

I'd forgotten how beautiful he was. His hair fell over his sharp cheekbones, and his golden eyes gleamed with sadness, as he stared between each of us in turn. Why did I feel like I'd disappointed him? Only dad had ever been able to make me squirm like this, when I'd disobeyed the House of Jewels’ rules and Glow, my werewolf friend who'd always acted like a big brother, had taken the whipping for me again.

But I deserved it.

Marcus cocked his head, studying Sleipnir. "Are you not the hero who rescued me from the academy? Did you not break the cursed collar that your friend now clasps and risk much to return me to my kingdom?"

Sleipnir ducked his head. "Huh, I'm no hero. It was a chaos moment."

Marcus' yellow magic fluttered around him like a decadent outfit.

Pan's balls, he was powerful.

Had Damelza truly expected us to survive this mission?

"And what is this then?"

Sleipnir's breath hitched. "Love."

Marcus raised an elegant eyebrow. “Was it love that made the witch’s hand hesitate? Didn’t they teach you at the academy that an assassin’s blade must be swift to strike down their enemy?”

“Do you wish to interrogate us to death?” Bask’s eyes glittered.

Bask was drawing Marcus’ attention away from Magenta; I flinched.

Flambe incubus coming up…

Yet Marcus’ gaze was fixed on Magenta like she was a puzzle that he couldn’t figure out. Then I noticed the way that his hands shook, and he hadn’t stepped closer to her.

He was frightened.

Sometimes, I forgot that Magenta was a witch. Considering that I’d spent a lifetime at the mercy of my own family and now suffered as whipping boy in a coven-led academy because mages were the witches’ enemies, the truth should’ve always been a nagging presence in the back of my mind.

Yet Magenta was simply the woman who I loved. She was dangerous but she’d never be a danger to me.

“You’re not our enemy,” Magenta insisted. “The Principal who sent us here and forced us into becoming assassins is. It was a mistake to hesitate, of course, but I’ve never hurt an innocent on purpose before and I find that it’s not as easy as it looks to be that type of wicked. If you wish to punish anyone for such actions, then please punish me as the Prefect.”

Marcus’ chuckle was weary. “It’s kind of you to believe me an innocent in one breath and the type of wicked who’d hurt others in the next.” When he plucked the collar out of Bask’s pocket, I expected him to hurl it against the wall, grind it beneath his boot, or melt it with his magic. Instead, he only strolled to his desk and placed it on the top. “My magic has destroyed your Sleep Charm. The fae magic would’ve been given to you by our cruel keeper, I suppose. He knows only how to control and subdue, the same as the Princes.” He shuddered. “My dear brothers, are they…?”

He bit his lip like he hadn’t meant to allow himself to ask after his brothers, who were still kept in their dragon form back in the academy.

“They’re fine.” Bask’s expression gentled. “I look out for Rayn.”

“My thanks.” Marcus tapped his fingers on top of the collar. “Well, if your plan had worked, I assume that I would’ve been with them again right now in the stables or was my punishment already set up to take place first?”

Ouch…

Marcus gestured at the shimmering gold, which still pulsed pleasurable waves through me. “This is a trap, which my most talented sorcerers cast to keep me safe inside my Court. It can sense the Gateway and ensnare all users. Did you not imagine I knew that students would be sent after me? I was ridden to the ruins by Prince Lysander on many missions. Since he saw me as nothing but a beast, he didn’t guard his words in front of me.”

Okay, Lysander was one fae who deserved to have his wings pricked. I might kiss the feathers afterward but that was only because they’d taste of cherry blossoms.

“We can’t imagine ourselves back in the academy,” Magenta breathed. “We can’t escape.”

“Ensnared,” Marcus repeated.

On my prickles, us Immortals were trapped in the heart of the dragon court with the archduke who’d we’d been sent to kidnap. If we didn’t return within less than twenty-four hours, then it’d be judged an escape attempt, and I’d be executed, just like I’d die if we failed.

I was one dead mage.

Wait, I was leaving out the best bit: the enraged dragon who’d caught trained assassins attempting to drag him back to slavery. Perhaps, there was a torture and then death option.

You had to be optimistic.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

I squealed.

Shocked, Marcus winced. Yeah, Mr. Fierce could still battle a dragon archduke with the power of his squeal.

Then Marcus snatched the paper off his desk and marched up to Sleipnir. His eyes blazed, and his magic whipped out from him like ethereal bat-wings.

Uh-oh…

“By my wings, you’ve already captured another shifter.” When Marcus yanked me out of his pocket, the air was pushed out of my lungs with a grunt. “You truly are dishonorable.”

Sleipnir’s eyes widened in alarm, but he still couldn’t move. “Hey, give him back, asshole.”

“I’m not the asshole who’s stolen a member of royalty from the Hedgehog Court,” Marcus roared. First, woah that was both hot and terrifying. Secondly, there was such a thing as the Hedgehog Court...? Brilliant. “How many others are on your hit list?”

Marcus cradled me to his warm chest. He smelled of aromatic Frankincense, which was smoky, but with a single piercing sweet note that made me snuggle closer. His magic stroked across my prickles, and I could move again. I pushed my nose against him, and slowly, his breathing calmed.

“Wise up! We’re not the mafia, although I’d look pettable in an Italian suit.” Bask rolled his eyes. “I know Lysander’s a prick, but if you eavesdropped on him, then you’d know that he also had no choice on going on the missions or being in the academy. We’re all prisoners, see?”

Marcus’ hand tightened around the paper at his side. “Yet are some not more prisoners than others?” When he lifted the paper, the letters gleamed in gold. It was mesmerizing. “This is Letter Magic. It’s powerful and contains your truth. It’s a type of prophecy and riddle. It’ll also bind you and your magic to the reader of the letter, until they grant it back.”

“In Hecate’s name, don’t do this,” Magenta warned.

Marcus gave a small smile. “But you see, I don’t answer to Hecate.”

“Three unwilling assassins…” Marcus started to read; his voice was like a lulling echo beneath the mountains, and I could’ve slept forever beneath its power.

The words coiled sinuously like tiny dragons out of the letter, before appearing in the air above each of my lovers’ heads and then winding around their bodies.

Four unwilling assassins: the monster, the wicked, the sinful, and the innocent. They invade with collars and curses, but their life is held in the wings of the one, whom they’d capture.

The last of the dragon words coiled around Magenta and then faded.

Why did I get to be the innocent? That was only one step up from being the idiot or worse, the virgin because they were sacrificed to the dragon.

The paralysis broke, and my lovers tumbled to their knees.

Marcus studied them. “Your magic is bound to mine, so I don’t need the trap. Letter Magic is an ancient method of…controlling…the more unruly amongst us.”

“What a coy way of saying enslaving,” Magenta hissed, as Bask and Sleipnir scrambled to stand beside her. “This is worse than the collar.”

Marcus blinked. “I have never…never…used such magic before. Yet you come into my kingdom, my inner Court, my own study and… I am defending myself.” His magic reached out like wings behind him. Wow, he was going full on archduke. “Would you have me meekly bow my neck for you? Kneel? Beg to be punished…?”

“Never.” Bask was ashen and horrified.

Marcus gave a sad smile. “Then do not ask why you have driven me to such methods.”

Then he clapped his hands and my lovers vanished in a spray of gold embers.

I squealed.

Marcus looked down at me, fondly, and not at all like he’d just incinerated my lovers. “Funny creature, you do make a lot of noise.”

My eyes burned, and my heart felt like it’d burst from my chest. Could hedgehogs have heart attacks?

Bring them back…back…back…

Red blinded my vision, until my lips curled back in fury.

When Marcus reached to pat me on the head, I sank my teeth into his finger.

He gasped. “Fierce little thing, aren’t you?” He had no idea. “If your soft heart is concerned, I merely sent them to the dungeons.”

Thank every star in the witching heavens… Except, dragon dungeons didn't sound that reassuring.

I chomped harder on Marcus’ finger in retaliation, and he winced. Then I let go because I wasn’t a vampire hedgehog and yuck, coppery blood was more of a feast to Midnight, the Prince’s vampire whipping boy, than me.

Marcus dropped me onto the desk next to the collar, and I fought the instinct to curl into a ball. "Hmm, if you're hungry, I can have more appetizing feasts sent for you than my finger. Relax, you have nothing to fear now that the cruel Rebels are safely behind bars." It'd be funny how much was ironic about that sentence if it wasn't funny at all. "How about you transform back, so that we can talk leader to leader?"

Ehm, how about we don't?

I took a final deep breath, before bidding goodbye to my own furry tail. In a pop of glitter, I transformed into my human form on the desk. At Marcus' shocked gasp, I attempted to nonchalantly sprawl back in a way that the Princes would've been able to pull off or Bask (only, he'd have looked sinfully sexy).

I imagined that I looked more like a mage who was sweating under two coats and trying not collapse on my shaky elbows.

"Surprise...?" I offered.

"Last time we met, you told me that you were Emperor of the Foxes, little shifter," Marcus accused.

"I have an extensive resume. I'm also High Ruler of the Hedgehog Universe."

Who said that I couldn't learn from my mistakes? This time I was thinking big.

"Uh-huh?" Was Marcus smothering a smile? "Then High Ruler, even in these circumstances, I’m relieved to see you outside the prison."

When Marcus reached for me, I startled. But he only dragged me up, clasping me to his chest again. I relaxed into the bright burst of sweet Frankincense. It reminded me of the way that Bask had held me on my first day in the academy with his hand curled around my neck like he could protect me.

I hadn't needed the Power of Confess to know that was a lie.

What was this, death by hug?

Marcus' gentleness reminded me of his kindness, during his escape from Ambrose. He'd asked me to run with him. On my first night and terrified of what it meant to be the only mage whipping boy, I'd have accepted, if not for the brand that trapped me inside Rebel Academy's wards.

Marcus would've saved a stranger and offered him a place at his own Court. Yeah...a true beast.

"I worried for you, as I did for my dear brothers." Marcus' fingers splayed onto my hip. "I haven’t been able to sleep or perhaps, it’s that I should never have left. It was selfish of me to abandon any shifter in that place and chase after my own freedom."

My brow furrowed. "But I thought Sleipnir broke your collar?"

Marcus huffed. "Simply because your freedom is offered, doesn’t mean that you should seize it. Some things are more important like responsibility." He pushed me back, gripping my elbows. His burning gaze met mine. "Were you punished because you let me go?"

I would've shrugged, but he was holding me too tightly. "Pfft, what's a Discipline Run to the three times Champion of the Fox Marathon?" When he raised a disbelieving eyebrow (rude), I tilted my chin. "I'm okay."

Marcus' gaze softened. "You're not."

I shivered. I mean, did he own a Mage Bullshit-O-Meter because please don't let that fall into the hands of the witches. Although, I had a feeling that Damelza already owned one.

"I'm not," I conceded.

"Is that why they bind you in two coats?"

I glanced down at myself and snickered. So much for the imposing assassin. "My lovers were feeling protective. You know, the ones you locked up in that dungeon, and I can't decide if I'm hoping you have a kinky side or not because now I think about it, the whole sending them to your dungeon thing could end two very different ways."

Bad mouth, stop talking or you're banned from all Magenta shaped treats for the next...oh, I can't even pretend that I'd follow through on that threat.

Marcus let go of my arms in shock. "My motives are not dishonorable."

With a snort of sparking fire, Mist burst from the pocket of Sleipnir's coat. His eyes were wild with rage, while his mane was red spikes. He whinnied high and distressed.

"Do you all carry a smaller shifter?" Marcus demanded, bewildered. "Does a yet tinier creature ride this one?"

"We're a new toy: Shifter in Your Pocket," I muttered, attempting to calm Mist by stroking his mane. It wasn't working. "He's magically connected to Sleipnir's emotions. He must be pissed off and..."

I swallowed because Sleipnir never showed how wrecked he was, but Mist did on his behalf.

Marcus pressed his finger to Mist's neck, and his magic wound around him. "Sleep."

Instantly, Mist stumbled, closing his eyes and slipping back into my pocket.

"You killed the Shifter in My Pocket!"

Marcus shook his head. "He's resting. The Letter Magic gives me certain control. Your friend will not be sent to sleep, although considering what was planned for me, wouldn't it be fitting?" I'd sort of hoped he'd forgotten the whole kidnap...okay, I'd totally hoped he'd forgotten it. When his gaze shuttered, I hated it. "So, you came here with the witch on this mission?"

Lie: I'm not bothered. Whatever.

Truth: Et tu, Fox?

I crossed my arms. "What is it with people and names? She's called Magenta, and I love her. She loves me back, which is weird because I'm a shimage, and she should despise me. But she's not the same as my family or the witches who run the academy. And they were going to execute all of us if we didn't take this mission."

Marcus twisted away from me, taking long strides to a wooden pillar that was carved with orchids. He ran his thumb along it, tracing the way that they rose up like they were lifting the room to the skies.

"Ever since I became archduke and took on the heavy burdens of holding together this Court, this Orchid Study has been my sanctuary. It means quiet and safety, away from the pressure and fights between my family," he said, not looking up. "Yet even now you'd tear it away from me, as you'd tear away my freedom and return me to servitude."

I'd never had a sanctuary. How could it ache so much to miss something that I'd never known?

I couldn't take Marcus back unwillingly.

I think that I'd always known that.

My voice sounded steadier than I felt, as I forced myself to smile brightly. "That was before I knew you had this epic sanctuary. Now, if you'd just let the other Immortals out of the dungeon, then we'll return back to the academy, get a Fail on this mission, along with a spank on my furry tail and some corner time."

Marcus twisted back to me, and his magic pulled me into his arms. "They're going to execute you, aren't they?"

"Spank, place in the dunce corner, execute...what's the difference?"

"The difference is that you shall be dead, and it will be my fault." His breath was hot against my cheeks. "You must collar me and take me back."

Wow, I'd never felt so bad about succeeding before.

Marcus pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth. "I shall be fine."

Yet a rush of flames roared through my Power of Confess with such violence that I shook; it seared me, and for a moment, I thought that I was blinded. Except, it was embers.

Truth: The Empire will burn.

My chest was tight, and my pulse pounded. "And what about your Court?"

Marcus stiffened, before he wrapped me so tightly in his magic it was like being held in the heart of the sun. "My cousin, Lash, is not as interested in peace as me. When my brothers and I were snatched, he ruled in my place. I’ve been struggling over these last few days to hold together a kingdom that’s beset by criminal gangs, the Vampire Court, and deadly plotting. I fear bloody conflict if I disappear again, leaving my Court without its ruler. You see my choice? Yet why must an innocent die to save the warriors from burning?"

Chapter Four

SLEIPNIR

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

On Odin's cock, I'd been certain that breaking Marcus' collar and then allowing Fox to see the beauty of a free shifter had been the chaos moment.

As the son of Loki, coiling fragments of time caught my attention like light glinting off broken glass, and I'd seized that blindingly light fragment, knowing that it was for me alone.

It was the chaos moment.

Yet had I been wrong? Had I screwed-up instead because now I'd been caged, and the guy who I...

Valhalla! Why was it so hard to admit that I loved Fox?

Except, my kind of love would stain him. But I needed him the same as I needed Bask and Magenta. We were connected across death and veils by blood and purest pleasure. Trust me, there was no stronger magic than that which resurrects and calls across time.

An asshole archduke, however, clutched Fox like a pet, while I couldn't protect him because I was trapped in the dragons' dungeons.

How many hours had it been now?

My stomach rumbled, and I grimaced. Struggling to swallow, I licked at my dry lips.

Ten hours? Twelve?

If it was the early hours of Saturday, then it was half way through our mission, half way towards our failure, and half way towards Fox’s death.

This was my fault and responsibility. My dad, Loki, had taught me many things — how to hunt, swim, and lie under pressure of hexing (in typical dad-son bonding) — but also when to accept that I'd messed up.

In that case, why did the light still blind me like I'd seized a true moment of chaos?

My pulse thundered in my ears, and I rested my sweating forehead against the wall. Even though the tiny cell was like a furnace, the glowing golden walls were shockingly cold. The jerks probably didn't want the prisoners to fry, before they dragged them out to burn alive or however the sons of witches executed traitors.

I drew in a ragged breath.

The walls were too close...if I could just breathe in this damn heat...too close...

The walls were arched and low like a cave. Magenta, Bask, and I had disappeared in the hold of the Letter Magic like puppets on an invisible thread and reappeared alone in this oven of a cell.

I slammed my fist against the wall. My knuckles cracked, and pain radiated up my arm. I could’ve been bound in Willoughby's cursed silk suit, which crushed his mind, body and Soul because the Letter Magic crushed me in the same way. The pain was dulled, and I barely felt the way that Bask grabbed my arm, examining each finger in turn to check that they still bent or Magenta's questioning, as she slipped her arm around my waist.

The Letter Magic was like a gentle noose, which tightened every hour. I reached out to my two brothers, Fenrir and Jormungand, who'd been pushed deeper inside me than they'd ever been. Panic rose at our separation.

I'd never been alone before.

Fenrir howled, scrabbling at my mind, as Jormungand's glittering coils restlessly wrapped around my insides. They were as caged as me. I ran my uninjured hand through my aquamarine hair. Why had I ever craved to be my only personality?

We were triplets. This separation was death.

I whined.

Once, Loki and I had been camping on the Blue Ridge mountains in Georgia. We'd hunted in the forests and fished in the large lakes. Well, I'd mostly practiced on my guitar, and Loki had done the chores, watching me like every wrong note and chord was a miracle because of the joy the stumbling songs brought me.

On the World Tree, it was because he'd been able to provide me with that happiness, after so much despair.

"Why, look at that, my little stallion has become a musician." Loki had smiled, fondly. "It appears that you can't buy happiness, but a guitar is reasonably priced."

Yet one night, Loki had gone missing in a storm that'd flashed jagged lightning from the black sky and rumbled thunder across the blue haze of the mountains. When he'd dashed back through the treeline, soaked and shaking, he'd snatched me to my feet and dragged me from our camp.

I'd tried to pull away, but his grip had been like steel. "Hey, what about my guitar and...?"

"Leave it." He hadn't even looked around as he'd yanked me after him into a crevice between the rocks. I'd slipped on my belly after him into the muddy cave. "Trust me."

And I had with every breath in me.

Yet I'd just abandoned my guitar and meager belongings to whoever had been hunting us because I'd known the look. On Bor’s beard, I'd had centuries to learn dad's pale and haunted expression when the witch followers of Bacchus had been close.

I’d reached up to my neck, closing my fingers around the silver plectrum that Loki had gifted me. It’d been all I had left, but it’d been enough because Loki had been safe.

"Who is it?" I’d demanded, as the wind had driven the rain in stinging tears across my cheeks.

Loki hadn’t appeared to hear me, staring out at the darkness intently, before pushing his shoulder against a fallen boulder and rolling it across the entrance.

"Dad, wait...stop..." I'd scrabbled at the slippery boulder, which had shut us into the damp, earthy darkness.

He'd buried us alive.

Loki's long fingers had settled over mine. "Would you call down Ragnarok? I'm sorry, but we must remain hidden and quiet. Can you do that for me?"

I'd swallowed and forced myself to nod.

"The leader of the Bacchus Cult herself...that fucking bully," I'd startled at Loki's whispered snarl; he'd never sworn in front of me before, "is leading the hunt tonight. I'm masking our presence with magic, but they've learned many of my tricks by now."

His worry had threaded through mine.

How long would it be before they caught us?

I'd rubbed over the plectrum compulsively. The stench of the cave had overpowered me, and the wind had beat, beat, beat against the rock. When thunder had rolled overhead, I’d jumped.

The black had suffocated me. I'd struggled to draw in breaths.

How many times had we hidden? Why had this felt different?

"You promised not to cage me, but I've always been in one," I'd whispered, fiercely. It'd been kind of easier to say the dark, twisting things inside me, when I'd only had to stare into darkness, rather than into Loki's face. Except, then he'd shifted closer, and I'd been able to see the gleam of his anguished eyes. I'd wished that I’d been able to claw back the words. But it was too late. "You're the one who snatched the chaos moment. This is your fault."

"I know," Loki had answered with a soft sadness. He'd smoothed out the furrow of my frown with the pad of his thumb like he'd always done ever since I'd been tiny. "Look at that, my own words bite me in the ass. I guess that's being a parent." His smile had been crooked and then it’d slipped. "A long time ago, I set the cult's sacrifice free, and ever since, their god has possessed them with a frenzy to hunt me and turn me into a bloody replacement. By the Norns, I'd give myself up in a moment, if it’d keep you safe."

I'd gasped, wrapping my arms around Loki like that'd hold him to me forever.

He couldn't leave me...monstrous...alone...

"Don't go," my voice had wavered, and I’d bitten my lip. "I don't care if I'm in a cage, as long as we're in it together."

Loki's smile had been more genuine this time. "I'll remind you of that the next time that you’re whining about my cooking." Then he'd stroked my hair, cupping the back of my head. "My sacrifice wouldn't help anyway because Bacchus didn’t merely curse me but also my descendants." Then he’d pulled back, and his expression had been fierce. "But remember, it's only a curse if we let it be one. Omens and runes, I swear that I've done everything to give you a life that was blessed, instead. And I won't ever let them take you."

Yet eventually, the witches had caught me and taken me away from Loki.

Where was he now, when I was truly caged again?

I snarled, and my eyes burned. Had the witches caught Loki as well and Professor Bacchus simply didn't know?

Loki had spent his life protecting me. The witches in the academy were keeping me as a hostage to trap him as well. If those assholes thought that I'd ever help them hunt my own dad, then they knew nothing about real love between a parent and child. They’d made a mistake cursing his descendants as well. They’d thought they were punishing him in a way that never ended, but a kid would battle to protect their dad just the same as he did for me.

I'd find a way to continue everything that Loki had taught me.

I'd destroy their asses.

Cool kisses feathered down my neck, drawing me back to myself and the furnace of the cell. Magenta tightened her arm around my waist.

"Well, that certainly showed the mean old wall." Magenta pressed a final kiss to the base of my neck, and my skin tingled. "Although, it fought back admirably. Are we at war with the buildings within this kingdom, as well as the dragon shifters, because with our magic bound, I don't favor our chances?"

"I'm at war with all cages," I growled.

Then I shuddered, as Bask sucked my thumb into the silky softness of his mouth in retaliation. He flicked his tongue along the length of my thumb. I clenched my jaw; I yearned for that talented tongue to lavish its attention somewhere more exciting.

My dick thickened and waved enthusiastically to volunteer its services. Gods’ dicks are courageous like that.

Bask let go of my thumb with a pop.

Please tell me that my dick's services were required...

Instead, Bask licked across to my fingers on my injured hand and delicately sucked on each of them in worship.

My breath caught.

On the World Tree, it was worship.

At last, Bask raised my hand to rest it against his cheek, gazing at me from underneath his eyelashes. "If it pleases you, don't risk your ability to pet me again, Slippy."

I raised my eyebrow. "Wow, I was expecting at least a cursing."

Bask sniffed. "Perhaps, I'm saving it for when we get back."

Odin's cock...

Bask slipped to sit in a graceful slink of incubus on the floor, holding out his hand to Magenta. I missed Magenta’s touch the moment that she clasped it and dropped to join him in a twirl of black velvet.

When Magenta pulled me down to settle on the floor between Bask and her, I rushed to promise, "My hand's your eternal petting slave."

Bask preened. "So, no damaging my property."

That definitely shouldn't have made my balls tighten with desire, should it?

But then, Magenta ducked her head, avoiding my gaze; my chest tightened. "It's my foolish hesitation that has led to this awful situation. On Hecate's tits, why was it so hard to simply cast the charm? How can I ever apologize enough...?"

I hushed her, pulling her onto my lap. When I stroked her hair, she melted against me. The tension flowed out of her.

"It sucks that we're locked up and Fox is...well, whatever's happening to him." I regretted mentioning Fox the moment that Bask stiffened, biting his lip. "But you don't need to say sorry for being good."

Magenta's eyes widened. "You seem to have me confused with some other witch who's snuggled on your lap. I'm Magenta, the Wickedly Charmed witch."

Bask snorted, pulling his knees up and encircling them with his arms. "Not a chance. You're not wicked, see, just because you did one wee wicked thing."

"I cursed an entire academy," Magenta protested.

"Wee." Bask rested his chin on his knees. "I broke but does that make me always broken?"

"You don't say always,"

"Only if you don't." Bask's expression became as stubborn (although, he'd call it resolute), as the time that I'd insisted his plushie, Nile, shouldn’t sleep on our bed.

As if I’d had any chance of winning that one. Nile had slept on the bed amongst the pillows, of course.

"Are we playing the banned words game? Fox should be here because he excels at such amusements." Magenta's voice wavered at Fox, although she tried to hide it. I caressed down her side. "Oh, I have one." To my surprise, she twisted to me. "Monster."

I froze.

How did she understand my hidden pain so well? But I was a monster, right?

Time to play dirty. "Is it my turn? Tea."

I fought not to burst into laughter at Magenta's outraged expression. She gave a shocked breath, as she scrambled to twist in my arms and straddle me.

She pinned me against the wall. I swallowed, and my pulse fluttered in my neck. Okay, being caged by a furious witch made my dick twitch.

There was no way that she couldn't feel the effect that she was having.

Magenta’s expression gentled. "Vetoed. Tea is sacrosanct like your chaos moment."

My breath caught because she understood, even after my dickish mistakes. When she ground her crotch against mine, I moaned.

Bask knelt up, slipping his hand to palm the front of my pants. "Weren't we meant to be distracting you? What do you desire?"

I gazed into the Magenta's anguished, ice-blue eyes. All of a sudden, I knew that I was also distracting them from their fear and worry about Fox. Screwing was a better distraction than smashing my fist into a wall.

I ran my hands along the skirts of Magenta's dress. "This is kind of in the way."

Magenta smirked. "Then I'd suggest that you remove it."

"You can't just — puff — vanish it?"

"Hecate's breath, the most precious things are worth working for. I'm worth it, am I not? Right now, Marcus controls my magic and quite inappropriately, my undergarments."

Screw me with Mjolnir, no one controlled my Magenta's panties...or whatever freakishly large underwear she had on under her skirts.

Bask gasped, although his clever, clever fingers didn't pause in their strokes over my hard dick. "So, that bad bastard is controlling our sexy times and our pants? The Duchess would love that Letter Magic."

He shuddered.

I waggled my eyebrows. "No god will be defeated by mere clothing. Trust me, I have your panties conquered."

I hiked up Magenta's skirts and discovered...more material. She couldn't be wearing three petticoats, could she?

What in Odin's name was all this material?

"How many layers are under here?" I muttered, sticking my head underneath like an explorer in the jungle with a special flower to discover (and I couldn't wait to kiss it). "A guy could get lost."

Bask snickered.

I fumbled for clasps or laces. I'd screwed enough humans before (and I was old enough for that to have been during the Victorian era). But those women had already been naked and waiting for me. I wasn't the maid who undressed them.

But Magenta was different.

How angry would she be if I just ripped them all down? I could pass that off as passion, right?

I sighed. She’d be less turned-on and more howling in wedgied agony if I tried that.

Magenta tugged on my arm, and I reluctantly retreated from the jungle of her underwear.

When Magenta giggled, I scowled. "Hey, I tried. But there was all this lace, frill, and—"

"It appears that the effort turned you into Mr. Fierce." Magenta ran her hand along my hair, which stuck out at all angles, smoothing it down.

I flushed.

"If your mouth is to be cruelly kept from me," Magenta murmured with a glint in her eye, which truly was wicked, "then my mouth shall simply have to come to you."

My eyes widened, as she ducked her head towards my lap. Bask winked at me, sliding his hand into my pants and freeing my dick.

Magenta licked over my dick's head, as if greeting it. Then she licked down its length, looking up at me through the veil of her hair. I groaned at the teasing challenge in her gaze, as her tongue massaged along the length of my dick, and she sucked with hollowed out cheeks.

"Vallhalla!" I cussed, clenching my hands on my thighs to stop myself thrusting into her mouth and spilling humiliatingly fast for a god.

But her mouth was godly.

Bask nibbled along my jawline, before dipping to my neck and sucking to mark me; I shivered. "My mouth is also yours to command. What do you desire?"

I stroked his hair (and he arched like he was the Birman cat about to purr), before tightening my fist around the silky strands and yanking him down towards my aching balls. "Get busy then."

Bask wiggled his ass. "As you wish."

I groaned, as his tongue lapped over my aching balls. Magenta slid her mouth further down my dick, and worked the shaft with her tongue, before darting it out, just as Bask licked up to meet her stretched lips...

My eyelids fluttered shut, and my thighs trembled at the twin sensations.

On the runes, could someone kill you by sucking you off? I must be dying...

My balls tightened, and my toes curled. Flushed, I rested one hand on Bask's head and the other on Magenta's but I forced myself to do no more than touch these incredible Immortals who were winding me closer to my own death by pleasure, no matter how desperate I was to take control and push.

My back bowed, and my neck strained.

Let me come...so close...I can't...I need, need, need...

"Well, I'm not entirely surprised," a gruff, mocking voice wound from the doorway. "I've heard tales about witches, and Loki's a legendary lover. Of course, it could be the influence of the incubus. It amazes me that they allow whores to mix in the academy. But then, perhaps he's the entertainment."

Magenta's mouth snapped closed in shock, and I howled as her teeth grazed my dick. She pulled off my dick, giving it a final apologetic lick.

But she wasn't the one edged so close to orgasm that if Bask so much as sat on my lap, I'd embarrass myself.

Bask pushed my painfully hard dick back into my pants, before shooting me a sympathetic look.

I growled, surging to my feet and twisting to face the dragon shifter in the doorway, which’d melted away. I was an exhibitionist but only with consenting partners and not with guards or whoever the huge dragon shifter was, who was blocking the exit with his hands smartly behind his back.

I tilted my head, scrutinizing him, as he calmly scrutinized me back. I'd guess that he was more a soldier than a guard and one who was used to his orders being obeyed. He was beautiful but giant with bunched muscles and cropped golden hair that matched his eyes. He wore the same orchid uniform as Marcus.

Were they family?

Bask had stiffened at whores.

Magenta clasped her arms around Bask, drawing him to the back of the cell.

I glanced behind the shifter at the corridor. He appeared to be alone.

Could we escape?

My pulse thundered, but I fought to keep my gaze emotionless. "If you're jealous, why don't you come in here and get on your knees. Show me what you've got."

The shifter paled with fury, before striding into the cell.

Got you.

"I'm Lash, the archduke's cousin and recent Regent of the entire Court and kingdom," his voice was clipped and sharp. "Show me proper respect."

"I'll show you," I muttered. "But seriously, does your cousin know that you're in here harassing us?"

Lash smiled, slyly. "Do you think that I'll answer to come soft bastard who allowed himself to be captured, ridden, and tamed by a fae prince? I should send him back with you."

Behind me, Magenta gave a sharp intake of breath.

"What kind of bad bastard would betray their own family?" Bask hissed.

"The kind who ruled this Court and doesn't need some youngster who's had the backbone whipped out of him, crawling home with his wings clipped." Lash's yellow magic coiled around him, along with the rich scent of myrrh. "He's not worthy."

I arched my brow. "And if your magic had been bound, while you'd been collared with the threat of punishment to your brothers if you disobeyed, then the witches would never have tamed you, right?"

Lash swung his arms around to his front, crossing them defensively, and his muscles flexed. "It's like you know me. It's why I have to take the decisions for poor Marcus because he's too weak now. He can't even deal with traitors. But I'm here to help him."

Deal didn't sound good.

I pushed back my sleeves, thrilling with the call to battle. It felt kind of weird to fight without Fenrir howling through me. This time, I had to face the danger by myself without the wildness seizing me.

I still ached to kick Lash in the balls to make him suffer as much as my own blue balls were.

I prowled towards Lash, blocking his view of Magenta and Bask; he didn't get to look at them like he was planning to tear them apart. Honestly, he could just peer over my head because the asshole was tall, but size had nothing to do with bravery.

Ask Mr. Fierce.

Lash chuckled. "You have courage. I thought that they only taught you in the Rebel Academy how to be sneaky bitches."

My lips pinched. "Yeah, that too."

I targeted a roundhouse kick at Lash’s knee (because hey, anything that dropped his height was good by me), but he dodged. When I circled him, he smiled indulgently like we were sparring. I growled, rushing forward and swinging a hook at his jaw, but he caught my hand — my injured hand — in his giant fist and squeezed.

I bellowed, as my knuckles cracked.

Magenta tried to storm towards Lash, but Bask looped his arms around her waist and held her back. How unbalanced would her warrior skills be without her magic?

Plus, this asshole could fight.

But I'd been trained by Loki, the god of mischief and mayhem. Instead of attempting to yank my hand away from him, as he'd been expecting, I leaned closer and headbutted him.

Now it was Lash’s turn to bellow, as he let go of my hand to stagger back and angrily wipe the crimson from his nose.

In the name of Tyr, I called first blood.

I grinned, "You did say that we were sneaky."

Lash snorted, and his eyes darkened. "How about you, darling? Want to dance? I promise that I'll be gentle and not mess up your pretty face...yet."

I snarled. How dare he talk like that to Magenta? He must seriously want a punch in the dick, probably from Magenta.

But then, I glanced around and realized that it was Bask's eyes, which had widened. "If you call him darling again, then you won't be able to stand to dance because I'll have broken your legs."

Lash only steadily met Bask's gaze. "Does he fight all your battles for you, darling?"

The...soon to be unable to stand...asshole...

I surged forward, but Bask gripped my hand, yanking me back.

"Not all of my battles.” Bask slunk closer to Lash, and I stiffened. What in Frigg's name was he doing? The shifter could squash him with one hand. "But here’s the thing of it, how could a wee incubus like me fight a big shifter like you?" When Bask fluttered his eyelashes, I almost rolled my eyes. “Slippy forgets that I'm from the ancient Night Lineage and have my own needs."

When he shot a glance at me over his shoulder, it was nothing but sin and also screamed trust me.

Bask was fed on my pleasure, and his incubus power thrummed through him. His teeth glinted in the light. Lash should be pissing himself. Yet Lash only smiled smugly, as he gripped Bask's head like he meant to crush it.

I bounced on the balls of my feet. How much longer must I hold myself back?

Stop touching him...

"Don't worry, darling, I know what you need, and I’ll give it to you. Why don’t you get on your knees and show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do with a dick as well as balls.”

I shuddered. Don’t you dare…

Bask’s eyes became half-lidded. “Don’t worry, I have some ideas what to do with them.”

Yeah, bite them off.

Bask slid to his knees in one fluid movement, then he knelt up, caressing his hands over Lash’s thighs in sinuous movements, as he arched his back, bearing the long white line of his throat.

It was mesmerizing.

Bask was using his incubus power to enthrall Lash, whose eyes were hazy. I found it scorching hot to witness his power; my skin prickled and pinked.

“W-why aren’t you w-worshiping my c-cock?” Lash slurred.

Did this guy watch a serious amount of bad porn?

“That’s not what you truly need, right?” Bask’s voice was more dangerous than I’d ever heard it, and I shivered with desire. “Bastards like you who conquer, control, and hurt do it because inside, you crave to be the ones on your knees and you fear it.”

Ouch.

Bask stalked to his feet. Then he pressed with a single finger on Lash’s side like he couldn’t bear to touch him any more than that (and hey, I didn’t blame him). Instantly, Lash folded to his knees like a puppet.

Lash swayed, flushed and panting. Bask could’ve murdered him, and he wouldn’t even have blinked.

Bask had always insisted that he wasn’t a warrior, but it was a freaky thought that if an incubus was trained the right way, he’d make the perfect assassin. Was that why the Succubus Court worked so hard to train and condition their harems?

Yet Bask had never tried to control me. Was it weird that I found it a turn-on that he could?

“No one’s in the corridor,” Magenta whispered. “I do believe that we can make our escape.”

Lash hadn’t wanted anyone to know about his visit behind Marcus’ back to the dungeons; what a surprise.

Bask flashed me an aren’t I pettably awesome wiggle of his ass, and I tipped my imaginary hat to him. Then ignoring Lash, we rushed to the doorway and peered out into the narrow corridor. It was empty and glowed golden like the cell.

“So, we find the study with Marcus and Fox and then…” I bit my lip. “Look, Jormungand is usually the one who plans. Let’s just see where this…”

“Impulsive?” Bask offered.

“Reckless?” Magenta added.

“…Better than nothing opportunity takes us. We can’t help Fox, if we’re in that cage.”

For a moment, we clasped hands, then we burst into the corridor, only to tumble backwards as we bowled into Marcus and Fox, who’d just materialized.

I yelped in shock, then I dragged Fox into my arms. His wild raspberry scent was like life. I pulled him closer, tightening my hand in his curls, in case he was snatched away from me again.

I should’ve been protecting him.

Bask ran his hands over Fox, checking him for injuries. Magenta twirled in fury on Marcus, who shrank back.

“You, archduke,” Magenta wagged her finger at Marcus, “are a very bad dragon.” Wow, I was psyched that she’d never scolded me like that. Marcus paled. “Execute us if you must but do not separate us again or allow your kin to abuse us.”

“Wait, can I put in a vote for no executing…?” Fox’s muffled voice called, from where he was burrowed against my shoulder.

Magenta dragged Marcus to the entrance of the cell, and to my surprise, he allowed himself to be led.

What’d happened? Why wasn’t he acting all wrathful leader?

Marcus blinked at Lash, who ducked his head. “Why is my dear cousin on his knees?”

Bask huffed. “Wise up! He’s not your dear anything. I know what it’s like to be broken, see, but that doesn’t mean you can’t build yourself up again. This cruel bastard would’ve betrayed you back into slavery.”

Hurt flitted across Marcus’ expression, before he could hide it. “You lie.”

Fox raised his head from my shoulder. “Sorry but I’m the liar of the pack, and my Power of Confess is blasting that it’s the truth.”

Marcus’ expression crumpled, before he composed himself. “I shall deal with this attack on my authority. But first, I’ll lift the binds of the Letter Magic, and you need to return to your academy prison. I wish more than my wings that I could keep each one of you safely here.”

My arms curled more tightly around Fox, and he melted against me in that delicious way of his. “If you don’t come with us, you may as well be executing Fox.”

“Would you force the cursed collar on me? Tame me like Prince Lysander does?” Marcus straightened his shoulders. “Are you not a shifter yourself?”

My heart ached. “Aren’t you?”

He looked away, clenching his fists. “It’s kind of you to point out my faults. I should’ve risked everything to free my brothers before now, but the responsibilities of a leader are many, and as you’ve learned, I have enemies even within my own Court. But your mage is a clever negotiator, and I’m on your side.”

When Fox peered up at me, I arched a brow. He only smiled.

What did he have planned?

Magenta snorted. “Plans are perfectly fine, but they won’t save my lover.”

Marcus’ expression fell. “How long can a mage survive walled up alive?”

Fox was alive…in my arms…his raspberry scent wrapped around me… On the Valkyries, I wouldn’t let him go…

Magenta’s gaze glittered dangerously. “There are certain phrases that explode my magic, in a way for which I shall not be held responsible. Count yourself lucky that you bound mine with your Letter Magic or you’d be patting magenta sparks out of your burning hair.”

Marcus winced. “My apologies. How long could a mage survive…inside the walls of a castle?”

Magenta’s fists clenched. “I don’t know. Hours, maybe days. But why would it be better to survive longer and die slowly in the dark?”

A tremor ran through Fox, and if I could’ve switched to become the whipping boy to endure this for him, I would’ve done it.

Huh, that had to be love.

Marcus wet his lips, glancing at Fox. What had they been scheming? “Well, when the wards come down, wouldn’t also the magics that run through the academy? Couldn’t he then be rescued?”

“You took all that time persuading my whipping boy to risk his life for you on a guess?” Bask snapped.

When Fox squirmed out of my hold to march to stand next to Marcus, I missed the touch of him like I’d already lost him. “In fact, he took all this time trying to persuade me to collar and drag him back to Rebel Academy.” I stared at him in shock, and then Marcus, whose magic coiled around Fox’s shoulders with a gentleness that was entirely different to Lash’s. It sucked that I couldn’t simply hate him. “Then he showed me his Court. You know, I’ve seen Nero’s Palace and Elvis’ Graceland, but the Gold Court’s even more brilliant. And I can’t…”

Magenta tipped up his chin. “We’re listening, I promise. This is your choice.”

“I can’t take Marcus back as a slave,” Fox said, quietly. “His kingdom needs him. Look, I’ve lived most of my life inside an attic. Pan’s balls, I don’t know who I am, beyond a cat with funk in his Soul but I do know that I’m not selfish enough to risk an entire shifter kingdom burning just to save my own tail.”

“But,” Bask’s eyes gleamed with tears that he didn’t let fall (why wouldn’t he even now just let them fall?), “I love that tail.”

“Cheers, I’m pretty fond of it too,” Fox said. “I’ll die, but at least I’ll have been seen, right?”

“We see you.” Magenta wrapped her arms around Fox like she’d save him by strength of will alone.

“I shall erect a statue of you, little fox, in my courtyard garden,” Marcus’ voice wavered. “A cat, hedgehog, and fox to honor your shimage heritage. I shall be able to look out at you as I work every day.”

“Brilliant.” Fox’s lips tugged up at one side like he was trying but failing to smile. “I’ll be a distraction even when I’m dead.”

“Enough.” Magenta looked like she was about to hurl. “There shall be no more talk of…no more, do you understand? I’ll find a way to free Fox, and we will break the wards. And you, my sweet mage, will survive because no one here gives you permission to die.”

Fox struggled to pull back from her enough to salute.

Marcus glanced between us. “But I shall grant you permission to ride my dear brothers on Saturday in the wretched Dragon Polo Tournament. If it helps you to win and so break the wards faster, then I happen to believe that they’d gladly help save the High Ruler.”

“High Ruler?” I mouthed at Fox.

He shrugged.

“Whisper the words Yellow Orchid to my brothers before the tournament.” Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “They’ll know then that you’re sent by me to ride them not as slaves, driven by whips and spurs, rather as free dragons. You’ll see then how freedom gives wings speed.”

“We’ll win,” Magenta whispered the words into Fox’s hair like a spell, “and we’ll free you.”

She didn’t add before you die, but we all heard it.

I met Bask’s troubled gaze. He shook but what worried me most was the way that he held himself apart from the rest of us, rather than seeking our touch, almost like he was punishing himself for failing Fox.

He’d done the same after Hector had been torn apart on the mission.

Yet how could I reassure him, when I was as wrecked as him?

I shuddered. If I’d known that this was where the chaos moment would lead me, would I still have seized it?

As soon as the other Immortals and I returned to the Rebel Academy without a collared shifter as our prize, we’d have failed the mission, and as punishment, the man who I loved would be walled up alive.

Chapter Five

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

Sleipnir clutched me as tightly as Bask held onto Fox.

Bask banded his arms around our mage like he was his crocodile plushie and if he didn't let go, then my witch descendants who ran Rebel Academy couldn't take Fox from us...and wall him up alive.

I shook, stroking along Sleipnir's forearms that bristled with werewolf tattoos, as in turn, tremors ran through Sleipnir.

Mist pawed furiously at Sleipnir's pocket, snorting furiously, like he could break through. I could sense the wildness within Sleipnir, thrumming to burst out in defence of our lover, as much as my own powers seethed within me to break free.

I'd cautioned control to Willoughby, but standing in this portrait gallery waiting for Fox's punishment, I was a single breath away from tearing the academy up by its roots.

It didn't matter that Fox had promised over and over on our agonizing return through the Gateway and snowy trudge back to the castle that this was nothing but a trick.

It was cold comfort that Fox had said he'd be secretly in charge because of our plan to free him from the dark. My terror had been equally undiminished that he'd placed his hand on his chest and sworn that he could hold his breath for a really, really long time.

On Hecate's tit, this was where Robin had been murdered.

The weak morning sun flooded through the arched window in the West Wing, just as it had back in 1891, heating my cheek and lighting Fox's curls like a halo. He forced himself to offer me a small smile.

Sweet Hecate, this couldn't be happening again.

Our Tutor, Professor Bacchus, had ordered us to wait here for Principal Damelza like obedient dolls.

How broken did she imagine us to be?

Yet there was no escape from the academy's wards for the students. My plan to free them meant breaking the Membership, which divided the Princes from the Immortals, and we'd already managed that with the elven Prince Willoughby.

Yet I no longer had the luxury of time with Lysander and his whipping boy, Midnight. Every moment that they resisted, risked Fox's life, but I'd still never force them like once mother had attempted to force me.

My bad choices were like choosing between kissing a frog or a toad, even if I could admit (although only to myself), that I desired to kiss all the Princes, including Lysander.

Why did my stomach flutter at the thought of that?

Yet had I cursed myself, rather than the academy?

I'd been taught that dark magic with wicked intent always had a price. Had burning alive not been enough, but rather I’d be forced to repeat the greatest loss of my life...the death of my first shimage love?

When tears burned the corners of my eyes, I ruthless wiped them away. Fox needed me to be strong.

I would be whatever he needed.

When I clenched my jaw, tilting up my head, Fox met my eye.

This time, his smile was wide, even if he was pale. "A really, really, long time," he mouthed.

Bask's laugh sounded more like a disguised sob.

I couldn't help the way that my gaze slid to the magic mirror, in which once I'd revealed my ghostly self and real name to my Immortals. Long ago, my portrait had hung there. My mother, Henrietta and founder of the Rebel Academy, had walled Robin up alive beneath it because he'd dared to be the first lover to kiss me on the night that I would have been wed to Prince Titus, Lysander's uncle and Guardian.

Cauldrons and broomsticks, on the night that Robin and I had kissed each other as equals, and my magic had bound our souls eternally together.

I was startled out of the aching pain of my thoughts by the sudden stomp of footsteps down the corridor.

Why in the witching heavens was Lysander marching to join us? And why did it make my heart beat faster at the thought of him standing at our side?

Lysander's black blazer with the P crest embroidered in silk on the pocket and the pink silk shirt that hung open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his translucent collar bone, was smart, and he held himself ramrod straight. But his skin was clammy, and his emerald hair tumbled to his waist in a tangled mess like he hadn't checked himself in a mirror.

It was ideal Prince baiting material, but he'd looked like this before when the Princes' Tutor, Juni, had punished him.

Was he limping?

Why was he in trouble? He hadn't been the one to fail the mission.

Lysander hesitated, hovering next to Fox like he wanted to lay his hand on his shoulder reassuringly (like I'd seen Willoughby do to him), but didn’t quite know how.

Fae Courts clearly had a shocking lack of affection and atrocious parental skills. But then, Lysander's parents had died, hadn't they? I shuddered at the thought of being raised by Titus.

"If you've come to gloat," Sleipnir growled, as his hair spiked an even deeper shade of cinnamon red, "then turn your pretty fae ass around, before I bite it."

He thought Lysander's behind was pretty? He yearned to bite it…?

Ah, possibly not bite in a good way.

Lysander blanched, but his gaze became steely. "One is not here for amusement or cruelty. Do you truly think so little of me still?" His golden wings beat. "My tutor ordered us to witness the punishment as a way to..." He grimaced. "...teach us how grateful we should be that our own whipping boy's wings had only been broken. One requested that one alone represented the Princes at this spectacle because as much as they begged for the chance to say goodbye, I knew that...seeing this...would destroy both Willoughby and Midnight. They’re overly attached to your whipping boy.” I huffed. I had the suspicion that Lysander might be as well. “Of course, we had enough diplomacy to heap thanks in suitable ways upon our Tutor for her mercy."

I gritted my teeth. If any of those ways had involved anything more intimate than foot rubs, then Juni would discover that once I was unleashed, the storm could be deadly. I shivered at the sudden image of Lysander on his knees, rubbing his soft, cherry blossom scented wings across my tingling feet.

But then, he had to open his mouth...

"My guardian was also adamant that I be in the audience, so that I’d be able to report back to him." Lysander shot me a careful look. "It's not so surprising that Prince Titus has a special interest in walling up mages."

I didn't realize that I'd screamed, until my magic burst out of me, wild and unrestrained. My powers whipped up a storm that buffeted the castle with snow tears. The window shattered; the blizzard howled down the narrow corridor.

I thrummed, and my magenta snowed in glittering pink amongst the true snow.

Lysander cursed, shielding his face.

Bask's eyes glittered. "Does it please you to be cursed with a limp dick for the rest of your life?"

Lysander took a step back. "One merely meant..."

Sleipnir let go of me to snatch Lysander by the collar and crush him against the wall. Lysander choked, as Sleipnir pinned him with his arm across his throat.

"I. Will. Wreck. You," Sleipnir snarled, shaking Lysander on each word. "No one hurts Magenta or Fox, and not some asshole fae who wouldn't know love if it kicked him in the balls."

"Of course not," Lysander rasped. "Unseelie don't love, feel, or sacrifice. Emotion is beaten out of us. So, wreck me."

Taken aback, Sleipnir's gaze flicked to mine.

Well, that was unexpected.

Was it guilt or was Lysander offering to have his fae behind more than spanked, simply to help my lovers and me cope?

So, that was how uptight fae showed that they cared.

My expression softened. "Most of us simply say I'm sorry."

Lysander swallowed. "One is truly sorry if my manner implied that..." He sought out Fox's gaze. "My noble self fought for you. You don't need to believe me. In fact, one highly doubts that you will because a fae couldn't possibly love, I believe." He glanced at me, flushing. "But...my royal personage did."

My hands clenched. Was that why Lysander had been limping? Had he rebelled against Juni in defense of Fox, just like he'd tried to save Midnight, and earned himself Punishment Points?

It looked like Lysander was determined to strip away all my fae prejudice and was also closer to becoming one of my Immortals than I'd realized.

Fox gently pushed Sleipnir's hand away from Lysander's throat. When he stroked over the skin beneath, as if in apology, Lysander's wings fluttered.

"Cheers, mate. Sticking up for me to Juni takes balls.” Then he glanced significantly at Sleipnir. “As the one whose furry ass is actually being punished today, I'm putting a stop to fae hurting. Call it a dying wish." Bask clung round Fox’s neck, as if that would force him to take back the words. "Okay, more like a request...okay, hope... This academy is set up to make Princes and Immortals rivals, right? In public and classes, you have to play along to con the professors. But on my prickles, let the truth be that Princes and Immortals don't hurt each other."

Lysander nodded. "You have my word."

Sleipnir snorted. Not helpful.

"As Prefect," I could allow myself that boast, "you have mine."

The storm calmed, and the snow died down. Lysander wasn't fully on our side. But he could be.

There was hope.

Fox sagged in relief against Lysander, absentmindedly running his fingers through his feathers. Lysander stiffened, and despite everything, I smothered a laugh. A fae's wings were as sensitive as a prick, and I could see in Lysander's startlingly tight trousers that his prick was already perking up, despite how he was attempting to shift and hide it.

"Right," Fox rubbed his hands together, "I demand my last kiss. After all, I was once Romeo, but this time, my Juliet will not stab herself because I promise, neither of us are truly dying."

Fox twisted to me, but Lysander's wings banded around him, dragging him close. His hand cupped his cheek.

"If I could grant you life with this kiss, I would," Lysander breathed.

Fox's eyes opened comically large, then Lysander pressed his mouth to his with a tenderness that shocked me. Fox sighed, pressing his forehead against Lysander's and swiping his own tongue against his.

I swept forward, clasping my arms around Fox's waist and feathering kisses up the back of his neck. In claims of possession, Bask and Sleipnir pushed in either side, teasing their hands over Lysander's wings, until he moaned and up Fox's sides, before sucking both sides of Fox's neck with deep, marking kisses.

When Fox was taken from us, he'd feel all of us on his skin. I tightened my arms. Could we keep him safe in our cocoon?

Please, don't let him be taken...

"Wow, I've found four Juliets," Fox murmured.

His eyes were hazy in the good way, and I could see how hard he was fighting to restrain a grin, as he sneaked glances at Lysander.

“One is certainly no girl.” Lysander arched his brow. “And since you’re referencing non-magical fiction, which breaks my fae Court Dictates to read, then I can only surmise that it’s a tragic romance. Our story shall be no such thing. I refuse to allow it.”

Bask snickered. “Our hero.”

Lysander’s eyes flashed, and Bask drew back. “Oh, an anti-hero at best. I can be very, very bad.”

"Perhaps, Crown should be next to suffer the Memory Theater and show you why he's such a bad boy that his guardian sent him here to be reformed," Damelza's cold voice rang down the corridor.

When Lysander winced, fury rushed through me. I twisted around, standing in front of my lovers, as my magic surged through me. In a clacking of heels and flurry of feathers, the Principal of the Academy, Damelza, and her daughter, Juni, strode towards us.

Damelza's hair fell like a silver waterfall to her shoulders, and the feather that was a charm against our powers was tucked behind her ear. A shawl of crows’ feathers was draped across her shoulders. Juni simply looked like a younger, smaller, pointier, version of her mother.

Juni avoided Lysander's searching gaze. If it’d been anyone but a witch who'd just punished her student for attempting to save Fox's life, then I'd have thought that she looked...ashamed.

Crack my broomstick, maybe not all the professors agreed with Damelza's motivational techniques.

I truly believed that this academy would not pass its Magical Safety Inspection.

Just for a moment, I stiffened. Damelza could be my mother here to wall up Robin with the way that she held herself, the glittering obsidian of her dress, and her intense gaze that spoke of death.

My nails bit crescents into my palms.

Except, she was here to wall up Fox, instead. How in the witching heavens was that any better? I glanced around at Fox's ashen face. Did he truly believe that the wall wouldn't suffocate him and that they'd be enough air for him to survive, until I could free him? Or had that merely been another one of his lies?

Damelza swept to Fox; her dress swished snake-like across the floor in the chilling silence. Then she snatched him by the curls and yanked him away from the safe cocoon of my lovers. Bask let out a yell, clasping onto Fox's hand with a determined expression. I'd seen it before when Fox had tried to take one of his pillows.

Damelza wouldn't win this.

For a long moment, Fox was caught in a tug-of-war between professor and student. Damelza's eyes glittered pink in warning, but in turn, Bask's glowed red.

They wouldn't tear him in half, surely?

"Come on now, don't fight. There's enough of my foxy cuteness to go around," Fox panted.

Damelza brushed her fingers over her shawl, and the feathers ruffled up. Black sparks shot out, stinging Bask. With a yelp, he let go of Fox and stumbled back into Sleipnir's arms.

With a satisfied smile, Damelza shook Fox by the curls. "What admirable academy spirit. I delight to see such enthusiasm in my students, even if it is over a whipping boy who failed on his very first mission." Fox pinked. "Do you know what disappoints me the most?"

"That you don't own an army of flying monkeys?" Fox smirked.

I expected Damelza to scowl, but instead, her smile became even more smug (which shouldn't have been possible), "Mages. Especially shimages who are just as disappointing as their mother always told me."

Fox hunched his shoulders, dropping his gaze.

Cursed toads, Damelza’s smugness was the limit. She could make us endure dangerous trials and deadly missions but not smugness.

Damelza had been on a fox hunt from the moment that the new mage had walked down the long road of the academy to the castle. I'd sensed it from Hecate's Tree: the danger that the new student would be in because he was the first mage to enter the academy since Robin. Damelza had only been waiting for the moment that she could tear him apart bloody.

Now, because we hadn't brought Marcus back with us, she had her chance.

When she tightened her fingers in Fox's hair, tugging out several strands, my lips curled back. "I'd insist that you not harm a hair on his head, but it appears that I'm too late for that. As I'm Prefect, our failure on the mission is my fault. Why not be original and shut me up, instead?"

"No," chorused from my lovers.

Even Lysander started towards me like he'd pin my arms down, while Sleipnir held onto my legs to stop me moving any closer to Damelza.

Damelza cocked her head. "An interesting proposition."

"Mother..." Juni hissed. She glanced at me in shock, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she couldn't decide whether to stand with the Principal or by my side. "The Wickedly Charmed girl is clearly not thinking straight. She has a crush on this mage."

Damelza snorted. "Well, thank Hecate I have you here to point out the obvious." Juni reddened. "Just like you have a crush on your fae prince."

Juni's mouth gaped, as her gaze shot to Lysander, who straightened like he was on parade. His expression became shuttered.

Lysander and Juni were lovers? Yuck, yuck, and... Why did my heart feel like it was shrinking in my aching chest? When my shoulders drooped, I forced myself to hitch them up again.

Lysander had never been mine. But how hard would it be to win him from Juni?

"I d-don't... I-t's not the s-same," Juni spluttered.

Damelza waved her hand. "Of course not. You haven't acted on the childish urges because if you had...well, Titus is our patron, and I'd rather that he didn't close us down and make it his life’s work to destroy us in the most intimately painful ways possible."

Juni looked like she was about to vomit. Excellent.

"On Hecate, I swear that I shall never tarnish our name," Juni insisted.

Damelza arched her brow. "I'm glad that I don't need to add be ritualistically executed by our patron to the schedule because this is already such a busy start to term. Plus, I have my own execution to perform."

She hauled Fox towards the mirror, where my portrait had once hung. And where Robin had been walled up alive.

Not again, not again, not…

I prowled towards her. "If you do this, I shall curse the academy and—"

Damelza pretended to yawn. "So much for your originality." She fiddled with the feather in her hair. "Don’t you remember that the first rule of this academy is that you can't fight the professors because of the charms we wear? But please do try, it'll be amusing for me, and a good lesson for you. The spell that is about to be performed is an ancient punishment for captured prisoners in our war with the mages: to be walled up alive in the walls of the castle. Quite effective."

My breaths came fast and short; my heartbeat raced.

This was going to happen...

"Well, let's get this done, I don't have all day." Damelza glanced at the smashed window, before calling, "Ezekiel!"

She wanted our Addict Angel Professor of Dueling and Strategy to witness this too? Would she call in each of our professors like this was a carnival?

Ezekiel swooped through the window. His beautiful purple wings glowed, and his matching violet eyes glowed. Yet even though he landed with a commanding thump, he immediately wrapped his wings around his bronzed chest. Ezekiel was powerful, and the dazed fear that he was attempting to hide, made me want to wrap my arms around him like he was one of my Immortals.

Plus, I adored his tangy citrus cream scent. I could lose myself in the safety of his wings.

Yet my magic smarted with the sense that he wasn't safe.

"You're late," Damelza snapped.

Ezekiel marched to stand next to the mirror. "It would never do to be late to my own execution."

Bask's horrified gasp was mirrored by my own.

"My guardian shall never accept this…brutality," Lysander's sharp voice cut through my own shock. "Professor Ezekiel has long proved his worth as a professor. He’s communicated with my uncle for many years—"

"Your uncle was eager that I make a statement to both professors and students that once a Rebel, always a Rebel,” Damelza snapped. Ezekiel's eyes closed, and he flinched. "Teaching posts are offered as a great honor to those who survive their time as students, but they’re also a privilege, which can be taken away. I must maintain standards. Ezekiel trained you as assassins, but you couldn’t even bring me back a single escaped beast! If a professor’s students fail, then they’re to blame. They must face the consequences."

"Like docked salary? Extra duties? A demotion?" I tilted my head. "How dreadfully stupid of me, of course execution is the obvious choice."

"Of course," Damelza replied, coolly. "Shall I add Professor Ambrose and that brat of his, who I know he's been allowing you to see, despite the fact that it’s breaking my rules?" My eyes widened. I remembered Ty playing in the snow and the fae professor singing songs to his son. Don't let them be hurt because of me. "There are some delightful witches who could take up their positions instead."

Juni's eyes flashed. "An Immortal is one thing, mother, but a Seelie fae Prince...? A child...? This is enough."

For the first time, Damelza shifted uncomfortably. "It appears that my daughter has spoken. I hope that this is a useful learning experience for you all. It's interesting how it's your own Blessedly Charmed magic that now works against you in this castle, while the wards stand. So, storm and tantrum as much as you like, your cold no longer has any bite."

"You're a warrior," Sleipnir hissed at Ezekiel, "kick her ass."

Ezekiel's lips pinched; his expression was tight. He raised his hand to show the same I branded on it as was on Sleipnir's.

"Should I let Ambrose or his son take my place?" Ezekiel demanded.

"That's the spirit." Damelza patted him on the shoulder.

Then the wall opened, yawning into darkness, and Damelza shoved Ezekiel inside.

It was happening all over again like it had with Robin.

Fox's anguished gaze met mine. "Breathe for me."

A single tear chased down his cheek, even as his lips curled into a smile.

"By the branches of the tree, save your children, blessed be," I whispered the incantation that my father, Bryon, had said all those years before (Hecate hear me).

Yet why did I feel like Byron hadn't been praying to Hecate at all?

I couldn't let this happen. Not again.

Hecate, don't take a second mage…another man who I loved…from me.

The howl rose from me like a ball of grief and loss loosed in primal rage. Panic flickered across Damelza's gaze, driving away the smugness. My black mists surged forward, at the same time as Bask, Sleipnir, and Lysander prowled towards Fox. But a pink fire blazed up, blasting to the ceiling with a sizzling roar.

Through the stinging smoke, I watched in terror as Damelza swung Fox around and hurled him into the blackness.

Lightheaded, my knees buckled, and I tumbled to my floor.

Please, no...

Then the gallery sealed, walling Fox up alive.

Chapter Six

FOX

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

The gallery wall closed, sealing me into the darkness behind, which pressed on me like a shroud.

Great Pan, don’t let me die like this.

Every night, after the Kitten Incident that’d shown my family in the House of Jewels I’d possessed magic, I’d feared that I’d die locked away in the attic. After my stunt at my sister’s garden birthday party, even my window had been boarded over.

Was dying within the castle walls because I was a mage any different?

Too dark, too dark, too…

I cringed back against the cold stone, struggling to drag in raspy breaths of the stale air, which stank of death.

I squeezed closed my eyes, clawing at my throat.

My lungs burned, and I choked, hyperventilating.

So much for being able to hold my breath for a really, really long time (okay, that’d been a lie; sue me).

I forced myself to count back from a hundred in my head to calm myself.

100, 99, 98…

In a pop of glitter, I transformed into a Birman cat with a crooked tail (because all the attitude was in the tail). I’d heard of being scared straight, but Damelza had scared me into a shifter.

There was a reason that Rebel Academy was considered the deadliest of the academies.

Witches were bitches.

After all, what was one more dead mage to a witch?

Yet Magenta loved me.

I meowed mournfully, curling into a fluffy ball and covering my head with my paws like if I couldn’t see the darkness, then I wouldn’t really have been walled up alive.

I could see others’ lies but I was even more skilled at lying to myself.

Then I grunted, as I was snatched by the scruff of my neck and cradled to Ezekiel’s chest. Did all angels have abs like this because okay, mine were like Zeus’…okay, Adonis’…okay some lesser demigods’, but Ezekiel’s were like sculptured stone.

I purred, snuggling closer.

The main thing that was different between the space in the walls and my attic was that this time, I wasn’t shut up alone. I should’ve felt guilty about that but knowing my slow death wouldn’t also be a lonely one pretty much meant that I didn’t.

Why had I ever told Magenta that I could survive this? Oh yeah, cockiness and male pride.

I grimaced. Brilliant.

The truth was that I didn’t truly believe that Magenta would be able to rescue me in time. You’d better sue my furry ass again.

Ezekiel slumped onto his ass, leaning against the wall. There was no one to pretend courage to anymore, only the pussy that he’d placed on his lap, and we were a dead man and his pet walking now.

That was the truth.

I trembled, and he scratched behind my ear.

All of a sudden, his wings flared with violet light; their tips pulsed.

“Better?” Ezekiel cradled one of his wings close, before scooping me onto his soft feathers. “I should’ve adapted the environment to suit your needs. Unfortunately, all the drama of our impending deaths scattered my usual strategies.”

Had he seen my file and knew about the attic? Had he looked at the baby photos with me in diapers?

Was a cat able to flush?

These were the times that I regretted how little I’d been allowed to see myself in mirrors. On the scale of our problems (from numb asses from sitting on a stone floor to being unable to breathe), it didn’t rate high.

But still…diapers.

I thwapped my tail side-to-side but couldn’t resist snuggling further into the nest of Ezekiel’s wing and sniffing its delicious tangy, citrus scent. Ezekiel sighed, resting his head against the wall and stroking his strong fingers down my back. I purred, kneading him with my paws.

Ezekiel winced, but when I glanced at the hardness tenting his pants, I realized that it hadn’t been with pain.

I did have one adorable furry ass.

Pink spread down Ezekiel’s neck and chest. “Let’s…hmm…put you somewhere less…sensitive, kitty.”

Hiding in my shifter form was just another type of lie.

In a spray of glitter, I transformed back into a man, who was now sprawled in his professor’s lap. So, a man could definitely flush.

Ezekiel caught me around the waist, before I toppled over, and for a moment, we stared intently into each other’s eyes.

Awkward.

It looked like I could embarrass myself in any social situation. It was a talent.

I attempted to wriggle off Ezekiel’s lap (I could pull off Bask’s sexy lap dismount), but Ezekiel firmly banded his arms around me, holding me in place.

I ducked my head, fiddling with the hem of Ezekiel's harem boy pants. "Well, that just happened. I mean, we just got walled up, then I panic transformed into a cat, and now I'm sitting in your lap like a..." Mouth, on Pan's golden cock, stop rambling humiliating small talk before I ban you from talking for...at least five minutes. My mouth snapped shut. I'd never been shocked into silence before, but then my threat had been harsh. Five minutes, who was I kidding that I could manage that without a gag? I prodded Ezekiel's stomach. "Ehm, sorry for getting you walled up alive."

As apologies went, that was weak.

He waved it away. "Today isn't going according to my expected schedule but then, it rarely does in this academy. I'd believed that the story of the original mage being walled up here was a myth. Yet once, I'd believed that about Magenta herself. In her lively rebellious self, she disproves that."

I bit my lip. I yearned to know about Magenta's first love who'd been a mage like me. He'd taken his last breaths here, the same as me. My skin tingled.

I could almost feel him.

"Who was he?" I asked.

"The tale goes that he was a powerful shimage like you." I jolted. My connection to the last mage to be allowed into the academy (the only other shimage who I'd directly heard of), shuddered through me. Why were we so hated? "It's the original love story. A witch and a mage fall in love. When the mother and Principal discovers them together..."

He trailed off. Yeah, I knew the rest.

For the first time, I understood that this was harder on my lovers than it was for me. I only had to suffer the punishment, but they had to witness, as I suffered it.

What if this had been done to any of them?

My eyes widened. Were my lovers still be on the other side of the wall?

I leaned over Ezekiel, and he let out an oomph, as I could've...okay, as I definitely...kneed him in the balls.

I scrabbled with my nails on the crumbling stone. "Magenta!" I hollered.

Could she hear me?

Pan's balls, how worried in that adorable I'm going to tear up the entire academy by its roots way of hers was she? Don't let her have self-combusted in a flurry of snow. Would the stress make Bask permanently unpettable? Although, that thought was sacrilege. What if Sleipnir savaged Lysander's gorgeous wings in his grief?

I had to save them from themselves.

My pulse pounded, and my throat was dry. "I'm alive," I called. Well, that rated highly in the Dumb Things to Shout to Your Loved Ones. If I'd been dead, I wouldn't have been screaming to them, would I? But it was difficult to think of reassurances under pressure, and the last time that I'd tried this, it hadn't ended well. "Just...don't worry."

So, that was Number Two on the list.

Ezekiel snatched my hands, pulling me back into his lap. "You're bleeding." I stared dazedly at my broken fingernails. "Plus, they can't hear you; it's part of the spell. In the past, they walled up whole groups of prisoner mages in the walls of this castle. It would've been distracting for the witches if they'd been able to hear them begging for mercy or shouting obscenities." I shivered. I hated to hear about other mages being hurt. Ezekiel glanced at me in surprise. "Doesn't Bacchus teach you anything in her lessons about the spells that live in this castle?"

"Live?" I asked.

"Spells and hexes are alive in a way," Ezekiel's eyes burned in the dark, "as much as we are or were, I guess."

I snorted. "Do you need a pint of bitter to down your bitter pill, professor?"

Ezekiel arched his brow. "Don't bother yourself; I've already swallowed it, since you students have killed me."

Ouch, that was my furry ass spanked. I hoped not literally because with the muscles in Ezekiel’s arms, it wouldn't be the sensual stroking that Willoughby gave Bask down by the lake.

"Does sorry cover it again?" I ventured.

I didn't expect the chuckle. "Killed by a pussy... My Glory in Angel World would die with shock."

I choked on my own tongue. The professor had made a sexy innuendo and it looked like he was probably more into sucking Ambrose in the common room than tonguing Bacchus.

My brain froze just for a moment on the image of Ezekiel on his knees before the dominant fae. Ambrose stroked Ezekiel's cheek, as he thrust his dick into his mouth with long, deep thrusts.

It'd have to be that way around because with Ambrose's sharp pearly teeth, he'd do more than graze Ezekiel's dick if he tried to push inside those plush lips. Unless, fae had developed a special method…? After all, I doubted that an entire race didn't suck each other off.

Was Sex in Different Supernatural Races an area of study because I'd be up for that.

"Did I short-circuit your brain?" Ezekiel asked worriedly, shaking me. "You've been staring off blankly for over a minute with this funny little smile. On my feathers, Ambrose should be here. He always seems to know how to talk to you students. But me...?"

I blinked. Okay, I was back in the room...or walled up alive.

I squirmed (nothing at all to do with my hardened dick). "Look, I wish that I could've passed the mission, then neither of us would be here."

Ezekiel's gaze was shrewd. "You don't because my assessment is that you chose not to capture the dragon." His wings flared, and he leaned closer until our foreheads touched. "Don't you think that my friends and me were desperate not to complete our missions? That we hated them? I can never rub myself clean. My Soul is tarnished. We cared enough for each other to survive."

"You survived," I corrected. "How'd it work out for them?"

Ezekiel let out a hissed breath. Right, no more pissing off my angel professor.

"They died one by one, and I had to watch them fall," Ezekiel whispered.

Truth: I'd have died to save them.

I rested my hands on either side of Ezekiel's cheeks because his truth had shivered down my spine like rain in twilight, the solitary plucked note on a trembling cello, and the salty track of tears.

"Then I'd return to the castle and their death portraits would appear in the gallery." Ezekiel's gaze was intent on mine. "The castle became one of ghosts and memories. Even though I survived, I was still trapped here, training yet more Rebels to send out to die. I've always tried my best by my students. Please tell me that at least I achieved that, even if..."

"You’ve been kind to us," I replied, tightening my hold. "You don't deserve to be in here. I don't care what Damelza thinks because she should've promoted you for understanding what we need. But how long is the House of Crows and its backers going to get away with treating the Rebels as their personal expendable army? We have to stop them."

"I admire your spirit. But I'd say that we've been stopped. Plus, you're wrong. What did I teach you about strategy?"

Typical. Even in here, I couldn't escape pop quizzes.

I desperately sought to remember his lesson. Damelza had swept in, then Willoughby's letter had spilled his secrets, before Bask had been snatched...

My brow furrowed. "Don't copy Napoleon...? Wait, it could've been always copy Napoleon…?"

Ezekiel sighed. "That right there is why I was slung in here, rather than promoted. Your Power of Confess senses the truth, right? Well, the truth is that I'm a terrible teacher." He paused a moment. I expected my power to blare Nirvana or possibly Eminem (I couldn't decide between the two), that Ezekiel was lying, but instead, there was only silence. So, he was terrible at teaching. It wasn't like I'd had any experience before coming to the academy, but in that case, the judgment of what made a good teacher could go screw itself. Ezekiel was epic. "See? I've been...concerned...for a while now that Damelza intended to punish me for my failings. Even you've noticed my loss of control over the class."

I laughed. "I’d prefer that than Bacchus who controls us with bondage or Juni who uses the traditional savaging with wolves method." He winced. "Anyway, we're terrible students, or hadn't you noticed?"

He snorted. Rude. "What, am I blind? But I'd never treat any of my students as strictly as I was, even if that’s meant bending the rules."

"The Princes obey you...sort of..."

"Barely. By my wing, the Princes will obey anyone who threatens them with their families." Gently, he clasped my hands, lowering them to his lap. Then his wings wrapped around me in a feathery embrace. "I don't imagine confidentiality matters anymore. I was stricter on the Princes, only because I was trying to protect them. You Immortals have no idea the pressure that the Princes are under from their so-called guardians. Our patron, Titus, watches over the academy in a spell that's triggered by certain words or behaviors, especially by his nephew. It's more watchful over certain areas like the Princes' bedroom or during class. Willoughby's brother has a similar dark curse that connects to his bed in the Prince's bedroom and his suit. Punishment Points must be administered by his Tutor. They're disciplined daily. She can't bend the rules, even if she wants to, and I highly doubt that she does." He grimaced. "Lysander has no choice but to act like a—"

"Jerk?"

"Fae prince." Ezekiel wings flared brighter. "I spoke about teamwork for a reason. The Princes receive enough cruelty, and I haven't even started about the methods to break Midnight. If I'd only made more effort for unity when I was a student and understood that we weren't rivals, then perhaps..."

My friends would've survived. He didn't need to say it for me to hear it. Nor the added: And us too.

I squirmed off his lap, slipping underneath his wings. "I'm not a tamed pussy. I won't simply sit around here, telling sad tales, and waiting to be disciplined. I'm off to explore my territory."

If I had a tail in my human form, I'd have been wagging it. I didn’t need to spray on the stones to prove that they were mine. Well, maybe later. I needed to piss sometime.

I crawled into the dark, away from the eerie violet of Ezekiel's wings.

Would I crunch over the bones of mages? I flinched. What if I trampled all over Magenta's first friend — lover's — skeleton?

"Get back here," Ezekiel ordered, scrambling to his knees.

"I can't hear you," I called, "it's this weird side effect of being about to die, along with the Dark Mark appearing on my dick and a sudden urge to be called Foxy Lady."

Then I yowled, as my nose bumped into something hard. I cradled my nose, falling back onto my heels. Ezekiel's cuss was long and creative, as in turn, he bumped into me.

Tentatively, I reached out, feeling the contours of the large metallic object in front of me. Ezekiel held his wing above my head in a sweep of light.

My pulse fluttered in my throat, and I leaned forward, yearning in a way that I didn’t even know I could feel. My magic thrummed through me in joy.

It couldn't be... This was forbidden... Please, let me have this moment of worship...

I stared in wonder at the golden shrine to Pan.

It’d mean death to have such a shrine in a witches' coven because Pan was the mages' god. Even to mention him merited a whipping. I shivered at the phantom pains of the lash.

I'd always been curious about the god who believed that shimages were the most blessed and not wickedest because they could transform into animals. Pan ruled nature. To him, there was no right or wrong; only wild freedom.

I traced my finger over the carvings of non-magicals, who’d been caught up in Pan’s dance, before glancing at the statue of the golden horns.

What would it be like to see my beautiful Horned God?

I'd never felt so settled in myself as I did kneeling before this shrine, in the same way that I never felt so uneasy as I had before Hecate’s.

Then Ezekiel pointed at the statue of a huge erect phallus. "They left sex toys in here? As if this shrine doesn't break enough rules."

I snickered. "Let's just say that my god likes to party."

I tilted my head at the rich silk that was draped along the back of the shrine. It was embroidered with red-breasted robins like drops of blood on the black.

My magic shied away from it, but I couldn’t stop looking at it, and my fingers itched to touch like it belonged to me.

Carefully, I reached out to lift a corner and peer at what was underneath.

I hollered (okay, squeaked but in a manly way), letting the silk slip through my fingers.

Ezekiel rubbed my back with his wing. "You found the last resting place of our original mage? Definitely not a myth then."

I nodded.

My throat was suddenly too tight to speak. Magenta had loved this man.

I smoothed my hand over the silk like a blessing. It was the least that I could do for a fellow mage. Yet who’d built a shrine that was versatile enough to double as a tomb if there’d never been another mage in this castle? It must’ve been constructed by magic. Yet who’d cared enough to respect the mage’s body in this way, rather than let it turn to dust on the freezing floor?

Whoever had done it must’ve loved them.

When my fingers brushed a book, which was balanced on the silk, I gasped. Magic prickled across my skin, jumping from the cover. I ran my fingers reverentially down the spine.

“By my feathers, don’t touch. I understand why you have the urge to test your wings, when they were clipped for so long, but resist it. There are worse ways to die than quietly walled up alive, like screaming in agony.” Ezekiel clutched my shoulders. “First, Bacchus doesn’t teach you about spells and then, she doesn’t warn you about the risk of cursed objects.”

“Pan would never curse one of his shimages, right Great Pan?” I eyed the shrine hopefully.

Would it be desecration to remove items from a grave? I vaguely remembered the Egyptian gods cursing grave robbers.

I shrugged. I wasn’t a robber, I was just a curious pussy.

Wait, didn’t curiosity kill the cat?

Too late.

I snatched the book, holding it close enough to see through the gloom that it appeared to consist of sheets ripped from other books. The front was decorated with fluffy red feathers.

Robins again.

Why were my hands shaking?

“Don’t…” Ezekiel urged, but it was distant like everything had fallen away but the book, me, and the itching urge to open it.

The fingers cramped, as I attempted to resist. Then the image of a glade in summer, which was speared with sunlight as butterflies flitted between violets and lilies of the valley, slammed through my mind. Instantly, I craved like my body was aflame.

I threw open the book, and a gust of wind that was scented with sweet wild blackberries blasted out. I fell backward, shocked at the chill, which ghosted down my spine.

Invisible fingers traced my cheek in tender gratitude.

I swallowed, freezing.

I was being watched. On my prickles, I was being observed.

It was the same as when I’d stepped into the academy’s courtyard bailey, and Magenta had first kissed me with cold lips that’d warmed with life, even across the veil of death.

What were the chances that this spook only wanted to make out with me?

Perhaps, Ezekiel was right about a quiet death being better than whoever I’d unleashed.

After all, now we were walled up alive with a ghost.

Chapter Seven

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

I took a deep breath.

I'd promised to breathe for Fox, yet every precious lungful could be one less for Fox in the darkness within the walls of the castle. One less gasp or moment of life.

One less chance to return to me.

I loved Fox with a desperation that ached through my bones and whispered through my Soul.

I needed him.

Yet I'd promised Byron to treat mages as equals and that also meant trusting him. Why couldn't I simply wrap him in the softest candyfloss of my magic and save him from all hurt forever?

What was wrong with such protective love?

After watching barbarity towards the Rebels and their deaths as both a child and for over a hundred years trapped in Hecate's Tree, I had a right for a little anxiety.

I braced myself on the open windowsill of the stone gallery outside Damelza's study. After Fox had been walled up alive (witching heavens, that hurt even to think), my lovers and I had been locked up in the West Wing. Sleipnir had paced furiously from one side of the bedroom to the other, while Bask had curled up underneath the sheets with Nile, until I hadn’t even been able to see the top of his silky head. I alone could break the room's wards, however, to materialize outside the study.

Already, the Membership’s spell was weakening.

But not quickly enough.

Fox believed that he could hang onto life, until we won the Dragon Polo Tournament and weakened the wards enough to free him. As Flair, my crow familiar would say, bollocks with a helping of fuck that.

Watching the gallery wall seal behind Fox was the hardest thing that I've ever endured. It'd been worse than seeing it the first time with Robin, and that’d shattered me into the wickedest witch, who’d cursed an entire academy. Because watching it a second time and knowing how the loss had torn me apart the first time (was still tearing me apart), was the cruelest torture.

I couldn't wait until I’d broken the spell. I wouldn't risk Fox's life or Ezekiel's.

My mother, Henrietta, had insisted that it was impossible to let out a mage, once they'd been put into the walls. But what if that'd been a lie?

Sweet Hecate, don't steal both shimages from me.

My eyes widened, and I swayed. My magic sparkled in a magenta mist around me; it prickled me in distress.

Surely all this couldn't be happening because of something as simple as rivalry? Had I lost my lovers out of a feud like the one that the academy attempted to create between the Princes and Immortals? Did Hecate hate Pan, who blessed the shimages, with such ferocity that she'd murder them to punish Pan?

And I'd been the foolish witch who'd prayed to Hecate to free me from marriage, in order that I could love a shimage. I'd even kissed Robin in her sacred glade beneath her yew tree. Then it'd been Fox's blood that'd resurrected me because shimages were the sacrifice.

Had shimages always been the traditional sacrifice for witches and their god?

A sudden hoarse cawing broke out. Then in a flurry of feathers my two crow familiars, Flair and Echo, landed in the open window. I thrilled that I wasn't alone, sitting down on the sill, before I fell on my face.

I was graceful like that.

My familiars hopped onto my lap.

Flair tipped his head, inspecting me with his sharp gaze. "You look like you've seen a ghost and not our fuckable arses."

Echo rubbed his pink head against me with deep yearning, until I stroked his feathers. He pulsed with my magic, which calmed mine. He let out a series of satisfied, rumbling clicks.

"We missed you," Echo said, quietly. "I was frightened that you wouldn’t come back from the mission. Then you did come back, and the academy’s magic kept us away. But you never tried to find us."

My chest tightened, and I cuddled Echo closer. "I'm sorry."

Flair snapped his bill with an irritated clack. "I don't care a witch’s fuck for sorry. If you're out here, rather than riding your Rebels, then it finally happened. You turned into a zombie, didn't you? I knew that there was no such thing as a Ghost Witch. You're not craving crows’ brains?"

I sighed. "I'm craving spanking a crow."

Flair snorted. "A kinky zombie then."

Echo peered at me, wrapping his wings around me. "Did you forget us like everybody else?"

The mages weren’t the only ones damaged by the witches.

Echo was terrified of being forgotten and alone. It shook me that I couldn’t be certain that when I escaped the academy, the crows would also be able to escape. Yet their magic was woven with mine.

Please, let that be enough.

“I could never forget the most loyal familiar with the unique singing voice,” I insisted. Echo preened. Then I glanced at Flair. “Or his rude twin with the wickedest sense of humor.” Now it was Flair’s turn to preen. “I was merely distracted.”

“Pluck my feathers and call me a bitch, of course you’ve been celebrating that you saved your special mage. Your cock lane has been distracted by his…cock.” Flair winked.

He threw himself onto his back, cycling his legs in what was a remarkably accurate imitation of Fox in his sexy pose.

Had they been playing voyeur?

Of course they had. They were sensual vampires, who’d been transformed into my familiars and then ghosts. Who’d deny them such simple pleasure?

Well, possibly the rest of my lovers…

Perhaps, I should talk to Flair and Echo about not being quite so creatively insulting to them?

Yet I understood being possessive, and my familiars were already sharing me. Politeness would be pushing it.

My smile was tight. “We failed the mission, and he was walled up alive.”

Flair’s legs stopped kicking in the air with comical slowness. He lay on his back, staring at me in shock.

“Well, shit,” he breathed.

I always wished that I had Flair’s succinctness of speech.

Awkwardly, he shuffled back onto his scaly feet.

“He’s your mage,” Echo said, “but if he fades, so will you. We were with you every painful moment after the last one was murdered. As I have Fallen, I thought that I’d lose you.”

“If the world was fair, I’d wear all the Rebels’ balls as baubles.” Flair flapped around my head. “But since you love him… Save him, boss.”

“Save him, save him, save him,” Echo sang in his offkey unique singing voice.

I winced, rubbing my finger over his head, but my eyes flashed, as I glanced at the study door. “On my Wickedly Charmed magic, I swear that I shall try with every last drop of blood.”

“How about just giving it hundred percent effort?” Echo rubbed his head against me.

Despite myself, I smiled, lifting Echo off my lap and onto the sill. “Hundred and ten percent effort and my blood.”

Echo and Flair cawed their satisfaction before swooping out of the window.

“Talking to yourself, witch?” Lysander’s sneering voice called down the corridor. I twirled around in shock. “Are you mad with grief already? Plus, to save your blushes from making such an elementary mistake again, there’s no such thing as a hundred and ten percent.”

Lysander marched towards with me with a stiffness and guarded expression that I now recognized for what it was: a mask.

It wasn’t real.

Was Titus monitoring Lysander in this part of the castle near Damelza’s study more closely than elsewhere?

Even so, such coldness from my fae hurt.

When had Lysander become mine?

Prince Willoughby strode at Lysander’ shoulder and Midnight followed behind. For the first time, I realized that they looked like a team, as much as I was with my lovers. They truly cared for each other.

Prince Willoughby sought out my gaze. His sky-blue eyes that matched his hair, which was snatched back by curling ribbons, were sharp with predatory danger like he was battling to control his deadly power. I didn’t fear him for that because I understood the struggle only too well. The glimmering royal blue silk, which was cursed by his brother, wound around him tighter than I’d ever seen it.

How could he breathe?

I paced in front of Lysander, cupping my hands in front of his nose. “Look, here’s my teacup of care. My word, it’s empty.”

To my surprise, Lysander’s guilty gaze met mine. “My apologies. One…doesn’t handle loss well.”

My expression gentled. “That makes two of us.”

“Three,” Willoughby said, softly. When his hands clasped around mine, caressing along their backs, my skin tingled. “What happened to the whipping boy and professor isn’t worthy. We shall make it right.”

I blinked in confusion. Bonding over Fox’s punishment certainly hadn’t been part of my win over the Princes plan, but I was adaptable.

Was their outrage enough for them to rebel even against their own families and kingdoms?

“Four,” Midnight murmured.

Midnight hunched his shoulders like he expected Lysander to snap at him to silence his tongue, insolent whipping boy.

Perhaps, a week ago he would’ve done. Yet now, Lysander stiffened but he didn’t threaten punishment.

Ah, progress.

Midnight was as beautiful — and naked — as ever. I studied the way that his dark hair fell in waves over his pale skin to his waist. Stars above, did he realize what a perfect frame his hair created for his pretty prick?

Surely, if he’d been carved from marble, his creator would’ve fallen in love with him.

How easy it’d be to love this gentle vampire.

By the anguish in his charcoal eyes, I was certain that Midnight adored Fox. Yet why was he shooting me such quick glances from underneath his eyelashes, as an adorable blush spread across his cheeks?

Then I noticed the way that his ash wings were folded back in a system of leather straps, and I blanched.

Damelza had broken his wings with a hex to punish the Princes for losing the Rebel Cup to the Immortals.

Sweet Hecate, the way that he’d screamed…

How could Damelza not have allowed Willoughby to heal him?

I reached out, stroking Midnight’s cheek, and his eyes widened. “On my word as a witch, I wish that I could’ve saved your wings.”

“My royal personage told you that I was fighting for Midnight’s wings more than once,” Lysander’s voice was cold and hard, “but you wished to save your mage. One shan’t allow that to have been for nothing now because you failed a mission.” Lysander marched to the study door; he vibrated with anger. “Being a Prince means that I take precedence.”

Not on my witchy behind.

When Lysander raised his fist to knock, I melted my legs to mist and floated next to him, brushing his hand out of the way. He hissed in outrage. I rapped on the door loudly enough to wake, well, the dead.

Lysander’s eyes flashed, and I smirked.

When he raised his hand again, I clasped mine around his.

I didn’t think so.

My mists wrapped around Lysander, yanking him back and forth. Willoughby sighed, attempting to dive between us, as Midnight sided with me. The accidental press of his prick, as it hardened from the friction of our scuffle, was pleasant against my hip.

Actually, this was all surprisingly stimulating and exactly what I needed.

Then the door fell open, and we tumbled in a heap into the study.

Haunting, mesmerizing music wound through the study like a victory song. It was the type of popular music that Bask and I should’ve stripped and made sweet love to, but it’d be forever spoiled by the image of Damelza dancing to it like she commanded each note to play.

Damelza swayed and twirled around her glittering, obsidian desk that was cobbled with crows’ skulls, clutching a goblet of blood-red wine.

At least, I hoped that it was wine and not blood.

I’d never seen Damelza like this. She looked relaxed and contented.

Had mother ever allowed herself to be laid back when she’d been alone or with her husband? I’d rarely seen her, apart from when she’d visit me in the Bird Turret and then it’d been to inspect my work (and then beat Bryon for my mistakes).

Did everyone have two sides to them? It was a startling thought.

I scrunched up my nose at the stench of garlic that wafted from the shrine of Hecate, which’d been built under the narrow window. On the far wall, a RA crest sparkled along with the scrolling:

Rebel Academy – Blessing the Wicked Since 1870

Lysander struggled out of our tangle on the floor, dragging Willoughby and Midnight after him. He smoothed his uniform with efficient motions and tidied Willoughby’s hair, before standing at parade rest in front of the desk. Midnight dropped to his knees, ducking his head.

I snorted, sprawling on the floor. Damelza licked the wine from her lips.

So, this was how the House of Crows celebrated murdering mages and outwitting their ancestors.

Ah, family.

My eyes narrowed, and my magic sparkled.

Damelza paused mid-swing of her hips, swallowing her mouthful of wine. Instantly, the music fell silent.

Lysander fidgeted, clearing his throat. I couldn’t miss the yearning look that he cast at the Rebel Cup, which was on the desk. The obsidian trophy was in the shape of a dragon. The dragon's tail wound around the cup and back into its mouth.

As a child, I'd witnessed the Cup be presented to the winners of the first week of term every year at the end of the Dragon Polo Tournament. I'd watched in wonder, the way in which the families and professors would look on the winning team with pride. The first time, I hadn’t recognized the emotion, until Byron had explained it to me with a sad smile. No one ever looked at the beautiful boys who I watched from my window like that.

The Princes had won the Cup for the last decade. Had Lysander lived for those fleeting moments of pride from his guardian?

Yet this year, the Immortals had won.

Lysander was right: we'd denied the Princes and broken Midnight's wings in order to save Fox's life. I'd never regret it. But by Hecate, I wouldn't allow it to be for nothing.

I surged up, stalking to stand next to Willoughby. His eyes were frosty pools, as he nodded at me, but his lips curled into a smile. My stomach fluttered, and my neck was suddenly hot.

Frogs and toads, I understood why the Rebels worked so hard to experience pride now.

"You're a cold, heartless Principal," the words tumbled out of my mouth, but no speech could've been more heartfelt, "who cares for nothing but using her students to better the position of her House. Who kisses the feet of her patron and binds her Rebels for him like sacrifices, waiting for the knife—"

Lysander stared at me. "One doesn't believe that a successful softening up strategy," he muttered.

My lips pinched. "I have no intention of softening the truth. Our Principal wouldn't believe me if I did." Damelza cast me a calculating look, before tipping her goblet at me in acknowledgment. "In the witching heavens, I no longer look for kindness but I'd strike a dea—"

Willoughby slammed his hand over my mouth.

"One wishes to buy the lives of the professor and whipping boy." Lysander tilted up his chin. If I hadn't been listening closely to him in shock beneath the warm gag of Willoughby's palm (I couldn't get myself to bite the pale softness of his skin), I'd have miss the slight waver in his voice. This was important to him. "One has sufficient funds in my private account. It’s my personal inheritance, after my parents’ deaths. Take it all, if you desire."

He'd give up everything that he possessed for Fox and Ezekiel?

I stopped squirming, and my breath misted against Willoughby's palm. His other hand rested against the hollow of my back.

The Immortals believed that the Princes were pampered brats, who were spoiled with luxuries. I'd disliked Lysander merely because he was a fae prince like Titus. Yet even though he'd been raised by Titus, Lysander had stormed down to the study to give up all his money to save the man who I loved, and I hadn't even had to ask him.

Would he have told me what he'd given up?

Damelza's smile was sharp. "Princes: they always believe that everything can be bought and sold. Walling up mages is..." She tapped the goblet with her long nails, and her expression became dreamy. "...priceless."

I snarled, wrenching away from Willoughby and leaping over the desk. My black mists swirled around Damelza, knocking the goblet out of her hands. She wailed, as it smashed across her desk, spilling blood-red wine across her papers and piles of books.

My smile was dark and vicious. Take that, witchy bitch.

Had her work been priceless too? I could always hope.

"Those were the files for the tournament!" Damelza screeched. "Do you have no idea how much organization it takes to bring in royalty from across different kingdoms to our academy and entertain them?"

"Sorry, but not sorry," I growled.

Damelza's eyes glittered pink. Then she clicked her fingers.

Willoughby and Lysander howled, clutching their hands and falling to their knees. Midnight whimpered, pressing his forehead to the floor like that would control the pain.

Their brands.

Just like the Immortals who were branded by the Hecate statue in the courtyard with an I, and the whipping boys with an R, the Princes had a P branded to them when they were sorted into their Wing of the Academy. In a way, it was how messages were sent to the students.

It appeared that Damelza wished to send a message now to me.

Startled, I stared between Damelza and the Princes.

“Sorry, but not sorry.” Damelza's shawl of feathers ruffled up, as she pressed me against the desk. "I prefer to rely on more liberal methods of control like my school mottoes and a simple system of punishment and reward. But do you know who you remind me of?"

I blinked. "It's your mother, isn't it? Is that why we have such a complicated relationship? Was she awfully critical because truly I can relate?"

"A mage,” Damelza hissed. “And they need a more direct...stricter...approach. You don't respect me but perhaps, you should realize that I'm in control. The brands do more than link to the wards, ensuring that you students don't leave the grounds." When she leaned closer, her breath gusted across my cheek. "I could kill every single student with a snap of my fingers. So, behave."

My pulse thrashed in my ears.

Sweet Hecate, no...

Every moment that the Membership existed, linking the wards and brands, the Rebels — all of them — were at risk of death. I shuddered because it was like gunpowder had been tied to them, and Damelza could light the fuse with a thought.

She'd been playing with us.

Every trial and game to save our lives had been part of her academy's traditions, but in truth, she could've killed the Rebels.

While the Membership remained, she could still kill them.

I glanced over my shoulder at the Princes, as they writhed in agony on the floor. Lysander clutched Midnight's hand, comforting him.

Why did that make me feel even worse?

"Stop it," I whispered.

"When will you start acting like a witch?" Damelza demanded.

"When will you stop hurting the Rebels?"

Damelza snatched me by the hair, pushing me into the red leather chair behind the desk. I'd desired to be seated in Henrietta's throne of power (or at least, that's how I'd imagined it and the leather was certainly as soft as a baby's bottom like I'd always hoped that it would be), but not like this.

"Witches should be leading this coven and not playing house for mages. We're your family. Perhaps, I should've included a class on Magical Heritage and Family Trees." Damelza's nails bit into my shoulder, as she held me down. "My daughter is far from a delight, but even she knows her rightful place. What have you done as Prefect?"

"I won the Rebel Cup.”

"A point to you." She clicked her fingers, and to my relief, the Princes stopped howling in pain. Willoughby patted Lysander's back, before hauling him to his feet, and Midnight pushed himself shakily back to kneel. "It's a pity that you're tainted by obsessive love. Men are breeding stock and pleasure toys like the incubus with the Duchess." Willoughby stiffened; his jaw clenched. "But you died for that unnatural shimage and now here you are, risking yourself for another."

"Oh now," I fluttered my eyelashes, "you're making me blush."

Lysander chuckled. It was deep, rich, and beautiful. I couldn't help the shiver.

Damelza's expression soured. "The answer to both of you is no: I won't let either Professor Ezekiel or the mage out."

I sat up straighter. "Won't rather than can't…?"

I had her.

Her cheek twitched. "Surely, you know that the spell means the wall won't open for the enemy mage once it's sealed, even if I wanted it to and I truly, deeply don't."

"She's playing with words," Willoughby's voice was hard. "My brother was talented at that."

Damelza's smile was sly. "Perhaps, you're not as stupid a monster as your brother says, Crush." Willoughby looked away, and ice tinged the ends of his hair. The temperature in the room became chilly, and my breath ghosted in front of me in mists. "It may be possible for the original witch who cast the spell to open the wall if the mage was never an enemy to witches. After all, it was meant for the punishment of prisoners in the war or as a way to protect our ancestors. If the spell detects that the mage isn't an enemy..."

"Robin wasn't an enemy." My eyes became blurry with tears; I swum in my grief. My guts clenched. If I vomited, I was aiming for Damelza's files. "Mother could've freed him."

The first man who I'd ever loved hadn't needed to die within the walls of the castle. He'd been so gentle that he'd transform into a squirrel and play with the butterflies beneath the trees in the Dead Wood. He'd wouldn't even complain, when I'd cuddle him in his Mr Tailsy form, wrapping his tail around me.

He'd been good, and he'd died for a war that he'd never been part of.

"The Immortals’ whipping boy isn't an enemy to witches," Lysander asserted with haughty confidence. He glanced at me, and there was a surprising amount of understanding in the way that he explained, "As dangerous as it is for him, he's in love with his natural enemy."

Damelza prowled to the shrine, running her fingers across it. "Well, all that remains is our deal."

"Deal?" Lysander and I chorused at the same time.

Damelza arched her brow. "You did come in here expecting to bargain...? I'll have to stagger on with the disappointment that Crown believed that I could be bought, but it’ll be a crushing blow if you both thought that I wouldn’t bargain. All magic must be in balance, but never with money. Who wants to put their hand up to take their place in the walls?"

My head jerked back, and my pink exploded in shocked sparks. Lysander's face was a still mask, however, like he'd been expecting this all along.

Midnight raised his head, looking at me with dark eyes. "I offer my life for my king's. Please accept it, my queen."

On Hecate's tit, such an intensity of love and longing...

But I'd never take another's life. The balance of magic could swivel on my broomstick.

"Hush," Lysander was ashen, as his fingers carded compulsively through Midnight's hair, "certainly not. My royal self demands that honor."

I stared at him in shock. He'd die to save an Immortal?

Before I could open my mouth to tell him that he wouldn't be alone because I'd be with him, Willoughby said in an ethereal voice that shook me with its anguish, "I beg to take the second spot. By my ears, the professor has always helped me to control my darker urges and shown me more kindness than I deserve. I won't allow an innocent to die, when I'm...." Even though he didn't say it I heard it: guilty. I'd worried that he wished to die, and I knew that he hated himself. Now he had the chance to truly hurt himself. His hands clenched into fists. "Will that balance now?"

"For the love of Hecate, stop with the balancing. There are no bloody scales." I slammed my hands on the top of the desk with a resounding crack. Owww... I winced. The princes stared at me, wide-eyed. "Fox would kick my behind if I allowed his favorite elf and well, I'm pretty certain his secret fae crush," Lysander swallowed, flushing, "to die in his place. If you wish to bargain, how about double or nothing? There's still the tournament. How about you set some stakes on that for your amusement?"

Damelza swept closer. "See, it just took some motivation and already you're thinking more like a witch.”

“I’m a wicked witch,” I gritted out. “I’m quite certain that what you crave isn’t more skeletons in your wall but my behind cast out.”

“I’m listening.”

“If the Immortals win, then you free both Ezekiel and Fox, and if we lose then…” My knuckles whitened, as I clawed the desk. “They don’t escape the walls, and I quietly return to Hecate’s Tree.”

I fought to hide the tremors. If I’d been turned a little crazy by over a hundred years trapped in the woods, returning there would break me.

But my lover would be alive.

Damelza’s grin was slow and predatory. “I do adore a compromise. Yet what’s to stop the Princes throwing the tournament?”

She eyed the Princes.

Lysander sniffed. “One would never lower oneself to—"

“If I wanted to listen to lies, I wouldn’t have executed the mage.” When I bristled, Damelza waved her hand in the air. “Possibly executed him. I put too much effort into the tournament for it to fail to be a thrilling event for our patron. So, here’s the stakes. If the Princes lose, then Crown will be marked as Dunce for the rest of the year.”

“How’s that a punishment?” I asked.

“Dunce is lower than a whipping boy.” Lysander’s gaze was studiedly blank, but his cheeks were burning. “It’s a mark of shame that I’d never be able to remove from my record.” He winced. “My guardian would be deeply disappointed in me.”

Damelza snorted. “We haven’t had a public flogging here in a couple of years. It’d liven up the end of the event if Titus disciplined you for our entertainment.”

Lysander turned away his head.

What had I done? To save my Immortals, I had to destroy the Princes.

Yet I loved them too.

“Didn’t you receive the ability to heal through your mother?” Damelza looked at Willoughby with pretend innocence.

Willougby’s despairing gaze met mine, before becoming steely. “In this prison, it’s all I have of her.”

“Then it’s what I’ll take if you don’t try to win. I had considered allowing you to heal Curse’s wings tonight, what a shame if you lose that opportunity.” When Damelza stalked closer to the Princes, I had to force myself not to shoot my magic at her. Only the memory of her threat to kill all the Rebels through the brands kept me back. She was stealing everything from them. “For our vampire…” Damelza tilted her head. “I’ve been longing to try out a Sleep Deprivation Hex.”

Midnight gasped, squeezing shut his eyes and curling his arms around himself.

“No,” Lysander snarled, ducking to cover Midnight with his wings. “Punish me as you will, but to cast such a hex is to condemn my whipping boy to a slow and painful death. No one can survive without sleep.”

“Thank you for permission to punish my own students,” Damelza replied, drily. “It rather sounds to me like you’d better ride your dragons hard then. After all, your families shall be watching.”

I studied the Princes’ pale faces and the way that Willoughby’s eyes became dazed, as if the silk that constricted his body was also now constricting his mind and dragging him deep within himself. I’d witnessed the death of his father in the Memory Theater, and I prayed with everything in me that he wasn’t lost inside that memory.

Were the Princes’ families as dangerous as the academy itself? Had that always been the hidden truth of Rebel Academy?

After all, it was the parents and guardians who signed the Blood Contracts that sentenced the students to their education in this coven-run prison for the bad boys of the supernatural world.

The Princes were as at risk as the Immortals. I had to save and free them. Just as soon as I could persuade them to rebel with us.

Damelza sauntered to the door, swinging it open. The music switched on again, and she hummed to herself with an air of satisfaction.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, go and rest. You need to be sharp for tonight; it’s a deadly game if you don’t concentrate. Remember, you’re representing this academy; I expect your best.” I launched from my chair, but Damelza held up her finger. I stopped, mid-flounce. That ruined my perfectly good dramatic exit. “There’s no backing out of the stakes even if we reverse the spell and…whoops…my muscle-bound Addict Angel and your dishonest mage aren’t alive by the end of tonight. No one’s ever tried to save a mage from inside the walls before. Even I don’t know how long they can survive.”

Chapter Eight

SLEIPNIR

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

In the name of the Valkyries, I couldn't survive another minute...moment...single breath...without Fox.

How had I ever doubted that a monster could love? Yet why had I craved to feel this agony, which was like my heart was being crushed in my chest?

I hunched on the bed in our room in the West Wing with my knees tucked close beneath me. Feverish, I shivered with chills, despite the pink fires that blazed in the braziers. An aroma like bonfires sparking with rich magic wrapped around me.

I'd stripped down to my pants, and my chest was slicked with sweat. My hair hung into my face; it transformed in a rainbow display from aquamarine, to pink, and then red, as my brothers fought to the surface, and I wasn't able to balance the cycle of my emotions. Shimmering sea serpent tattoos coiled around the werewolf tattoos on my arms in a desperate embrace.

It was only in times of extreme distress that my brothers could see and hug each other, which was seriously messed up.

I wouldn't lose control of my monster.

I bit my lip, until I tasted copper blood. Then I bit harder again.

Fox had chosen this.

Hey look, every time I thought that, it didn't become easier.

He'd known what returning without Marcus would mean, and I couldn't help respecting every furry inch of him for it. I'd made an oath to Loki that I'd never cage another shifter, and because of Fox, I hadn't broken it.

I owed Fox both my honor and my word to Loki. And that was everything.

Next to me, Bask shifted in his nest of blankets and satin pillows. Only the top of his silky head poked out, as well as his crocodile plushie, Nile's, snout. Bask had built a wall of pillows around his cocoon of blankets. I'd seen this behavior before, which kind of made me twitch with how wrong it was for an incubus who needed touch to feed (and since we'd all missed breakfast and lunch, we must be hungry), to avoid it.

Bask had done the same thing for weeks after Hector's death. At least, he'd tried too, but I'd had ways to show him that he didn't need to punish himself by denying himself comfort.

Bask had felt even guiltier for Hector's death than I had because he'd loved Hector in that dangerous way of his, which was both innocent and vulnerable.

I didn't care how the Duchess had trained Bask. She could never touch the blinding purity of his Soul. Magenta sensed it, as much as she'd been called by his pleasure.

Where was Magenta?

By the Norns, she'd been gone too long. What if she'd been stolen away as well?

Magenta, hear the son of Loki, I trust you. The veils parted and Fate joined us. I know you'll save my foxy pain in the ass.

I'd always wished for a friend who’d believe in me.

Couldn’t I be that friend for Magenta?

I reached for my guitar, which rested next to the bed, hugging its body like I could clasp Magenta. I ran my thumb down its neck, before strumming across the strings, breathing out. My heartbeat slowed. My music had soothed me for centuries.

Hunted by witches? A guitar ballad. Terrified in a wood? A classical solo. Trapped in caves? Acoustic rock.

Perhaps, in a past life I'd been a bard…?

I grimaced. Omens and runes, I hoped not.

Bards were dicks.

As if in agreement, Mist raised his head and snorted. His mane was red, his fur was aquamarine, but his tail was candyfloss pink, which reflected my own instability. He trembled, curled on the headboard. When he turned his head away from me it was like a kick in the balls.

I strummed Billy Eilish’s epic “No Time to Die”, which wept from my guitar with the lightest of touches; its grief and longing fed my own.

I closed my eyes, softly singing the verse with an added rock twist. I let the song take me over, losing myself in the lyrics.

In the music, there was no struggle between my brothers.

When I sang, I was simply…me.

I clutched my guitar more tightly.

Let the real world just fall away…build the song like cresting waves…drown in this utter peace, until the music stops.

Why does the music always have to stop?

I howled, tossing the guitar to the end of the bed, then I hurled myself across the room, sweeping our schoolbooks off the desks and kicking over the neat piles. The blaziers exploded in furious bursts.

Why should I control the monster? There were enough other monsters roaming this academy.

How dare the witches wrap their cruelties in the package of education?

I twirled around, searching for something else to crush, wreck, break…

“Slippy,” Bask’s voice was shocked and broken; when he peered at me over the top of his blanket cocoon, my chest tightened, “I need you.”

I hesitated, pressing against the wardrobe. The handle dug into my back. Was I what Bask needed right now? Honestly, he needed either Fox to care for or Magenta to adore.

I was the Rebel who didn’t even belong here. I was a hostage victim and not a student.

Bask’s eyes narrowed, and he struggled further out of his nest. “So does Nile.” He turned the plushie to glare at me. “Kiss him sorry.”

Despite myself, my lips curled into a smile. Bask could manipulate a kiss for himself through Nile from anyone. Well, perhaps not from Bacchus. I stalked towards the bed, throwing myself next to Bask.

I kissed Nile’s gleaming tooth (which was his favorite supplicant’s spot). “There. Better?”

Bask smirked, and his eyes gleamed.

Uh-oh…

Bask snatched me by the neck, rolling me underneath him and straddling me with a look of triumph. “Now me.”

Since he was naked, apart from his pink gloves, could I help the way that I groaned and my dick hardened?

I traced my hands down his sides, before settling them on his slim hips. The way that he arched into the touch told me how desperate he was for it. Hel’s tits, I’d have trashed the room before now, if I’d known the thought of all that tidying up was what it’d take to stop him punishing himself.

When he leaned down, I reached up and kissed him with a gentleness that shocked him more than if I’d savaged his lips.

Perhaps, after he’d seen me wreck the room, he’d hoped that I’d wreck him.

My expression darkened. “Fox isn’t Hector.” When Bask attempted to wriggle away from me, I tightened my hold around his hips. “He’s not lost to us. Seriously, it’s not the same. He’s not just a portrait on the wall.”

“Yet.”

“You love me, right?”

Bask’s eyes widened. “With every breath and forever.”

“Then trust me.”

Bask’s expression softened, and he settled against my chest, nuzzling against me.

When my stomach rumbled, he snickered.

I poked him. “Hey, can I help it that I’m starving?”

Bask circled my nipple with his tongue, and it peaked. My eyes fluttered closed. He flicked his tongue across my nub faster, before lightly biting.

Valhalla! I rubbed my crotch against his. Sparks of pleasure skittered up and down my dick like a promise.

“Incubi are delicious.”

“Looks like gods are too,” I gasped.

The sensation of Bask’s smile against my nipple was like joy itself.

I pulled the blanket over our heads. In these moods, I knew that Bask’s nests comforted him, just the same as my music did me. I teased the strands of his hair, as they dipped between his shoulder blades. Finally, I allowed myself to drag him up into a long, slow, and deep kiss.

Incubi were delicious.

I devoured his coco and almond lips. I could live on their taste forever because he was mine.

We both moaned at the same time.

“Sweet Hecate, a sex monster appears to have taken over Bask’s nest. I’ll warn you now that he’s fiercely protective of his pillows,” Magenta’s amused but muffled voice broke into the darkness.

Bask and I threw the blanket off at the same time, blinking in the light.

I didn’t even bother to smooth down my hair (even though I knew by Magenta’s grin that my hair was messier than Fox’s curls when he awoke in the morning). “Where is he?”

Well, that was one way to sober a witch.

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say…

“You’re just hiding Mr. Fierce in your skirts, right?” Bask demanded, hopefully.

“The witch who I’m ashamed to call my descendant wouldn’t free Fox or the professor.” Magenta hugged her arms around herself.

“May she be cursed to always read the Rebel Mottoes in the voice of SpongeBob SquarePants,” Bask hissed.

Wow, that was some serious cursing.

Why wasn’t I smashing the wardrobe or hurling the desks against the wall? Only now that Magenta was here and needed me, it was easier to control Fenrir’s destructive urges.

Magenta avoided my gaze. “I tried.”

I vaulted off the bed, sweeping her into my arms and dragging her head to rest on my chest. The scent of the wild woods wound around me, calming my emotions and my brothers, until my hair settled to aquamarine.

For the first time in hours, I could think clearly.

“I know.” I stroked Magenta’s hair.

“We’ll win the tournament, see,” Bask added, even though his voice trembled, “and our whipping boy will be fine.”

“Then our Princes won’t.” Magenta raised her head to look at me. Our Princes? Magenta darted her tongue across her lips. “The Princes and I made a deal with Damelza. You see, I rather underestimated the nobility of certain fae princes.”

Bask gasped, clutching the sheets that’d pooled in his lap; his dick wilted in dismay. “The Prince must’ve cast a Delusional Hex or dosed her with Fae Kink Potion.”

“He did nothing of the sort, although I rather like the sound of that potion.” Magenta licked her lips again. “In fact, all of the Princes showed up at the study to beg for the freedom of both Immortal and Professor.”

“Perhaps, they were hit with a Delusional Hex,” I scoffed.

Magenta tapped my nose with her finger. “I believe that we’ve been too quick to dismiss their finer merits and pounce on their flaws. Just as we’ve been too slow to look for the reasons behind their behavior.” Her gaze became troubled. “I would’ve blamed Lysander for so much, when he was guilty of nothing but being born a fae prince. Despite that, he offered everything he had to save the man who I love and now…”

Her eyes gleamed with tears, and mine widened.

“What sort of deal did you make?” I demanded.

Fenrir snarled, clawing to escape.

We were screwed.

“Double or nothing. If we win the Tournament, then Fox will be freed. But if we lose, then I’ll be cast back into the tree,” Magenta admitted. What could I say? I trusted her. This way, either both were saved or both were lost. That was a chaos moment. She tilted her head, considering me like she’d expected me to explode in fury at her choice (and perhaps punch a wall because hey, there was precedence). Her soft smile when I didn’t was the best reward. “But it’ll cost the Princes too if they lose.”

“Their pretty silk uniforms…?”

“Don’t you think that they can be hurt too?”

I flushed.

“Pet me,” Bask demanded.

How had I forgotten that he was abandoned alone on the bed?

He shook, staring at us with impossibly wide, ruby eyes.

It’d meant everything to him to free Magenta, and I wouldn’t let anything take that away from him.

I swept Magenta into a bridal carry, and she let out a surprised, delighted laugh. Her arms looped around my neck. I carried her to the bed, before settling with her next to Bask, so that she was half way in both our laps, shared between us. Instantly, Bask stroked along her thigh, like he needed to pet her.

Then he leaned in to kiss her tenderly. “We’ll win.”

She gave a determined nod.

Then my lovers and I jumped at the sharp rat-a-tat on the door. Magenta’s arms tightened around my neck.

Who on Odin’s hairy balls was that?

Bacchus stalked in without any concern for our privacy. It didn’t matter if us Immortals were naked or screwing. Juni and Damelza made a point of not coming to this part of the castle, but instead, summoned us through the brands.

My brow creased.

The rat-a-tat was more hesitant this time.

My lovers and I exchanged glances. Then Magenta slipped off my lap to stand in front of Bask and me protectively. I raised my eyebrow. Huh, no one but dad had ever shielded me before, and I was careful to hold inside the grin that she thought that I needed it.

Magenta's power was a serious turn-on. She radiated strength, smarts, and kindness. It made my balls ache in a good way.

Bask pouted that his petting companion had been taken away from him. "Go away if it pleases you," he called, "we're studying."

Silence, as if the person outside was considering this.

"This could be a good opportunity for you to learn the lesson about sharing," Magenta whispered.

I bristled. How did she know who was visiting us?

"I'd be honoured to...study...with you," Willoughby's muffled voice called back through the door.

I rolled my eyes. I was desperate for a mage, and I'd conjured an elf instead. Fate had a screwed sense of humor.

Magenta's eyes, however, lit up with such excitement that something twisted inside me. She craved this, and I wasn't such an asshole that I'd deny her a love that met her needs. The Ice Prince suited her own icy soul.

It didn't hurt that Willoughby had lean limbs that'd feel awesome wrapped around my hips as I pounded into him, a perfect voice to duet with, and the prettiest hair that I'd ever seen on a guy.

Hey, he had possibilities.

I sauntered to the door, swinging it open.

Willoughby's head was ducked, and his hair hung across his face. He blinked like he hadn't expected us to open the door. The unguarded softness made him look adorable, before he raised his head, shifting back into the stance of predatory danger, which I was used to. I shivered; I could come to love both sides.

He glanced over my shoulder at Magenta and smiled.

I rested against the door frame, crossing my arms. "Why didn't you just barge in?"

He shot me an affronted look. "Your wing is warded against Princes, just as mine is warded against you Immortals. I can’t enter without permission. Plus, Light Elves are raised with manners."

"Of course, The Pointy Ears Book of Formal Manners," Bask smirked

Willoughby arched his brow. "Have you forgotten how perfectly you fitted over my lap and the hot slap of my hand across your behind?"

Bask blushed, but his dick hardened, tenting under the sheets and betraying his true feelings about the subject of being over Willoughby's knee again. By Willoughby's knowing look, he'd guessed the effect of his words.

I slammed my hand against the door frame, and Willoughby's expression became less certain. "So, we're kind of busy here..."

He reached behind him to pick up a large wicker picnic basket. He swung it between us like an offering. His gaze still had that lost look around the edges but like he was struggling to remain present with us.

"You missed breakfast and lunch. I thought..."

I studied the basket, remembering the tea towel that Fox had been forced to use for our picnic in the Dead Wood. Most of the time, Immortals were starved on barely edible food, while the Princes ate luxury food parcels that were sent by Titus. Fox had created something that he called crisp sandwiches for us.

Why had I mocked him when he'd been trying his best?

I'd take Fox's lovingly made crisp sandwiches over the Prince's casual luxury any time.

I knocked away the basket, and Willoughby's eyes widened with shock. "We're not hungry."

Behind me, however, Magenta let out a squeal of delight. "Did you bring cucumber sandwiches, scones, pies with meat fillings, and those little cakes with cream inside?" My stomach rumbled: traitor. She clapped her hands, bouncing on her toes. "Did you remember the tea?"

Willoughby’s lips quirked. "My favorite blend."

Magenta's sigh was orgasmic and made my dick twitch. Willoughby's uniform was so tight that it didn't hide how hard he was either.

He eyed me. "Do I now have permission to enter?"

"Yeah, come on. It'd take a braver man than me to get between Magenta and her tea." It felt weird to share a private smile with Willoughby.

I watched, as he settled the basket on the floor, and Magenta eagerly curled next to it. Bask scrambled out of bed and didn't even pause to throw on his pants.

Bask’s immodesty was one of his most endearing qualities. But then, if I was that beautiful, I'd also stroll around shaking my naked ass.

Bask winced, however, at the freeze of the polished stone on the soles of his feet. He hated the cold.

Before Bask could sit down, Willoughby dragged a blanket off the bed and spread it on the floor. Magenta sprawled on the blanket, and Bask winked at Willoughby in thanks, before sitting down cross-legged.

"Naked picnics were all the rage in the incubi harem," Bask said. "Here's the thing of it, they often include other fun games..."

"Color me surprised," I growled, staking my position next to Magenta.

Magenta ran her hand down my leg at the same time as holding her hand out to Willoughby.

Willoughby knelt next to the basket. He took Magenta's hand but only to raise the back of it to his lips and gently kiss it. Her breath hitched.

Only the day before, Willoughby had sat with us beside the lake, before taking Bask over his lap. After all, it'd been part of our plan to win him to the side of the Immortals in order to break the spell within the Membership and free us from the wards. The night before that, Magenta had screwed Willoughby and slept in his arms. The way that he'd possessed her alone that night... disturbed me.

Did Magenta love me in the same way? It was like they were kindred spirits who understood each other.

But what was I?

Love me, Valhalla, love me.

Yet this felt different…like a date.

Giants and trolls, was this a date?

When I spluttered with laughter before I could stop myself, Magenta shot me a we're all crazy here but that just makes us awesome look.

Willoughby probably called it something romantic like courting. Okay then, I’d never been courted before, and I'd swear on the Runes that Bask hadn't been either.

Time to enjoy this.

"Show us what you've got," I challenged.

Willoughby flipped open the basket, before laying out a feast of sandwiches, cakes, and chocolates on delicate plates.

Was I drooling?

Bask snatched a chocolate cupcake and stuffed it in his face like he was scared that the food was only a mirage. Then he did a thumbs up.

When Willoughby laid out silk napkins like we were at a dinner party for royalty, I snorted.

Magenta nodded, on the other hand, approvingly. "At last, someone who understands proper picnic etiquette. I was afraid that such things had been forgotten in this age to be replaced by a bizarre casualness of attire."

She stared at Bask and me pointedly.

I glanced down at my bare chest. "What?"

Bask ran his hand down his own chest, tweaking his nipple. "Whoops, did I mix up black tie with nudist on the invitation again?"

Willoughby laughed, low and musical. When he held out a plate of beef sandwiches, I snatched one and devoured its salty goodness.

Wow, that was good.

Was there a hint of horseradish in that or...? Frigg's tits, my stomach was easily won over.

I licked away the last crumbs. "This is food from the Princes' special larder, right? The one that's warded and locked with the dickish message KEEP OUT, PRINCES ONLY. THAT MEANS YOU, IMMORTALS."

Willoughby placed down the plate. "The academy's patron, Titus, sends it magically from the fae Court. But before you believe that we're treated every day, the food's a privilege that must be earned and losing it is one of the most common punishments. Also, effective. I saved up my Privilege Points because…" He waved at the feast in front of us, and the tips of his ears reddened, which was cute. "...I wished to share this with you."

Bask's eyes flared and all of a sudden, he was the predator.

He crawled with a seductive swing of his hips across the blanket to Willoughby, before stroking his gloved hand down Willoughby’s cheek and murmuring against his lips, "I accept your tribute, and the answer is yes."

Willoughby's eyes widened, and the breath caught in his throat. Then his arms were clasped around Bask's waist, hauling him onto his lap: claiming him. Bask snuggled closer to him.

Was that some kind of unofficial bonding?

My hands clenched on my lap. "You don't have to buy us."

"Slippy," Bask gasped.

I wished that I could take it back as soon as I saw the desperate hurt in Willoughby's eyes.

"Isn't this what friends do?" Willoughby said, quietly. "If I've mistaken my bounds...if I'm not your f-friend..."

I hated how he stumbled, forcing himself to get out the words. Guilt squirmed in my guts.

"You are," Magenta insisted.

"Hey, I never had a friend before Rebel Academy." Why was this so hard to explain? It looked like sharing was a lesson that I still needed to learn because it'd been as easy as breathing between us Immortals, but the Princes deserved me to give them an equal chance. "As the son of Loki, I've had more lovers than Fox has told lies, but no one who I loved, apart from dad. I'm new at all this caring. So, I'm sorry, right? Let's be pals."

Willoughby nodded, picking at a fraying thread on the sheet, unraveling it. "My brother adored picnics when he was young. I only ever took him with me so that we could adventure into the woods. I'd sneak him away from his tutors in the summer. Darby struggled with their strictness and at least I could distract him for awhile..." Was this the same younger brother who tortured him with his cursed silk uniform? Willoughby sounded like he loved him in the same way that I did my brothers, but Darby hurt him in return. What an asshole. "I merely wished to distract you in the same way because I can hardly bear that I've been forbidden to heal Midnight's wings until after the tournament, just as I'm certain that you can't bear..."

Fox.

The unsaid word hung between us, ghostly.

"So, distraction." Willoughby lifted out a porcelain tea cup that was decorated with a black stallion, which already brimmed with hot tea. I wanted one of these magic picnic baskets. The tea’s strong scent of fresh earthiness was like grasses on a mountainside. "My special blend."

Magenta gave another of her orgasmic sighs, before taking the cup like it was Willoughby's heart. I studied her lips caressing the cup, before she sipped, and then the long line of her throat as she swallowed.

Delicious.

Willoughby's eyes were glassy, and his pupils were dilated. He watched Magenta like if she rejected his tea, he'd be crushed.

"Perfect," Magenta breathed. "Thank you. You've no idea how much I've been dying for a truly decent cup of tea."

Willoughby lit up like she'd told him that he was her ideal match. Wait, was that like Victorian speak for that?

She was also my perfect match.

When she took her next sip, I captured her mouth with mine. She gasped in surprise, and the tea passed between our mouths. I forced myself not to close my eyes, despite the shocking intimacy, as I swallowed. Then I chased the taste of the tea with my tongue, and she did the same, warring for dominance.

When I pulled back, she looked dazed.

"You've done enough dying." I traced over the beautiful horse on the cup. "So, you have a thing for ponies?"

Willoughby's hair tinged with ice, and his eyes became frosty. "Stallions." I grimaced. No kink shaming, but that wasn't my thing. "I birthed and raised two stallions. Thunder and Lightning were brave and loyal."

I winced at the were. "Sorry for being a dick. I had a wolf cub; her parents were murdered by witches." Why had I told him that? I never told anyone about my past. "But she wasn't a pet because she deserved to be free."

Willoughby nodded, and the ice melted from his hair; Bask shivered as it dripped onto his shoulders. "I've come to the same understanding."

I bit my lip. I didn't trust Willoughby like Magenta, but he was part of this. He risked punishment every moment that he chose Immortals over Princes. Didn't he deserve to at least know about the Membership?

I pushed myself up, swaggering to the wall at the back of the bedroom. "The Membership," I announced to trigger the magical spell.

Willoughby straightened, and Bask wriggled around in his arms, until he was straddling him. He ground down, rubbing his dick against Willoughby’s, who groaned.

Then Bask pressed their foreheads together. "If you desire it, I can heal Midnight. You offer us your tribute, but we can offer you help as well. I love those who I claim, and I'm claiming you. You're mine now."

Willoughby's longing gaze flicked to Magenta's.

Her smile was tender. "I’ve already claimed you. I believe that our rude god is attempting to show you that he’s claiming you too…in his own way.”

Bask snickered.

Yeah, she had a point.

The wall opened, and a board that curled with the RA emblem and neon pink writing slotted out:

REBEL ACADEMY MEMBERSHIP

RANDOMS

Confess - Whipping Boy

Curse - Whipping Boy

IMMORTALS

Crow - Prefect

Crave

Crush

Sleipnir

PRINCES

Crown – Prefect

"Surely this is a mistake?" Willoughby muttered. "You're teasing the stupid elf?"

Magenta placed down her tea (with serious reluctance), before leaning forward to grip Willoughby by the chin. Then she kissed him with a passion that caught him off guard. Bask wrapped his legs around him, holding him still for Magenta's wicked kiss.

When she drew back, they were both panting.

"Did that feel like a mistake or teasing?” She demanded.

Willoughby glanced down at his hard dick, which must be painful trapped in his uniform. "Possibly teasing..." He ran his finger through a cake's cream filling, before smoothing it along Magenta's jaw. She shivered, as he licked it off with serious dedication.

There were definite possibilities with that tongue.

Like a professor (and by the Norns, I'd make a hot professor), I tapped the board. "You're here because you belong with us. Can you help us win over Lysander?"

"You don't need my help for that," Willoughby managed, through his feathered kisses and licks down Magenta's neck, "you already have him, if you only knew it."

If that was true, then it meant that Midnight needed to be our focus.

Yet in a couple of hours, I had to fly in the Dragon Polo Tournament to save both Magenta and Fox. Even though I knew a secret code word to persuade the dragons to my side, the Princes had never lost.

What were declarations of love and friendship, when by the end of the night, I could lose my two lovers forever?

Chapter Nine

SLEIPNIR

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

I marched towards the huge dragon stables. Their barred stalls were like prison cells. On the runes, Marcus' brothers were students just like us. The only difference was that they were treated like the monster I felt inside.

I reached for my pocket and the reassuring feel of Mist curling around my fingers, only to remember that I’d left him behind on my bed. He’d pawed the sheets, snorting flames in protest. But I’d be flying high above the academy tonight, and Lysander played dirty. Dragon Polo was dangerous, especially when your opposing team were Princes. Mist would have to suck it up: I’d protect him, at least.

Snowflakes twirled from the night-time sky like they were dancing to a silent song that played only for them. The stars were lost beneath the shrouds of clouds; the moon struggled to shine on Rebel Academy.

I slipped on slushy snow, cussing.

Magenta's curse was melting along with the wards. But not fast enough to keep Fox safe.

Valhalla! Melt faster, faster, faster...

I growled, shaking my hair to transform it to cinnamon red. Then I broke into a sprint, stumbling on the ice but not caring.

Faster, faster, faster.

My heart thud — thud — thudded, until my chest ached.

Fast, faster, faster.

My pulse thrashed in my ears.

Faster, faster, faster.

My breaths were ragged and shallow, gusting out ghostly in the cold. I skidded around the corner of the stalls. My lungs burned.

Fox had asked us to breathe for him. If I only kept dragging oxygen into lungs would that mean he'd live?

Fates, hear me, I offer up my breath for my lover...

I slammed my palm against the side of the stables. The bright pain focused me.

Why was love such agony?

Yet I knew that whatever happened tonight, I'd never wish away this wicked love, which made me give up my Soul for another. It burned more brightly than anything in my centuries of life.

It was as beautiful as a chaos moment, and I desired it just as greatly.

I straightened my shoulders. I wouldn't fail my lovers or this...thing...that I found so hard to voice.

Did Magenta and Bask know that I felt it for them?

Did Fox?

When I glanced around, the yard was empty.

Perfect: no Professor Ambrose.

I prowled into the yard, scrunching my nose against the stinging smoke. I pulled my woolen coat more closely around myself against the cold. Then I narrowed my eyes at the rows of gleaming bridles, saddles, and spurs. I refused to use those torture devices on another shifter, but the asshole princes never missed an opportunity to dominate.

Well, today I had a secret that had nothing to do with conquering but everything to do with cooperation. Lysander would wish that he hadn't been such a fae jerk to Marcus. This was why I'd slipped out early before the tournament to secretly chat to Rayn.

I sauntered to a barred stall. "Hey, Rayn, petting time." Golden eyes peered back at me from the darkness. "Look, I know I'm not epic at petting like Bask but give me a chance. Bask says that my massages are a godly talent."

I held out my hand encouragingly.

Rayn snorted like laughter. Then he shifted closer to the front of the stall with an awkward shuffle of his bat-like yellow wings. I clenched my jaw; it must hurt him to be cramped in the small space. Ethereal magic fluttered around him. He pushed his golden head against my hand and then like he'd noticed my injured palm, he nuzzled against it in a dragon's kiss.

Yeah, he was seriously a dangerous beast who deserved to be collared.

"It was my own dickish fault." I wiggled my fingers. "I get kind of stressed and then... well you know how brothers are, right?" Rayn blinked in understanding. "You need and love them, Bor’s balls, they're your world. You're nothing without them, but no one fights with you in the same way. Yet if it wasn't for them, you wouldn’t be whole." I sighed, and Rayn considered me. "Was I an asshole to break your brother's collar if I couldn't free every one of you? Was it selfish of me to play the hero, when all I did was separate you?"

I was shocked by the sudden burst of magic, which wrapped around me, yanking me into the stall door.

Rayn wildly shook his head.

"Hey, calm down," I soothed like he was a skittish stallion. "By the Valkyries, I get it. If someone had my dad and me locked up, and offered to free only my dad, then I wouldn’t hesitate to take that deal. You don't want Marcus trapped again, right?"

Flames flickered from Rayn in relief.

"Marcus is lucky. You're a good brother. Loyal." Not like his asshole cousin, Lash, I didn't say. Marcus needed his other brothers back with him in Court, however, before his entire kingdom burned in civil war. "Damelza is determined to tame us Rebels like she's collared you. The families watching the tournament today are here to see that the students are broken, which makes them more dangerous than the witches." I stroked Rayn and realized that we were comforting each other. I licked the snowflakes off my lips, before lowering my voice. "Yellow orchid."

Rayn reared back. His gaze was suddenly sharp. I hoped that this wasn't the point I became a barbecued god.

"Marcus told us that you'd fly willingly for us. Look, we have a plan to free everybody but we must win tonight. You don't want us to ride you and honestly, we don't want to ride you either. But if we don't, everything's screwed."

Rayn's eyes sparkled with a moment of clear understanding, before nuzzling against my hand in agreement.

My breath hitched in relief, and I patted his snout in thanks. "You won't be alone. I'm a shifter too. Seriously, I'd never ask you to do something that I didn't have the courage to do myself. Trolls tits, Dad would be ashamed of me if I didn't treat you as an equal and show the witches and parents up as prejudiced dicks." My lips curled into a smile. "Let's call this my Shifter Protest."

I didn't add that it'd wreck me to expose my monster to an audience. If it saved my lovers, however, then I'd break myself.

All of a sudden, I jumped at Disney’s sweeping, yearning "When You Wish Upon a Star", which played above my head.

Was my magical wish being granted? Was this a sign? Was...Ambrose's Disney obsessed son Ty opening his window above the stable and waving to me shyly from behind his drapes?

I couldn't help the barked laugh. Well screw me to Ragnarok, I must be desperate for a miracle.

I was the one who'd make my own magic.

I stepped into the middle of the yard, waving back at Ty. He was a fae boy with jade eyes and golden hair that curled behind his ears. He wore a plain coat and leggings that looked simply another type of uniform. Unlike other fae, however, he didn't have wings. Was that why he'd been imprisoned here with Ambrose? He was as much a prisoner as the dragons. Ambrose was punished, if the witches discovered that Ty had been seen.

Why would a child have to be hidden? But then, Fox had been shut away in an attic simply because he was a mage.

No wonder the kid was desperate for company.

Delighted, Ty bit his lip, edging closer on the window sill. My eyes widened.

"Woah, short stuff, let's not have you taking another tumble. Your dad can be one scary..." I caught the asshole, quickly changing it, "...professor. I'm not up for a spanking right now."

Ty gasped. "Nay, da doesn't spank. He says that hurting others is bad."

Yeah, tell that to the whip Ambrose cracked at students like he was a Rebel tamer.

I forced myself to smile. "My bad."

"Witches hurt. It's confusing." When Ty shrugged like it was a simple fact of life, I clenched my hands into fists. I'd spent my life running from witches. Witches who hurt. "I'll tell him you're my friend." All of a sudden, he looked vulnerable and painfully hopeful. "Will you be my friend? The elf said he'd be my best friend. I've never had one before."

It was snow wetting my cheeks. Definitely only snow.

"Well, if you have a Prince as your pal," I smirked, "you'd better have an Immortal as well. Friends, right?"

Ty bounced up and down like he'd forgotten that he was sitting in an open window, and I reached my arms out in case he fell.

Thor’s balls, Ambrose was going to kill me...

Ty looked thoughtful. "I hope da doesn't sit you on the naughty step. That's horrid."

"I'd like to see him try."

Ty appeared doubtful. "Da's strong."

"But does he have werewolves inside him?" My wolf tattoo stalked out of my coat cuff, glistening and alive. Ever the showman, Fenrir twirled and chased his tail down the back of my hand, as I held it up for Ty to see his antics.

Ty’s eyes widened, and he giggled. “You have a wolf as well as a snake! Can we show da? Please!”

“I can already see it, Ty, now get inside,” Ambrose’s Scottish voice, which vibrated with dominance and fury, hissed from the stable’s shadows.

I startled, twisting to face him.

Ambrose was even more beautiful when he was angry, and I wished that my traitorous dick could remember that he was the Seelie prince who trained the dragons and called them beasts.

Yet he’d also once been a Rebel just like me, and had fought for his survival…and his son’s.

Could I blame him for wanting to keep his son safe?

Wouldn’t Loki do the same for me? Hadn’t he?

Ambrose was delicate with golden hair and emerald eyes that were dark against his alabaster skin. His steampunk uniform didn’t shield him against the cold because Seelie weren’t meant to live in wintry cursed grounds; shivers wracked him. He wrapped his golden wings around himself.

Ty’s eyes gleamed with tears. “D-don’t put my f-friend on the n-naughty step,” he burst out.

Ambrose arched his brow at me. “Naughty step, boy?”

“Friend,” I replied, smugly.

Ambrose took a shuddering breath like the thought of that had affected him as much as it had Ty. “Inside, Ty, and close the window. Why don’t you go and draw your new friend?”

Ty glanced uncertainly between us but nodded. He softly closed the window, cutting off the music…and leaving me with his pissed off fae dad.

Ambrose studied me for a long moment in silence, before his hand dropped to the leather whip at his belt. “You’re early, boy, again.”

His hand tightened on the whip.

“What can I say, I’m a motivated student, Prince Ambrose.”

Ambrose’s wings burst out in a display of rage that drove the breath from my lungs. “I’m your professor, you bastard,” he howled. Ambrose dived on me, shoving me into a snowbank. I let out a shocked oomph. He wrapped his wings around me, as we tumbled round and round. I spluttered, as he rammed my head into the snow. "Professor," he snarled, pushing my face into the snow on each word, "professor, professor, professor. Say it, you rascal."

I spat out a mouthful of slushy snow. Yuck.

Ambrose panted, and his shoulders shook. He threw me onto my back, squeezing me between his thighs.

Huh, did he ride the dragons himself to develop muscles like that?

Right, now wasn't the time for those kind of thoughts.

He was so close that his nose was almost touching mine, as he waited expectantly.

"Prince," I hissed.

Ambrose reared back like I'd struck him. Then he reached for his whip, pulling it out.

I flinched. So much for believing that hurting others was bad. At least it wasn't the naughty step.

I clenched my jaw, staring defiantly at Ambrose, whose expression was carefully blank. He swung the whip behind his shoulder, and I stiffened, preparing for the searing pain.

Crack.

I jumped, as the whip cracked into the snow next to my head.

I blinked at Ambrose in confusion. He hunched his shoulders, and his hand flexed around the whip's hilt so hard that his knuckles became white. Then he howled, as he hurled the whip across the yard into the darkness.

What in the name of the Valkyries had I done? Had I wrecked him?

Guilt clenched my guts because unlike my lovers, I couldn't even reach out to comfort Ambrose.

He was a professor.

I'd never seen Ambrose without his dragon trainer whip before. It was kind of weird how much younger he looked.

Ambrose threw himself down on his back next to me; he stared up at the night sky. Snowflakes caught on his eyelashes.

"You know, all your bluster doesn't hide your pain," I ventured.

"Are you mocking me?" A blush spread across Ambrose's translucent cheeks.

Were all fae beautiful?

"I guess that happens to you a lot in the academy, huh?” I replied.

Ambrose's blush deepened. The other professors were dicks but then, I had been too. "I respect that you've survived this long here, and if it means so much to you to be seen as a professor—"

"I don't give two feathers for my title." Ambrose turned his head to face me. "But it's all that's kept Ty alive and..." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Are you trying to punish me because of Marcus and the dragons? Do you wish to see my son taken away from me?"

My eyes widened. “Valhalla! Never.”

I snatched Ambrose’s hand, squeezing his fingers between mine, without thinking. "I give my oath on the World Tree, I'd never separate a dad from his kid, especially as he adores you, and you...protect him. I know a good dad when I see one."

Ambrose swallowed, and his eyes gleamed like he was holding back tears. "Nay, I'm a bastard. But I'm all Ty has." He didn't take his hand from mine, instead he quivered as I tightened my hold. He was touch starved. "Our kind patron and VIP guests are now in the castle, and you'd tempt my son to break the rules. I know you hate me but..."

"I don't." It was weird how that was true. "I just hate how you treat the dragons. Plus, Ty opened his window and waved to me first..."

Awesome, now I was the tell-tale. Had I just earned Ty the naughty step?

To my surprise, Ambrose snorted with laughter. "Aye, that sounds like the rascal. He hasn't stopped talking about the elf and you. He's lonely." When his gaze met mine, it was anguished. "What do you want from us?"

To help me save my lovers...

Yet what I found tumbling out of my mouth was, "To help you."

What would Magenta say about my desire to save a fae prince? First Lysander and now Ambrose...

It was okay though because I had enough fae hate left to direct at Titus.

Ambrose stared at me with wide emerald eyes. "Right, like you mean that. No one wants to help me."

"I guess Ty isn't the only one who's lonely. I want to, right?"

Ambrose snatched his hand away from mine and then looked like he regretted it. He wrapped his wings around himself.

"You shouldn't," he whispered. "Ty's the innocent. I’ve only fought so hard to survive for his sake. I'm bad, deposed, and disowned." He smacked his hand against his thigh with a crisp smack, and I winced. "The other families out there are bastards, but everyone at my Court turned their backs on me. I haven't seen my ma and da since..."

When he pushed himself up, wiping the snow off his uniform briskly, I sought out his gaze, but his head was ducked.

"Why?" I asked.

Ambrose froze, and he glanced at Ty's window. His expression softened. Did Loki look like that when he thought of me? Loki had always said that becoming a dad had been the making of him. Was it the same for Ambrose even if he didn't know it?

"If you use this against me...spread this to the other students..." Ambrose pinned me with his dark gaze.

I stood, straightening my shoulders. "Hey, I'm not a jerk Prince."

Ambrose's lips quirked. "You swagger around just like one...the same as I once did. But then, I fell in love with a non-magical, Emily." When he paled and the smile fell from his lips, I missed it as much as I hated the haunted look in his eyes. "It's forbidden to love humans, but I was arrogant, young, and blinded by love. I married her in secret, but when she became pregnant, honor as royal heir dictated that I present her to my ma and da in order to make my heir legitimate."

"Ty," I breathed.

That was why he didn’t have wings: he was half-human.

"I was a daft brat." Ambrose’s hands balled into fists. "Right, like honor or my throne mattered when the woman who I loved with my own son growing inside her was safe…?"

When had I stopped breathing? Odin's cock, please don't let him say it...

"They took Emily from me. Locked us both up separately." His eyes were glassy like he was lost in the past, separated from his pregnant wife. "My parents didn't even visit me because I was disowned. Every day, I begged for news of Emily's pregnancy but the first I knew of the birth was when a guard placed a wailing baby in my arms. My Ty."

My guts churned. "And Emily?"

For a long moment, I didn't think that Ambrose would reply.

Then his eyes became bleak in a way that I never wanted to see again. "The bad bastards executed her. I didn't even get to see her before..." He held out his hand to me warily like he expected me to slap it away. Perhaps, I would've done before. Now, I gripped it because he'd been brave enough to share this with me. "They sent Ty and me here. This prison is all Ty knows, and the only real friend he has is Emerick, the Principal's adopted son. Ty didn't know his ma, and I've failed him as a da but I've kept him safe, even if it's meant..."

"Training the dragons...?" My eyes widened.

Ambrose nodded. "What would you do for your son?"

"Everything."

Ambrose gave an approving smile. "So, how can I make sure your daft behind wins this tournament?" When I gaped at him, he rolled his eyes. "I know the stakes. Professors gossip too, and Ezekiel's just like me. He's always been kind." By the way that he flushed, I thought that it was kind with his dick. "But the Princes are champions. They've been taught how to ride since they were young. Lysander's an Unseelie arse, but he's outstanding at Dragon Polo, and he's been playing for a decade."

"Let Bask ride Rayn," I urged.

Ambrose cocked his head. "Lysander will make a fuss since that's his dragon."

I smirked. "Ouch, you're breaking my heart."

Ambrose shared a smile with me, which made my pulse beat faster. "Deal. Now good luck and be off with you, boy. It’s time for me to free the dragons, greet our patron, and for the Dragon Polo Tournament to begin.”

Tonight, the chaos moment gleamed bright. If us Immortals won, my lovers were saved, but if we lost, none of us would be freed.

I’d been desperate for everything to move faster, but now the tournament was here, I wished that time hadn’t run out.

Chapter Ten

SLEIPNIR

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

I hugged Magenta, and Bask clung around my neck, as we waited outside the gates of the castle for the Dragon Polo Tournament to begin.

Snow wept in fat tears from the night-time sky. I shifted, and my feet slipped on the slushy ground. When Magenta shivered, I rubbed my hands up and down her back to warm her.

Valhalla! This was it. Why did it feel like Ragnarok had befallen us?

I gritted my teeth, as my pulse thrashed in my ears. Was I the cause of our personal end of days?

After all, I'd started this chaos moment.

Was this why Loki had been frightened of me making friends because I’d destroy whatever I touched?

On the runes, not this time.

Monsters could love, as well as destroy, and I'd prove it. Magenta had taught me that lesson. She'd saved me, as surely as she was fighting to save our mage.

What would Loki think about the fact that I was in love with a witch?

Honestly, as soon as he got to know her, he'd adore her. Just like I did.

I blinked soft snowflakes out of my eyes, as I peered up at the gates. An aquamarine blur flew above the RA emblem. So much for Mist being curled safely in the East Wing.

The mischievous dick. But then, he was me.

Mist ducked behind a crack in the stone like he'd got away with his trick. When I arched my brow at him, he dodged out with a swagger. His sparkling mane and tail fluttered. It was kind of comforting that he was here.

Mist raised his head and snorted flames at the dragons, which were opposite us in a circle around Ambrose. My breath caught at seeing them together like this with their wings freed. Odin's breath, they were majestic. They pressed together, winding their necks to rub against each other with vibrating joy. How could anyone see them as nothing more than beasts?

What would it feel like to be separated from my brothers?

Rayn stretched out his wings, and his yellow magic wove to caress over Mist in response. Ambrose glanced up in concern, as he ran his hand over the leather saddles, which were strapped onto Rayn's brothers’ backs. I shuddered, wishing that I could rip the saddles off the dragons...or perhaps, put the saddle on Lysander, instead.

Except, Lysander would probably accuse me of leading him into kinky sex games.

I smirked. He'd know when I started doing that because I planned to wreck the virgin in all the fun ways.

When Bask's breath became ragged, and he pressed his face against my shoulder, I forced myself to reluctantly look out at the tournament's stadium, which had been magically created in front of the academy. Were we gladiators now? Hey, if they thought that I'd entertain them...well, they were right because I'd do anything to save my lovers.

But I could still scowl at the family and guardians who'd signed Blood Contracts to sentence their so-called loved ones to the academy. On the Norns, at least I was a hostage. Weirdly, I felt like the lucky one, especially when Bask was struggling not to tremble in my arms. He didn't want to show how much the bitch with red hair freaked him out.

The succubus Duchess, his ex-bond.

The Duchess' expression was like someone who'd never had to share their toys as a kid; she didn't have to share her playthings even now. There was no way in Hel that I'd let Bask become part of her toy collection again.

"You're mine," I breathed against Bask's silky head, breathing in his sweet scent of coco and almonds, "and you also belong to yourself. I don't care what your bitch of an ex says. You're a Rebel now. She can't touch you."

My brows furrowed in confusion, as Bask lowered his arms from my neck and took a step back. He shot me a sad smile.

"I don't have a choice, see," he whispered. "Don't you remember that I promised to behave for her? And look, it's pleased her to turn up for the tournament to watch me..."

Magenta's magic flared in a furious pink flurry, tinging the snow.

Dwarf on a pike, how had I forgotten that all this time Bask had known that today could be his last day wrapped in our love, before the Duchess decided if she took him away again to her incubi harem? That all along, he was in just as much danger as Fox or Magenta? How terrible had his conditioning been that he could hide his pain even from me?

Bask had more courage than any of us.

Magenta pulled away from me to clasp Bask's hand. "Be assured, we'll win this tournament and then we'll win your freedom as well. No one will ever cause suffering to my lovers or Rebels again. My mother started this academy, and I shall end it."

Bask's smile was shaky, as he rested his gloved hand on Magenta's cheek. "You romantic."

I chuckled, but then my expression darkened, as my gaze swept across our audience. Magically warm bubbles that kept out the snow had been spelled around a raised platform with dragon embossed thrones. The professors and VIP guests were tucked under crow feather blankets, blowing on hot chocolates with star shaped marshmallows.

Well, weren't they cozy?

Us students were freezing our balls off, but I felt just awesome about that because our guests were wrapped in pink and black striped scarfs, as they waited for us to battle in the freezing skies for their amusement.

Didn't Fox call that sarcasmese?

My hair bristled to red, and my werewolves howled. Mist galloped from one side of the gate to the other in agitation.

I studied the teenager, who sat ram-rod straight next to Juni.

Bor's balls, it was Willoughby's brother, Darby, who was the elven King. At least, he was now that he’d deposed Willoughby who was the rightful heir and sentenced him to be banished to the academy as penance. How much pressure would the Prince (who we'd claimed as ours), now be under? We'd all been forced to read his brother’s harsh letter, as well as witness Willoughby slaughtering their dad by accident, while trying to protect him.

I got Willoughby because he was a monster like me, and if he lost control of his power, then people died.

I was as sure of that as I was sure that I was falling in love with Willoughby.

I struggled every day with my own demons. Yet I'd had a dad who'd supported me, while Willoughby had a brother who hated him. The true kick in the ass was that Willoughby had raised his kid brother, loving him more than their dad had bothered to. Did he even now realize that his brother didn’t love him back?

My heart ached. Hel’s tits, I hoped not.

Juni caressed Darby's arm in an attempt to catch his attention, but his dark gaze was fixed on me like he was flaying me and reaching inside to violate my secrets. His expression was cruel in a way that Willoughby's never was.

His dark magic strangled mine. I ached to drop to my knees.

The asshole's lip twitched up at the corner...he knew.

I glared at him. Disturbingly, Darby looked just like a younger Willoughby with large sky-blue eyes and a cascade of sky-blue hair, which had crystals woven into it.

Wait, were those the crystals that Willoughby had been wearing in the memory I'd witnessed, which marked his official right to the throne? His mum had gifted them to him.

It'd rip out his heart to see them in his brother's hair.

Darby was literally wearing his brother's clothes. He'd stolen his Crown, sentenced his brother to punishment, and now was rubbing it in his face.

I was going to wreck the little jerk...

Footsteps crunched behind me in the snow, and I twisted around to watch the Princes marching towards the dragons. Could I help the way that my dick thickened against my thigh at their cashmere pink coats that hugged their figures so closely I was surprised that I couldn’t see their dicks? By Magenta’s soft sigh, I figured that her dick would also be hardening if she had one.

I shocked the Princes as much as myself, when I smiled at them reassuringly.

It didn't matter that in a couple of minutes we'd be rivals in the air. Right now on the ground, we were on the same team. Ezekiel had attempted to teach us that. The true predators were on dragon thrones, drinking hot chocolate and masking their dickishness and revenge with lies called redemption and reforming.

The Princes would never leave the Rebel Academy, any more than the Immortals would.

On the Valkyries, let Lysander see that, before it was too late to save his fae ass.

When Darby caught Willoughby's gaze, Willoughby stumbled, and only Lysander's arm around his shoulders stopped him falling. He grimaced with pain, before hurriedly masking it.

Was Willoughby hurting him with the cursed silk even here? Had his brother just punished him?

Juni's lips pinched, and she drew back from Darby. Mischief and mayhem, she knew that he had.

Beside me, Magenta stiffened. "As Flair would say, Darby needs his fucking prick turned into an icicle and then snapped."

Despite myself, I winced at the same time as Bask.

"The bad bastard would deserve it for hurting my elf." Bask glared at Darby.

Darby only tilted his head at him with a sneer, but Bask didn't look away. For the sake of his lovers, Bask could stand up to anyone.

When Lysander dug his fingers into Willoughby’s elbow and yanked him to Ambrose in a strict way that he hadn’t in days, I glanced at Magenta. Why wasn’t she threatening to pull down the academy on his ass or at least, coiling her mists around him like a threat?

Instead, she stood silent, curling her mists around Bask, as if she needed his support to hold her back. Why was she controlling herself?

I sure as Hel wasn’t.

Yet when I growled, Magenta’s eyes flashed.

She danced sparkles across my cheeks, until I turned to look at her, and the red fury receded. “It’s only a mask,” she muttered. “The Princes play a role to protect themselves. Have you forgotten our enraptured audience? Look who’s watching.”

I caught the satisfied smirk on Darby’s face, as he watched the manhandling of his brother, and I growled again. Now there was an elf who I’d keep on my shelf, just so that I could freeze his dick and then snap it off.

Flair was a psycho of a familiar, but sometimes, he was right.

Yet Magenta shook her head, gripping my chin with shaky fingers and turning me to look at the fae who sprawled in a throne next to Damelza. The Principal preened, running her hand through her hair like she hoped to catch herself a new husband.

I didn’t even want to think about what had happened to the first one.

“Lysander’s guardian,” Magenta shuddered, “Prince Titus.”

My eyes widened, as Fenrir clawed to escape, howling and scrabbling at me inside. Here was the asshole who Magenta had been almost forced to marry…the asshole who’d sent us on a mission that’d led to Hector’s death…the asshole who was patron to the entire academy…

The VIP asshole, who’d even locked up his own nephew and ward in the academy.

I bared my teeth, scrutinizing Titus. What was worse than losing your frozen dick? Because I was going to doubly…triply…wreck the fae.

Titus’ large wings were folded, and his neat emerald hair hung to his broad shoulders like an army of servants had spent all day making sure that it fell just right for fear of a whipping. He wore a rich silken black uniform, which was decadent but had the same steel behind it as his emerald gaze.

Dominant. Dangerous. Damaged.

He’d have been beautiful if I was into the hot daddy vibe (I could safely say that wasn’t my kink). Yet there was a coldness in his eyes like once he could’ve been Prince Charming but now, he’d been hollowed out and filled up with dickishness.

All that was left one was one big dick.

A golden scimitar hung at Titus’ waist, and I didn’t miss Lysander’s longing look at it.

Was it agony for a fae to be parted from their weapon?

Bask snatched my hand, at the same time as he grabbed Magenta’s. He twirled us around to face Lysander. He nodded his chin at him, pointedly.

Magenta’s death had been because of Titus. Yet even though her breaths were ragged, her gaze was hard and determined. She was seriously tough.

Loki would approve.

It was Lysander, however, who’d ducked his head. His wings quivered, as he snatched a riding whip and tapped it with a crisp smack — smack — smack like he was trying to beat the fear out of himself.

He was terrified, and even more frightened of showing it.

Titus was his brutal guardian. I’d grown up with love, but what had Lysander’s childhood been like under such a tyrant? Why had his own uncle sentenced him to be sent here?

What crime had Lysander committed?

Huh, I felt kind of weird even to care because a couple of days ago, I’d thought that Lysander was nothing but a haughty jerk who was out to impress his even bigger jerk of an uncle. Now, I noticed the tremor in his wings and how his fingers curled into Willoughby’s arms not out of cruelty but for support as much as chastisement.

Valhalla! Lysander didn’t love his guardian. He feared him.

How deadly was Titus?

Did that mean that Lysander had always desired to join us Immortals, but hadn’t been able to risk his guardian’s punishment? I hated that Titus had been keeping Lysander as my rival, rather than letting him melt into my arms, as well as Magenta’s, like he had as he’d danced with us in the Rebel Café. His tight ass, as he’d pushed it against me, was also hard to forget.

My pulse quickened.

I could break the wards, if I could convince him to rebel.

Couldn’t Lysander see that he’d never be accepted as a fae prince again? Titus wouldn’t let him leave Rebel Academy. He’d already lost his home, kingdom, and freedom.

Titus was lying to him, and he needed to stop lying to himself.

But hey, so did I.

As if knowing that he was being studied, Titus lazily turned his head and met my gaze. I froze. There was danger and death in his eyes; the hairs on my nape rose.

I wasn’t frightened. Neither Titus’ charm nor his threats worked on me. He wasn’t my patron or guardian. The asshole might intimidate his nephew but he didn’t intimate a god, and I’d prove it to him.

I raised my eyebrow at Magenta, and she nodded with a smile. I dragged her closer, before kissing her with a tenderness that spoke of a protective love and everything that Titus and the Duchess weren’t. It was a promise of eternal safety, as her tongue licked across the seam of my lips, before pushing into my mouth and dancing across my own tongue. She stroked my hip in tingling circles, and my balls ached.

Bask narrowed his eyes at the Duchess, who slopped hot chocolate onto her lap in shock, before licking down Magenta’s neck and sucking hickeys.

He loved to mark his lovers, and I didn’t blame him for being possessive tonight.

Both Magenta and Bask glowed, fed by our joined pleasure.

“Is the infernal scoundrel watching?” Magenta murmured against my lips.

I glanced over her shoulder.

Titus’s burning gaze met mine. His lips tightened in his ashen face. His hands clenched in the blanket in his lap, before he hurled it off him into the snow.

I chuckled. “He looks like he’s just been forced to suck a troll’s balls. The brat’s throwing a tantrum. Hey, look at that, so’s the bitch Duchess.”

Magenta’s lips twitched. “Excellent.”

Ambrose slipped out his whip and pointed it at us Immortals.

I’d thought that Ambrose and I had an understanding. Did the tournament open with a ritualistic thrashing? That’d be the sort of dickish thing that the House of Crows would enjoy.

For the first time, I was glad that Fox wasn’t here.

When Ambrose snapped the whip against the ground with a sharp crack, Bask jumped.

Willoughby and Lysander marched to stand like they were on parade in front of him like good little Princes.

Magenta and I exchanged a glance, before we drew back from each other, and strolled to join them.

Did they award Privilege Points for Best Slouch? I rolled my shoulders. I was going for it.

Bask would seriously win the best Best Slinky Ass Wiggle, as he sauntered to join us.

Ambrose grimaced, clearing his throat. "On my feathers, this is what I've been training you daft rascals to survive." He shot a glance at Titus on the platform, and his hand tightened on his whip. I didn't think it was possible for someone to hate our fae patron more than me, but hey, Ambrose was going for it. But then, he was a Seelie fae at the mercy of his natural enemy, an Unseelie. No wonder he'd been creative in making Lysander suffer in turn. "This is a contest, so no messing around up in the air. The first to three points wins. Our...respected...patron commanded a grand show. Aye, like I can pull that out of my..." He caught himself, biting his lip. "Nay, we'll show him. So, this is a phoenix hunt. Rebels are born out of flames. When you see the phoenix, burn it with your dragon's fire. Our patron demands to witness the excitement of rivals: Immortals versus Princes. Give him what he wants."

I didn't miss his warning.

When he stepped back, raising his whip, I tensed ready to dive in front of Magenta, but he didn't lash it down on us. Instead, as at his command, timber goal posts like gnarled tree trunks grew out of the castle turrets. The ground shook and rumbled. Willoughby staggered into me, and I righted him. Magenta gasped, doubling over. Her magic sparked.

"I can feel...his magic...rearranging my academy," she hissed.

I glowered at Titus, before twisting to watch as giant trees grew out of the back of the Groundskeepers cottage as well.

Ambrose pointed at the newly created pitch. "You swagger into my class, all of you. Now show our guests that same attitude in the skies. You're not broken, right?"

Us Immortals shook our heads, but the Princes stood as still as soldiers.

Ambrose shrugged. "I tried."

All of a sudden, Willoughby did move. He turned to Magenta, dropping to his knees before her like he was about to propose.

On the World Tree, was he about to ask her to marry him?

Not before me he didn't...

Yet before I could also throw myself into the snow, Willoughby grasped Magenta's hands between his. His eyes were emerald pools in the pale of his face.

"What on my wings do you think you're doing?" Lysander gasped, glancing underneath his eyelashes at Titus.

Willoughby continued to stare at Magenta like he hadn't heard Lysander. "It's dishonorable for me to take part in the tournament. Ask me not to fly. How can I? We're not rivals, and if I win, then you and Fox shall—"

"Stop making a spectacle of your royal self." Lysander tugged on his arm.

Willoughby looked torn. His gaze was anguished and confused.

Us Immortals had done that. We'd convinced him to break bonds with the Princes and become an Immortal, but how conflicted must he be?

He was in serious danger because of us.

Magenta firmly pulled him back onto his feet. "I shall ask no such thing of you. There's no dishonor. You have a duty to try to win, just as we Immortals shall do everything under the witching heavens to stop you. I shan't give Damelza or your brother the excuse to harm you." She stroked her thumb over the back of Willoughby’s hand. "What would happen to you, were you to refuse to fly in front of your king? Would it not be treason yet again to disobey his order?"

Lysander wrapped his arms around Willoughby's shoulders, pulling him away from Magenta. "He'd never do anything so foolish." He turned Willoughby around, shaking him. "Don't, Will, please."

Will...?

Just for a moment, Lysander's voice softened in his desperation to something loving.

"Will you leave off fussing? Your daft selves are being watched." Ambrose snapped the whip, and Bask jumped again. Immediately, Lysander pretended that he was simply smartening up Willoughby's coat, as he swept snowflakes from his shoulders. "Let's get you into the air in style."

All of a sudden, Berlin's "Take My Breath Away" burst out with all the romantic longing and welling passion of a joke that was worthy of Loki.

Magenta clapped her hands. "Oh, this popular music I like. It's pretty and makes me feel all floaty inside."

I arched my brow at Ambrose, who was smirking. "The Top Gun theme tune, seriously?"

"What, boy? A professor doesn't get to have a sense of humor?"

Bask huffed. "A dark one."

"A Seelie doesn't," Lysander added.

I winced. Baiting your professor was good teamwork with Bask, but crappy survival instincts.

Ambrose stalked to Lysander, tipping up his chin with the hilt of his whip. "Aye, right, but Unseelie do…?"

Lysander's eyes flashed, and for a moment, I thought that he'd slap away the whip. Instead, he held himself still, when he noticed Titus' disapproving glare.

"My mistake," Lysander said, coolly.

Ambrose's lips curled up but only at one side. "Crave, go and claim your dragon."

Lysander's eyes clouded with confusion, but he watched as Bask slunk to Rayn, who held out his wing. Bask climbed onto it, and Rayn lifted him up, before settling him onto his back.

Lysander's mouth opened and closed several times like he was restraining himself from cussing, before he finally gasped, "First, you allow my dragon to escape, and then you give away my second beast to an Immortal…? Now they have the advantage."

"Nay, it must be my mistake because surely a Prince isn't afraid of some healthy competition." Ambrose shoved Lysander towards the remaining dragons.

Lysander squared his shoulders, before prowling to the side of the dragons. His new ride ignored him entirely and didn't lower his wing, but rather let Lysander struggle to pull himself into the saddle.

It looked like our code word Yellow Orchid was already working.

When Lysander fell onto his ass with a startled oomph, I hid my grin in the palm of my hand. It freaked me out that I had the sudden urge to rub his ass better; at least, my dick waved its pleasure at that idea.

When Lysander raised his riding whip, however, Willoughby caught it before it could fall and wrenched it out of his grip. Then he hurled it away into the darkness. Flushing, Lysander looked away.

Willoughby held out his hand, and Lysander grasped it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Willoughby helped him up onto his dragon, before his own dragon fluttered his magic around him to seat him into his saddle.

Magenta glanced at me. "I may be new to this, but aren't we riding?"

Here it comes...

My guts roiled.

It was time.

Inside me, my own eight-legged horse reared up, desperate to run and run and...

But it'd never saved dad or me. Hiding and running as the hunted, prey, or monster meant that you were forever caged.

What if the monster deserved to be seen?

Magenta's ice blue eyes were wide and understanding. I didn't need to hide anything from her.

"If I lose you or Fox…" By the runes, why was I shaking? "…then I'll stop breathing too because you're my life. So, we're going to win this. I'm awesome on land, but what you haven't seen yet, is that I'm even more awesome in the air."

Magenta's grin was like nectar to my Soul. It fed me as much as my pleasure ever had her.

I'd dreamed that I’d have friends who'd accept me. I'd never dreamed that I'd ever be loved by a woman like Magenta.

When Ambrose snatched me by the collar, however, it broke me back into reality. "Are you daft? You know the bastards who are in the audience."

"Care to narrow it down?"

"Titus." He dragged me so close that our noses were touching. "You'd let him see you as a...?"

"Shifter? Hey, I'm not ashamed anymore. I don't care what some stuck-up asshole thinks. If he sticks a cursed collar on me after this and forces Lysander to ride me..." Dick, now wasn't the time to think about Lysander’s strong thighs straddling me... "It'll be worth it."

"If he did that, I'd look after your daft behind." Ambrose stroked the back of my neck, and my eyes widened at the kind gesture. "I wouldn't let anyone ride you without your permission, even if I was punished for it."

He hadn't called me beast, and he'd meant it.

"Thanks, professor."

Ambrose's eyes widened to match my own.

Magenta giggled. "Splendid. Now kiss."

Instantly, Ambrose and I spluttered, reddening. We stumbled back from each other, and Ambrose wrapped his wings around himself.

Suddenly, transforming in front of...everybody...no longer felt like the most humiliating thing that’d happen to me tonight.

Magenta you sly...clever...awesome witch.

I took a deep breath, before glancing at Mist. In warrior red, like my hair, he whinnied his support. Then my magic wound around me. I drew it close, and it was thrilling to allow out what I'd hidden for so long inside.

In a spray of blue glitter that was like a resurrection and a magical orgasm (honestly, if you've never imagined the two, then you've missed out), I transformed into a giant eight-legged horse. The snow caught on my mane and tail, which glimmered like crushed stars. My coat was cinnamon red.

At the gasps of horror from the audience, I ducked my head and pawed the floor. Magenta reached up, however, to stroke behind my ear, and my ears raised from where they'd been flattened on my head.

I whinnied sadly.

"You're my monster." Magenta's magic cocooned around me like a claiming. "I love you. All us Immortals love you with a fierceness that burns away the pettiness of the world's prejudices. I'm privileged to ride you, but I rather fear that you're lacking wings."

I lifted my head with horsey swagger; it'd have to do for a smirk. Fox always managed to smirk in shifter form, but that appeared to be his talent.

My magic spun through me, ancient and powerful. I'd forgotten the thrill of letting go.

Feathery wings burst from my sides; the feathers glittered red, aquamarine, and pink. I beat them, and Magenta laughed as the wind blasted across her cheeks.

Bask beamed at me. "You are beautiful, Slippy."

Magenta feathered a light kiss to my muzzle. "You're like Pegasus. How fast can you fly or run with double the legs?"

Between worlds...

My heart clenched because nobody but Loki had ever seen me as anything but a misshapen creature who'd been born wrong. Yet Magenta thought that I was a more talented version of a gorgeous divine flying horse.

I'd thank her every day for the rest of my long life for that.

Ambrose circled me; his gaze was troubled. "Remember, first to three. I've done what I can, boy. Now it's down to you. I never want to collar a shifter as...glorious...as you. Don't make me." He stalked to the front of the dragons, who watched him with wary expressions, beating their wings. He raised his whip high into the air. "Your majesty, ladies and gentleman, and of course our respected patron, I welcome you to the Dragon Polo Tournament, which features Princes against Immortals. Start the tournament." He snapped the whip with a crack. "Fly!"

Chapter Eleven

BASK

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

I wasn’t a warrior but I was a brilliant dragon rider. Here’s the thing, it was all in the thigh muscles. Ma would’ve been proud. Incubi needed powerful thighs to wrap their legs around their lovers, as well as hold demanding positions. The training in the Incubi Harem was more sensually practical than squats alone.

It wasn’t only my arse that was flexible.

I gasped, as Rayn swooped above the frozen lake, which was like polished sapphire in the shadowed night. The Dead Wood beyond pulsed with ancient magic: Magenta’s pink magic, which ran through the academy. It provided mood lighting for the tournament. The scent of yew trees enveloped me, and the breeze was fresh and raw. Oxford’s spires and domes were a blur in the distance.

For the first time in ages, however, I ached with hope that my lovers could escape to that outside world, which wasn’t trapped in this eternal winter.

The snow drove into my face in freezing flurries, and I shivered, slipping on Rayn’s damp back.

Whoops…

I yelped, squeezing my don’t you wish you could feel them around your hips thigh muscles.

My breath became ragged, and my pulse thundered. My slinky self couldn’t fall and become nothing but an incubi shaped splatter on the lake.

Who’d save my lovers then?

I could die as many deaths as the Duchess wished, once she dragged me back to the Succubi Court (rejected, trained to burn myself, or refused touch as a Not There), but until then, I had to breathe so that my lovers would.

Incubi sacrificed everything for their lovers. It was this whole thing.

Rayn’s yellow magic fluttered around me, holding me safely onto his back.

Maybe I overstated just how brilliant I was at dragon riding. Modesty is not my middle name. Well, that could be because I didn’t have one…if I did, it’d probably be Pettable. Away with you, it would.

“If it pleases you, Rayn, don’t let me fall.” I stroked my gloved hand down his neck. “Don’t you desire to win this and beat those Princes for once?”

Rayn blew out a burst of golden flames in agreement, as he dived lower.

I smirked. I had this.

My cock and balls hit against Rayn’s back, as I bounced up and down on each swoop lower, and I bit my lip at each spark of pain-pleasure. Did the Princes wear special Dick Protective Gear for dragon riding? I bet their long…gorgeous…dicks and silky balls were sheathed in soft leather, while mine became as bruised as my ass (the outrage).

I wasn’t also squirming because my dick was enjoying the ride (promise, snicker).

Rayn swung his head around with an amused expression. I hadn’t known that dragons could even look amused.

I flushed.

A dragon is not a sex toy.

I should’ve remembered that because it was Number 133 on my List of Kink Rules. Plus, the joke was on Sleipnir because he’d rolled his eyes, when I’d added that one.

“It’s like this, see, you’re almost as comfy as my pillows.” I smiled, dreamily. “Nile would love you but he’d be jealous of your fangs.”

Rayn huffed out a breathy laugh, before twisting to show off his sharp teeth with smug bravado. He’d make as fine a man as a dragon. I wished that I could meet him like I had Marcus. Then he flew faster towards the castle, Sleipnir, the other dragons, and the start of the tournament.

This was it.

My pulse thrashed in my ears.

This. Was. It.

Sleipnir flew forward to meet me with slow, graceful beats of his multi-coloured wings, which glimmered under the moon-light. I craved to caress over his feathers. How soft were they? I bet that I could make a fine nest on his wing.

How could anyone call Sleipnir monster? I'd never seen anything more beautiful and I admired myself in the mirror every morning (and it doesn't make me a narcissist if it's the truth; I read that somewhere).

My Slippy thrummed with magic and joy like showing his true self had unleashed him.

Would I ever be that free?

I blinked away tears. They were only snowflakes melting down my cheeks, nothing else.

An incubus didn't cry... Weeping made me ugly... Nobody loved an ugly incubus...

Magenta clung to Sleipnir's back. Her black mists curled around his red coat. They were connected like they were meant to be one, always and forever: death, life, and the line in-between. She had me beat on the thigh muscle method of riding, although I imagined her thighs were just as brilliant because everything about her was delicious.

I shivered but this time not at the cold, rather at the sight of the wickedest witch riding towards me, as her power rolled off her in waves of sparkling pink, on a feathered eight-legged horse with glowing eyes.

If they hadn't been on the same side as me, I'd have wet my pants.

For the first time, I was certain that us Immortals could win this. It was time to make the Princes wet their pants.

Bring on the wetting of princely pants.

As Sleipnir circled Rayn, Magenta grinned at me with a frosty darkness that chilled, as well as thrilled me. This powerful witch loved me, and we were going to battle together.

I glanced at our audience below on their thrones. The House of Crows, as well as its patron, Titus, and Darby desired power, but they'd never understand true power like my lovers wielded. Plus, I had a dragon between my legs, and that was enough power for me.

The Duchess looked so small from up here, when she'd always been taller than me. She'd loved to make me kneel, but for once, I was above her.

I'd never forget this feeling.

I longed to whoop. The sensation bubbled through me, until I shook.

Yet Rule 81 of the Incubi Night Code stated: In front of succubi, keep your arse pettable and your mouth shut.

My arse had always been pettable (of course), but I'd sucked at the second half of the rule.

Who was I kidding? My new code was the Rebel Code...and rebels didn't have a code, see, they had freedom.

So, I threw back my head and whooped like I'd never whooped before.

My face ached with my smile, as the wind blew across my cheeks and the moon broke through the clouds. Rayn roared, and Sleipnir gave an answering neigh, pawing at the air.

Magenta howled, just as psyched as me. Wildness vibrated through our magic, drawing us closer in our excitement. How'd we become the dangerous ones?

Perhaps, we always had been.

Together, us Immortals turned towards the Princes and their dragons, who were ranked in front of the castles' goals like this was a battle. Willoughby's expression was shuttered, and he remained composed and still. Lysander struggled to control his dragon, however, which weaved from side to side. He was ashen.

Look at that: he was scared of my slinky self.

Brilliant.

"This is a phoenix hunt." I darted my tongue along my dry lips. "If you want your freedom, then you catch it first."

Beneath my legs, Rayn trembled.

My hands clenched. This was for Fox, Magenta, and Ezekiel. I'd lost Hector. No matter how long I'd sat staring at the board of the Membership, wishing that Hector's name would appear on it again or longingly gazed at his portrait in the gallery, I knew that he was...

Dead.

I couldn't lose anyone else, and I refused to take any more ghosts with me to the Succubi Court.

The heartbeat bass of "Take My Breath Away" boomed out louder, signaling the start of the tournament. My own heartbeat raced in time with the song.

The Princes had earned the right to kick-off the game.

I sucked in a deep breath. Yet every one of mine, meant one less for Fox.

My eyes narrowed, and the phoenix burst to life in front of the Princes.

The bird was huge, flaming red and yellow. Its wings sparkled, and its tail fanned behind it. When the phoenix screeched, I shuddered at its piercing cry. Before I could recover, the Princes were on it like hawks.

I gaped at the Princes’ speed and elegance, as the phoenix swooped away from them and they pursued. Lysander chased the bird with an aggressive determination that was hot. Willoughby barely moved, but followed after him with an eloquence and grace that made my dick tight in my pants.

So, that was why they were Champions.

Perhaps, I should've been wetting my pants.

Willoughby and Lysander herded the Phoenix above our heads, towards the far goal that was attached to the Groundskeeper's Cottage. Sleipnir whirled around to block them, but they dodged him. I urged Rayn in pursuit.

Don't be too late...

Lysander glanced over his shoulder at me with a smirk. Then his dragon blasted the phoenix. Its tail flared on fire, and it screeched as it burned to ash. My eyes widened, as it scattered like gray snow, blowing through the goals.

In neon pink lettering, the score sparkled across the night-time sky:

1 — 0

Willoughby and Lysander closed ranks, clasping hands. For a moment, jealousy spiked through me at their closeness.

Was it for Willoughby or Lysander? Or both...?

Adrenaline made me shake. For once, even my shiny hair wouldn’t help me.

How could we beat the Princes, who'd been trained at this since they were kids? It was as easy for Lysander as any of their other haughty princely duties (like walking as if he had a stick up his arse).

I glanced at Magenta, and she wore the same worried frown as me. Then her magic caressed over me, and I knew.

This was a duty to the Princes.

Willoughby was going through the motions; he didn't even want to play on the Princes' side. But for us Immortals, it was our heart and Soul. It was everything for all four of us, including Rayn, and our magic could sense it.

We needed to harness that.

I patted Rayn's side. "These are your skies, if you want them. But you have to take them. You're flying now as a true shifter; I'm riding with your permission. But your brothers are enslaved and saddled. Don't you desire to show everyone what a free dragon can do?"

Rayn roared, beating his wings. His magic reached out to Sleipnir, who raised his head.

Sleipnir nodded his understanding.

Magenta's magic sparkled across Rayn. I gasped at the combined sensation of such powerful magics combining.

This time, when the phoenix burst to life over the ruins, Rayn and Sleipnir flew towards it in total harmony, before the Princes had even spotted it. I laughed, unable to do more than cling on for the ride.

Had I thought that Rayn had been fast before…?

I'd never seen a dragon fly like this, and when I glanced back at the Princes, I knew that they wouldn’t catch us. It was like a wild eagle versus a tamed one. Sleipnir swooped at his side with a fluid deadliness.

Rayn chased the phoenix towards the goal. When it dodged to the side, Sleipnir caught it with his wing and hurled it, still screeching, in a flaming ball through the castles' goal.

And that was how a rebel played…

The neon score lit up the sky:

1 —1

We could do this.

Lysander's creative cussing was loud enough to be heard across the music. I was glad that Willoughby had thrown away his whip.

Rayn circled, and my heart thudded hard in my chest, as I scanned for the phoenix.

Come on little birdie, where are you...?

All of a sudden, the phoenix flared to life just in front of Rayn. I didn't even hesitate.

Rule 73 of the Incubi Night Code: Never miss an opportunity to snatch a quick orgasm.

I was pretty certain that it also applied to snatching phoenixes.

Rayn charged at the phoenix. I focused on nothing in the dark but that flaring light. The goal was just ahead.

A little more...only a little...almost there...

Rayn lurched to the side, and I screamed.

Don't let me fall.

My stomach dropped. I was going to hurl.

Rayn's magic wound around me, yanking me onto his back. My shoulders ached, and I blinked, dizzily.

What'd happened? My hair must be a mess, and limp too after that scare. Hurt an incubus, but never make his hair limp.

I'd been so close to scoring for my foxy. Where was the phoenix? Where...?

I glanced up with dazed eyes, into Willoughby's concerned ones.

The Princes had rammed me with their dragons.

Was that in the rules? I didn't care. I was cursing them both to hear a creepy whisper from under their bed every time that they fell asleep.

Limp hair was a serious crime. Oh, and also the ramming part.

"My apologies." Willoughby’s gaze was anguished. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm pissed.” I gritted my teeth, as I was forced to watch Lysander score at the other end of the pitch, pursed by Sleipnir.

2 — 1 appeared in the sky.

"The next point is mine." My eyes became flinty.

"I’d be sincerely disappointed otherwise." Willoughby wheeled away towards Lysander.

I knew that I loved more than simply the elf's pretty hair.

My guts churned, and my chest tightened. If the Princes won the next point, then they'd won the entire tournament.

No way would I allow it to happen.

I might only be a freak of a broken incubi but I was also a Rebel. And my friends and lovers in this academy had shown me that meant something.

I studied the sky and then across the wood, lake, and the castle.

Nothing.

I tapped the rhythm of my own heartbeat on Rayn's hide.

Nothing.

Magenta met my gaze, offering me a reassuring smile.

Nothing.

In a burst of light, the phoenix resurrected itself in the middle of the pitch, directly between the Princes and me.

"Hunt the phoenix!" I howled.

Rayn dived for the phoenix like he was part of the storm. At the same time, Lysander flew towards it with deadly intent. I'd have admired his talent and how regal he looked if he hadn't just tried to unseat me with dirty tactics. Now, I was imagining him over Willoughby's lap for a non-fun spanking (and that was fantasy role-play Number 17 in my role play list).

I swallowed: this was going to be close.

Too close.

With a whoosh of wings, Lysander and I arrived at the Phoenix together.

I clenched my jaw.

Come on, fae, let’s play the phoenix version of Chicken...and you should never play that with an incubus because they never blink first...

Lysander's eyes widened, but he hunkered even lower over his dragon and didn't pull back.

How badly did he desire to win?

Rayn didn't even waver. Behind me, Magenta hollered, before Sleipnir squealed in warning.

I. Would. Not. Blink.

"I breathe for you, Fox," I murmured.

Lysander yelled in frustration, pulling back at the last minute.

Was it too late?

Lysander rose above my head. The beat of his dragon's wings blasted across my face. I paled, glancing down to check that I hadn't embarrassed myself.

Wow, that'd been close. But look, my slinky self had won over the warrior.

I grinned, as Rayn blew on the phoenix in triumph, guiding it into the goal with a smug nonchalance, before blasting it to ash in a victory celebration.

Willoughby shot me a soft smile, before schooling his face back to blankness.

Magenta wheeled around me on Sleipnir. "In the name of Hecate, what courage! Do you know how much I admire you?"

I blushed. No one had ever admired me for courage before. They'd admired my arse or my dick but that wasn't the same (remarkable thought).

This time when the score lit up the sky, I pinked with pride:

2 — 2

Everything rested on the final point. I wiped the snow out of my eyes, before smoothing my hair back because good grooming in the face of pressure was winning.

It was why the English had triumphed at Agincourt. Probably.

All of a sudden, the Princes' dragons turned to look at Rayn, and he nodded like he was giving them a signal. Hold on, it was exactly like that.

The dragons jerked out of the Princes’ control, diving towards the ground.

I gasped.

I didn't want to win by squishing the elf and fae who...were mine as much as the Immortals were...or Nile. Okay, I was claiming them and adding them to my list of Snuggle Options. No squishing my snuggle partners. That had to be an unwritten rule.

The dragons dived close enough to land in front of the platform, before they bucked. The Princes were hurled off their backs and onto their arses. I winced on their behalf. It had to smart their pride as much as their cute behinds.

Magenta coiled out her black mists, seeping her magic across the grounds. Her power was awe-inspiring. Her eyes glittered ice-cold, as she whipped up the snowstorm.

The phoenix blazed to life like a flare above the Dead Wood.

Magenta lifted herself up and waved at the phoenix. "Shall we?"

I grinned. "It's everything I desire."

Sleipnir and Rayne swooped through the magic infused grounds, trailing their own magic like ribbons as they crossed each other. It was stunning. I shook, never taking my gaze from the phoenix. Rayn blasted out a golden flame, and the phoenix screeched, flapping towards the castle. Us Immortals followed it like a victory lap, as the Princes watched from the ground.

Magenta and I exchanged a glance, before Sleipnir and Rayn snorted fire at the same time, scorching the phoenix to ash...and through the goal.

We'd won the tournament together. Whatever happened after this, we'd always have this moment.

Pink fireworks blasted into the sky, lighting it up with the score and announcing:

3 — 2 IMMORTALS WIN!

The silence from the audience below was deafening. Just ask me how much my sexy self didn't care that the result didn't amuse the bad bastards. Crushing relief made me collapse forward, and a sob caught in my throat.

My lovers were safe.

Yet a prickling fear coursed through me. The hairs on my nape rose. Someone was studying me. When I glanced down, I met the Duchess' assessing gaze.

I shuddered. What did she see when she looked at me? Was she furious that I hadn't been reformed or excited about her new plans to break me all over again? She'd told me that she could never love me or even care for me like she did her favorites in the harem. I knew that these could be my last moments of freedom.

Yet Fox would survive, and Magenta would remain free. Although it was my greatest wish to stay with them and witness their true freedom when they broke the curse, I loved them enough to let go. When I landed, I'd no longer belong to them or be a Rebel.

At least, that was what the Duchess thought. In my heart, I'd always be theirs, and she'd never be able to beat the Rebel out of me.

Just let me have this last moment of victory and freedom, before I lost myself forever.

Chapter Twelve

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

A long time ago, Robin and I had promised to love each other always. Now that us Immortals had won the Dragon Polo Tournament, I could honor that love by saving my second shimage lover from the same death in the walls of the castle.

Sweet Hecate, let Fox still be breathing…allow the spell to release him…believe that he wasn’t an enemy to me or any witch, simply because he was a mage…

Were any of us Immortals and Princes rivals anymore?

I landed Sleipnir in front of the castle gates. His fur beneath me was hot, warming me against the freezing night, and I wound my fingers through his mane that’d shimmered to aquamarine. His feathered wings beat fiercely.

He was a beauty and a marvel.

My monster.

Sleipnir thrummed with the same joy that vibrated through me.

The outlines of the score sparkled and died in the sky:

3 — 2 IMMORTALS WIN!

Mist floated down from the castle gates, kicking his legs and neighing. He shook his mane in victory, before landing on Sleipnir’s shoulder like a mascot.

I valued my witchy behind too much to ever call him that, of course.

My grin was decidedly wicked, but a tournament with flaming phoenixes, dragon derring-do, and the wild storms spoke to my Wickedly Charmed magic. And that was true witchcraft: raw and elemental.

I was born to raise the winds and drive the snow.

My magic swirled around me, as whirlwind eddies blasted out in celebration.

In a sudden spray of glitter, Sleipnir transformed back, and I squawked, as I found my legs squeezed around his waist. He tumbled onto his hands and knees.

Well, that was pleasant way to ride him as well.

“What a comfortable seat you make.” I bounced up and down.

Warmth curled through me, at the same time as I laughed, flushing. Sleipnir chuckled, dropping onto his front and then rolling around to pin me in the snow. His eyes were wide with exhilaration and pleasure, as his hard prick pressed against my hip. He smelled like hot pebbles under the sun, and heat washed off him, cocooning me against the cold.

He’d protect me from anything.

Frogs and toads, like this I could forget the bitches and bastards on their dragon thrones who were watching us.

Perhaps, seeing our love would make them vomit into their hot chocolates?

Ah, innocent hope.

Thump — the ground shook next to my head.

Rayn landed, and snow exploded into the air like it’d been blasted by landmines. He stalked closer and then his golden wing lifted towards us. Bask slid down the wing like it was a ride with a whoop.

Witching heavens, he’d truly taken to whooping.

Then Bask leapt on top of Sleipnir and me, tumbling us over. I spat out mouthfuls of snow.

“Incubus attack.” Sleipnir caught Bask around the middle, dragging him into a hug.

“Watch the bosoms.” I readjusted my corset, patting my bosoms, consolingly. “They’re bouncy but not balls. Although, if you imagine that they’re as sensitive as your balls, then perhaps you’d have more respect for them.”

“Sorry,” Bask whispered.

Was he shaking from joy, excitement, or…?

Crack my broomstick, had I been too harsh on the whole bosom issue?

I stroked my hand through Bask’s hair because touch both fed an incubus and told them that you loved them, along with them knowing that they pleased you. It was biologically bred into them and then conditioned in their training.

The succubi were more ruthless than witches.

“Your performance in the tournament was outstanding, and you protected our whipping boy. It pleased me, just like you shall forever. Don’t doubt it.” I slipped my hand down Bask’s back, caressing circles between his shoulder blades. “You flew with courage and strength. Didn’t you feel the connection between us all? We belong together and even our magic, the world, and the Fates can’t deny it.”

“Please,” Bask’s voice was hoarse. He raised his head; his eyes gleamed like he was holding back tears. “Pet me.”

Instantly, Sleipnir kissed Bask, winding his arms around him and crushing their bodies together like he was trying to make Bask a part of himself, just like his tattooed brothers were.

That way at least Bask would be safe.

I tightened my hand in Bask’s hair, before kissing down his pale neck. I needed this: to devour his coco and almond on each swipe of my tongue, nibble, and bite harder, until he arched and moaned in ecstasy.

Bask’s pleasure had called to me when I’d been trapped in Hecate’s Tree. His obsessive love, when I’d been nothing but an echoed memory from the past, had driven the other Immortals to resurrect me. Yet how could I save him now?

Bask was still shaking.

Sleipnir pulled away from the kiss in an attempt to study Bask’s face, but Bask burrowed down instead, hiding against his shoulder and clasping Sleipnir’s coat hard between his hands.

Sleipnir and I exchanged a concerned glance. Then Sleipnir’s expression darkened, and his hair shaded to red. Mist poked his head out of his pocket with a furious snort, pointing over at the platform with his hoof.

When I twisted around, I met the Duchess’ appraising stare. She studied our tumbled embrace with contempt. Then a smug smile crept across her face.

Cold washed over me.

Hecate’s tit, no…

Bask was shaking because he knew.

I’d won my own freedom. Bask had saved Fox. But Bask had lost his freedom and life to the Duchess and he hadn’t said a word. All he’d wanted was one last pet because he loved us, and we loved him.

Heavens above, how I loved him…like I could curse worlds to perpetual winters if only it’d save him from the Succubi Court. Like I could curse myself to frozen eternities.

I stilled. That bitch who hid her cruelty behind her pretty face thought that she could steal my lover tonight.

Not a chance on my witchy behind.

My magic sparked, flashing through my eyes. I directed my determination and that single thought — you won’t take my lover — right at the Duchess.

The Duchess’ eyes widened. Her hands clenched the throne’s armrests. I smirked, snapping my pink around her, scrawling across both her cheeks:

BITCH

A visitor to an academy should always wear the correctly labeled badge.

Professor Bacchus snorted and then pretended that her laugh had been a cough.

Pocus, Bacchus’ familiar, was wrapped around her shoulders in cat form like a scarf. His sleek black fur glimmered, and his pentacle collar glittered at his neck. Bacchus only transformed him as a punishment because he hated it. I’d learned from Sleipnir and Fox that transformations should never be forced on a shifter.

Although, considering that Bacchus kept her cute cat familiar naked when he was in his Halfling form, perhaps she allowed him his fur now as defense against the cold.

After all, why would she stroke a familiar who she was punishing, until he purred with a beautiful rumbling rasp that made me want to tickle him under the chin?

The Duchess froze, shaking with her desperation to claw away the words, but her hands didn’t leave their death hold on the armrests.

I wasn’t certain whether to admire her self-control or be worried by her stubbornness.

I’d made my point.

All of a sudden, a popular song that was like an orgasm of guitars, piano, and drums (my witchy behind had never heard such an unholy mix), exploded with a triumphant chanting about both champions and losers. I supposed that we were both at the same time.

Ambrose truly was the Irony Fae.

Yet there was one side in this tournament who were nothing but losers.

Guilt squirmed in my guts (and in this tight corset, I didn’t have room for guilt bloating). By winning, I’d forced the Princes to lose and their stakes were just as serious as my own.

I glanced across at the Princes, who huddled in front of the gates like they hoped to be forgotten. I smirked at the memory of how they’d tumbled from the dragons’ back onto their behinds, and Lysander’s outraged expression.

Oh, there went the guilt bloating again.

Lysander’s head was ducked, and his hair covered his face. It was so unlike him that my chest ached. Willoughby’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

When Lysander raised his head, and his gaze met mine, I couldn’t hold back my gasp. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his expression was bleaker than I’d ever seen.

Destroyed.

“I never meant it. I threatened it, but I didn’t...” Sleipnir’s voice shook. “We wrecked him…”

“I’m Magenta, this is my academy, and you’re all my Rebels. That fae will be ours, and he shall be unwrecked at our hand.” I pushed myself out of the tangle of my lovers and to my feet, brushing the snow off my dress.

You must look your best before going into battle.

When I lifted my chin, Lysander’s eyes widened, as if he thought that I was about to fight him. Whereas in fact, I was about to go into battle for him.

Sleipnir slouched up next to me, and Bask still clung to him.

Willoughby and Lysander exchanged a glance, before straightening their shoulders and marching towards us.

Lysander stiffly held out his hand. “Well played.”

I stared at him. I didn’t associate good sportsmanship with fae.

But then, I’d never…cared…for a fae, either. My younger self would consider this modern world as crazy as me.

Willoughby’s lips twitched. “It’s customary, I believe, to shake it.”

Bask let go of Sleipnir to snatch Lysander’s hand and kiss its back like Lysander was a maiden.

I sighed. “How romantic.”

Lysander’s lips curled, and he dragged his hand back, batting Bask away. I forgave Lysander everything in that moment for the laugh he’d drawn from Bask.

For helping him to forget…

“What exemplary manners.” I patted Lysander on the head. “I expected you Princes to pitch a tantrum and kick snow on us with your stompy feet.”

“Stompy feet?” Willoughby mouthed.

Lysander’s smile was slow and so delicious that warmth curled through me. “Why would my noble self do that? One likes you Immortals, or with your startlingly poor observational skills, did you fail to notice?”

I shuddered at the way that he drew out like, as if he was sucking each of us with his tongue. My heart beat rapidly against my ribcage, and my mouth became dry. Black cats, I wanted him. I almost missed the insult (although, I was beginning to see that it was the Princes’ brand of banter), wrapped in the compliment.

Almost.

Yet when I met his dancing eyes, I couldn’t hold back my own smile because that bleak, destroyed expression had been driven away.

What wouldn’t I do to rescue him from such hurt?

Sleipnir shrugged. “Hey, that’s lucky, since we like you.”

Sleipnir tongued like in revenge but this time, as if he was tonguing the head of Lysander’s prick.

Lysander staggered back a step, and Willoughby caught him.

Never take on Sleipnir in a Banter Battle.

“To the Immortals, victors of the Dragon Polo Tournament!” Fireworks exploded in the sky, and Ambrose fluttered down to land between us like a golden eagle. He held the obsidian Rebel Cup. He smiled, beating his wings in joy, rather than agitation. Sweet Hecate, was his normal rage because of his misery? “On my feathers, it’s my honor to announce that they’re double champions of both the Rebel Cup and the tournament. It’s time to present the Rebel Cup.”

Ambrose held out the huge cup, which was shaped like a dragon. The dragon’s tail wound around the trophy and back into its mouth. Lysander’s yearning as he stared at it was physically painful.

I wished that he'd been able to have this moment.

Lysander’s fingers clenched at his sides like he was forcing himself not to snatch the cup.

As a child, I’d watched from the Bird Turret, as the trophy had been presented below in the grounds to different teams. I’d known how much it mattered to the Princes. Yet to me, it held no more meaning than one of Juni’s Privilege Points. It was the carrot, rather than the stick to keep us students behaving and compliant.

I needed the Princes to understand how hollow trophies, awards, shiny gold stars (or much as I hated to admit it, a Prefect’s title), as well as their cruel families’ approval truly was.

Damelza clicked her fingers. Midnight rose from behind her throne.

I bit my lip hard. All this time he’d been forced to kneel in the shadows. How terrible it must’ve been to watch our contest in the skies, when his own life was staked on it…and the Princes had lost.

Damelza bustled over to Ambrose, while Midnight prowled at her side, despite the fact that his broken wings were still strapped down with leather and his feet looked like they'd been frozen to blue blocks. I winced. When he shivered, even his poor cock and balls shook. It was admirable that they hadn't retreated inside his body to escape the cold. When Damelza once more pointed at her feet and Midnight began to kneel, Lysander let out a hiss of frustration, clutching Midnight by the shoulder.

Midnight's startled gaze met his. Then Lysander shrugged off his luxurious cashmere coat and laid it on the slushy ground, before gently pushing Midnight onto it.

Cauldrons and potions, that was gentlemanly.

I recognized the look in Midnight's eyes as he looked up at Lysander. What was it called again?

Oh yes, adoration.

My chest was tight. I'd judged both Lysander and Midnight, but perhaps, Midnight had always been the one with the power, despite being the whipping boy.

Sleipnir tilted his head, studying them speculatively.

Lysander clasped his hands behind his back, standing guard over Midnight. Willoughby stalked to join him.

Damelza pursed her lips, as she scanned their united group. They truly were a team even in defeat. Then her lips became even more prune like, as she looked between the cup and us Immortals.

"Now, Professor Ambrose, there's no need for all this pomp. How about I take that trophy for safe keeping?" When she grabbed the Rebel Cup, Ambrose didn't let go. Damelza's eyes glittered pink, and her feathers ruffled up. "I'm your Principal. I run this school. Have you forgotten Ezekiel or your son?"

"Nay, never. I don't forget my place here or your threats to Ty." Ambrose pulled the trophy closer to his chest, curling his wings around himself and trapping Damelza in a mockery of a lover's embrace. Damelza reddened, scrabbling at his chest with one hand and holding onto the trophy with the other. Bask giggled and when he caught Willoughby's eye, Willoughby’s lips quirked into an answering smile. "The Immortals fought and risked their lives for this trophy. They earned it, and by my wings, they shall have it."

Sleipnir disentangled himself from Bask, before prowling to Ambrose all deadly god, as fury snapped in his eyes. He thrust his hand into the struggle of professors, curling it around the dragon's tail. Then he yanked, pulling out the Rebel Cup, before holding it above his head.

Sleipnir shot a glance at Bask and me; it spoke of such pain and love that it stole my breath. "This is for Fox."

"Fox," Bask and I whispered together.

I didn't expect the Princes to echo us; shivers ran down my spine.

Damelza stumbled back from Ambrose, rubbing a feather away from her nose and sneezing. She smoothed down her dress in quick, sharp motions.

"What a pity that Confess can't hear your touching tribute, but then, the castle walls are pretty thick. On the other hand, it's effective insulation against the cold." She waved her hand dismissively at the trophy like she hadn't just been trying to wrestle it from her own professor. "Don't lose it."

I wet my dry lips. "Free Fox and the professor from the walls before they... We won, just...please."

"Mother," Juni called, "time is an issue, wouldn't you agree?"

Damelza ignored her daughter, scrutinizing me, instead. "How delightful that I've discovered how to make you beg, and I didn't even have to cast a Make Them My Bitch Hex. Do you imagine that the House of Crows act in such a way? Your mother would be so proud. Do you know what you sound like?"

"A lover?" I gritted out.

"A friend?" Sleipnir added.

"Someone with a heart?" Bask guessed.

"A witch who's forgotten our traditions." She glanced over her shoulder at the academy's guests. She was putting on a performance no different to the tournament. She was a prisoner of their patronage, just as the Rebel professors and students were prisoners of the House of Crows. "Allow me to remind you of the importance of families and not disappointing them."

I steeled myself to look at Titus. I clenched my hands, and my nails bit into my palms.

Titus sprawled in his seat, tapping his elegant fingers on his thigh. He watched us like it was an insignificant drama put on for his amusement. When his half-lidded gaze met mine, smoldering and dark, I felt dirty.

It didn't matter that his beauty glowed in the night’s gloom. So did his predatory danger.

I expected Titus to join us as the academy's patron, but it was Darby who leapt from his throne with indecent enthusiasm. Willoughby stiffened, only shuffling forward reluctantly, when Damelza crooked her finger.

Darby's sorcery crackled and smarted across my own. He strutted towards Willoughby, whose look was agonizingly hopeful.

I pressed my nails harder into my palm.

Don't hurt, reject, crush him...

But I knew that he would because I wasn't blinded by love.

How could Willoughby still love his brother?

Yet I was an only child. Perhaps, I could never understand Willoughby’s closeness to his brother. I could tell that despite all, Willoughby still missed his family.

I ached for what he'd lost and had yet to grieve.

"Brother..." Willoughby breathed.

"Silence, killer," Darby commanded. Willoughby jerked like he'd been struck. Then he gasped, clutching at his neck, as the cursed silk wound higher around his throat. "I'm your king, and you're nothing but a prisoner who should long ago have been executed."

Willoughby's face crumpled, before he forced himself to blank his expression.

My magic wove out, stroking down his sides, and he leaned into the caress. When I slipped my mists higher to tug at the silk to loosen it, Damelza tutted in disapproval.

"I would like to remind my more ill-disciplined students," Damelza's gaze met mine, as she raised her finger and thumb, "that I have the power to activate the brands in a second. So, best of behavior in front of our guests, hmm?"

I nodded, swallowing.

She could torture or kill all of the Rebels with a click of her fingers. Loving the Rebels meant letting them suffer.

Witching heavens, how could I bear this?

Because they did.

I tilted up my chin, donning the same shuttered mask as Willoughby. "I'm nothing but the model of the perfect student."

Bacchus rolled her eyes.

Darby held out a strand of his long hair to Willoughby. "Kiss the crystals of your rightful king."

Willoughby blanched.

I'd spank that brat's behind with my broomstick, until he wasn't even able to sit on his brother's throne again...

With a tenderness that Darby hadn't been expecting, rather than a shamed humiliation, Willoughby drew a crystal to his lips and kissed it. "Forgive me, brother. I've paid penance and I shall for as long as you need it. All I ask is...forgive me."

Darby wrenched back, but his wide eyes met his brother's gleaming ones; he raised a shaking hand to push his hair behind his ear. "I told you not to shame us, monster." Sleipnir flinched at the same time as Willoughby, before storming towards Darby and swinging the Rebel Cup like a club. This time, it was Lysander holding him back with a restraining hand on his elbow. "How was this performance supposed to impress me? You were warned to win every tournament, prize, and trial. Was this a rebellion? Do you wish to make your penance even harder on yourself?" His expression became ravenous, as if feeding from Willoughby's quickening breath. "Have your dreams been sweet, Dark Elf?"

"Enough," Lysander bit out. "As Prefect, the failing is mine and not Crush's. I take full responsibility."

He shrank, as Titus' expression darkened.

Damelza's smile became sly. "Well, my favorite Rebel Motto is: Share both in the winning and the losing. Don't worry, there's enough punishment to go around. Now, it's late, I'm bored, and we have either a rescue mission ahead of us or two corpses to bury so..." She pulled out from her shawl a black crystal vial and passed it to Willoughby. "The stakes for you was the loss of your magical healing power. Bottoms up."

"You'd bet with mother's gift?" Darby demanded. "You truly are a changeling.”

Willoughby's hand shook, as he raised the vial to his lips. "Since I'm not your brother, why should you care?"

My mists coiled out, stopping the venomous potion that'd steal away the magical power, which meant everything to Willoughby. It was the only thing that he had left of the Other World, from which he'd been banished.

"On my bouncy bosoms, I shan't allow this." Why was I shaking worse than Willoughby? "What do you want? What can I do or...?"

"No more deals," Willoughby's voice was low and intense. "I'm sacrificing not for the academy but for those I love. It's honorable."

"He's right," Lysander said. "Don't involve yourself in princely affairs. Not now that your whipping boy is safe."

Bask slipped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. I needed the comforting feel of him, and knew that he was as desperate for the touch as well.

My magic smarted, twisting and torn apart that my lovers were in danger, and I couldn't protect them.

Yet.

Breaking this curse would set us free, and destroy those who'd trapped us.

Willoughby glanced around at Midnight. "Before you take this from me, let me heal my whipping boy’s wings."

Damelza shook her head.

Willoughby's shoulders hunched, and his knuckles tightened until they were white around the vial.

"Drink." Darby arched his brow. "Or are you still such a traitor that you'll disobey your king's direct order?" He circled Willoughby, and my breath caught. His hand hovered over the back of Willoughby’s neck, and the silk tightened again. "Perhaps," he whispered, "you wish to kill me too and take the throne?"

Willoughby closed his eyes. "I'm not...I'd never... You'll never forgive me for killing father, will you?"

He downed the potion, hurling the empty vial away into the shadows.

Then he dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. He gritted his teeth, hissing in pain. When my own magic wound around me, I could feel it: the magic dying inside him.

It was worse than death.

Tears chased silently down Willoughby’s cheeks.

It was too much.

I dived on Willoughby at the same time as Bask fell to his knees next to him. When Bask flung his arms around Willoughby’s neck, Willoughby turned his head against Bask’s shoulder, and I stroked his hair.

"If you desire it, I'll heal Midnight," Bask promised. "Don't cry. If I'm not...taken... I promise, I'll try..."

Willoughby nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Damelza rubbed her hands together like she was satisfied with handing out a detention. "Of course, the whipping boy. This one should interest you, Duchess. Weren't you intrigued by how I tamed my students? He'll suffer the Sleep Deprivation Hex."

Before I could even shield him with my magic, Damelza shot a shower of crows' feathers cascading across Midnight like the reverse of the Sandman. Midnight keened, and Lysander rubbed across his shoulders.

Titus' lips quirked in amusement.

The Duchess inclined her head with affected boredom. "More spells, of course."

"My, you'd almost think that this was a coven," Damelza drawled. "And a hex, rather than a spell. He can't fall asleep now."

"For how long?"

"That depends how long he takes to go crazy or kill himself, I suppose. In Hecate's name, Bacchus why don't you make it this term's SHP experiment?"

Pocus abruptly stopped purring, and his eyes narrowed.

"How inventive." Bacchus’ eyes swirled amber. "One whipping boy, no sleep, observe the outcome."

Pocus hissed in distress. I suspected that as a fellow vampire, who’d been transformed into a familiar just like my crows had, he was fiercely protective of Midnight.

Did he love him, despite being bound to Bacchus?

To my surprise, the Duchess straightened in her chair, and her mouth tightened into a moue of distaste. "In my culture, we train the beautiful. We don't kill them, even the freaks." Willoughby and I tightened our hold on Bask, as she raked her gaze over him. "Isn't your whipping boy too delicious to waste?"

Damelza huffed. "He's a vampire. They're already a waste."

This time, it was Sleipnir holding Lysander back by his wings.

Except, then Damelza's gaze slid to Lysander and with a single slash of her finger through the air, a D burned itself onto his forehead. Lysander yowled, and Sleipnir dragged him tightly to his chest.

Don't let Damelza do this. Not with Titus watching. Wasn't it enough?

Titus no longer looked amused. "What's the meaning of this?"

Damelza looked smug. Was this punishment as much a sneaky revenge on Titus as Lysander?

"I don't have to worry about losing the Princes' whipping boy to madness because I've gained a Dunce." Damelza was enjoying this. "And as you know, a Dunce is like a whipping boy but with even less rights. Who'd have guessed that our patron's own ward would ever be reduced so low?"

Titus was ashen with fury. He stood with a repressed rage that trembled through his wings, then he prowled to the castle gates.

"Follow me, boy," he barked at Lysander without looking around.

Lysander bit his lip, avoiding out gazes but turned on his heel and followed his uncle. I wanted so much to walk with him and face Titus at his side or at least not to watch and listen. But despite the snow and the winds that drove harder and faster in my distress, there was nothing but silence and the hissed conversation between Titus and Lysander.

"You bring shame on me, your kingdom, and all Unseelie." Titus towered over Lysander who stood military straight, unflinching. "Your whipping boy will die for your failure, and you wear the mark of your disgrace for all to see. Do you think I shall ever let you home after humiliating me like this? You're worthless."

Titus slapped Lysander across the cheek with a crisp smack.

The sudden violence shocked me, and Bask gasped.

Yet it hadn't shocked Lysander. He hadn't even tried to move away.

I'd known.

Of course, I'd heard the unspoken truth of his guardian's harshness in Lysander’s inability to understand Ambrose's kindness to his son, or his admission that he'd been beaten since he could fly or...so many other fragments that build up to this single moment, and I saw it...

Lysander's life in the Fae Court must've been as brutal as Robin's had been as a mage in the Rebel Academy. It didn't matter that one was a prince and one an orphan. I hadn't been able to save Robin but I would save Lysander because I could see now that uncle and nephew were together how utterly ridiculous it'd been to imagine that they were anything alike.

Witnessing brutality was so much worse than guessing it in theory. My eyes burned with tears. Willoughby's understanding gaze met mine.

But I didn’t need compassion. As Flair would say, I needed a fucking great kick up the arse.

When Titus raised his hand to strike Lysander for a second time, Lysander didn’t move. But I sure as black cats did.

I unraveled myself in a blink of a witch’s eye, and rematerialized next to Lysander. The pink hand print on his cheek that painted him with his guardian’s displeasure, spurred me to wrap my mists around Titus’ wrist and tug.

Titus grimaced. “Is this your traditional greeting? Should I be flattered?”

My eyes flashed. “That’s the last thing you should be, but the rules of polite society dictate that you may continue in your delusion.” I coiled my mists more firmly around his wrist. “Never raise your hand to Lysander. Never again.”

Titus’s gaze didn’t waver from mine, then he gave a tight smile. “This is the first time that we meet, since you stand me up at our wedding, and already you command me. You’re precisely as I’ve always imagined.”

That didn’t sound like a good thing.

I tilted my head. “How interesting. Because you’re precisely how I’ve always imagined, which is why I refused to be forced into a marriage with you.”

Titus’ eyes flashed, and finally, he lost his cool composure. “May I have my hand back or are you waiting for me to offer it again in marriage?”

My mists dropped his wrist like it was toxic.

“How gracious of you to free me,” Titus said, drily.

When I glanced sideways at Lysander, I caught his expression as he studied me underneath his eyelashes. It was the same one that I’d earlier seen on Midnight’s face: adoration.

I flushed. Bask’s worship of me was easy because he lived to love. Yet for Lysander, it meant renouncing everything that he was.

Was now the time to panic that I wouldn’t do well under pressure?

Titus glanced between Lysander and me. “My ward is failing.” His words were clipped and sharp. “You need more effective — harsher — methods to motivate him, Damelza. You have my permission to no longer pamper the brat.”

“And mine with…the elf from my kingdom,” Darby added far too gleefully.

Would his prick fall off if the word brother passed his lips?

Juni’s expression became stony. “As the Princes’ Tutor, I can assure you both that the Princes work tirelessly at bettering themselves, behave with decorum, and are a credit to—”

Darby’s snort was not at all kingly. “Willoughby is a monster. A killer isn’t a credit to anyone.”

Willoughby’s shoulder’s slumped.

“Hey, as the resident monster, objection.” Sleipnir raised the Rebel Cup above his head. “I produce Exhibit A.”

Juni hid her laugh in her palm.

“Then let them all have a final chance to prove their worth.” Titus’ smile was shark sharp. What had I missed? Why did I feel like all of us had walked straight into a trap that Titus had spun all along? And this is what happened when your professor for Strategy was walled up alive. “Surely, you wish to redeem yourself?”

Lysander nodded, mechanically.

“Splendid.” When Titus clapped his hands together, we all jumped. “Then we have gathered here a Duchess, your humble patron and prince,” I didn’t even attempt to hide my laugh at the humble, especially when it tightened Titus’ mouth into a tight line of annoyance, “and how impressive, even a king.” Darby preened, entirely missing Titus’ mocking tone. “How about you put on a musical performance to delight us on Monday night?”

When I’d been expecting a public flogging, an evening of song and entertainment sounded delightful and yet once again, as if Titus was springing a trap.

“A magical tribute to Gilbert and Sullivan under the Comic Opera Hex, where we can’t stop singing until we’ve completed all fourteen operettas from start to finish, even the ghastly Princess Ida?” I gasped.

“I didn’t mean that sort of…”

“Don’t tell me you intend to force us to recreate Wagner’s The Ring cycle without a break?” I held my hand to my chest in horror. “You brute!”

Titus’ wings stretched out in a display of dominance (or simply to stop me talking). “A normal, average, performance on instruments to accompany the Enchanted Ball.”

Well, that was one way to silence me. I gaped at him, frozen.

Everything returned to that one night. I’d prayed to be saved, and I’d lost everything.

Please, don’t take me back there…

But I knew that I’d never left, not truly.

Yet there was something in Titus’ eyes, which made me shudder, because I could tell that he’d never left either.

We’d both lived in the shadow of that night and our choices. The ghosts had haunted us.

I shook my head.

Titus expression, however, was steely. “A recreation of that night would be nostalgic, don’t you think? But this time, the witch won’t stand me up.” His smile was all teeth. “If I’m pleased, as patron, I’ll extend the same luxuries to the Immortals as I do the Princes. I like to help, where I can. But if I’m disappointed and feel that the students aren’t attempting to become reformed,” he sighed, as if personally hurt at the thought, “then the Immortals will become the Princes’ whipping boys and that includes you.” Why did he look suddenly so wistful? Then his gaze became flinty. “Don’t you have a whipping boy of your own to pull from the walls? Go and save him. I’d be most put out if our long-awaited reunion was ruined by your grief over a dead mage.”

Chapter Thirteen

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Saturday September 7th

I’d stood in this portrait gallery, as my magic had swirled in a whirlwind of anguish, and witnessed the walling up of two shimages who I loved. I’d believed in the bleakness of grief that I’d lost them forever. I’d never dared hope that I’d stand here, waiting to pull out one of them from the walls…alive.

Was that irony, symmetry, or Fate?

Truly, I didn’t give a flying bat’s back leg because my Immortals and I had earned Fox’s freedom.

And it had a cost that would hurt my princely lovers.

I glanced at Lysander who stood straight backed at my side but close enough for our shoulders to touch. Silver moonlight flooded through the arched window in the West Wing, illuminating the sharpness of his cheekbones and the bruising that shadowed along it.

I winced.

In this gallery, amid the portraits of every Rebel who’d ever been killed, in a place where Robin had died and Fox had been taken from me, it was wrong that it should be a fae prince who kept me silent but reassuring company.

Yet it was fair. Lysander had, after all, paid for Ezekiel’s freedom.

I studied the way that Lysander’s jaw clenched, and his pulse fluttered in his throat. He worked so hard not to show his distress, but why hadn’t I realized before that his protection of the Princes was admirable?

We were both Prefects. Perhaps, I’d spent too long alone to understand true responsibility.

I scrunched up my nose: my chest felt all squishy and squirmy that a fae had taught me something.

Bask certainly believed that we could teach interesting things to the Prince. Although, his idea of both teaching and interesting were quite different to Lysander’s.

Lysander caught my eye, before brushing his fingers against mine. My skin tingled like electric had jumped between us at even the slight touch. My heart beat faster. Our magic reached out, desperate to explore. I wrenched it back, although my hand crept into Lysander’s like I couldn’t hold it back.

Traitor hand.

Lysander’s eyes widened, but then he smiled in a genuine, soft way that I’d never seen before. This time, the squishy sensation traveled into my guts as well.

Perhaps, I had wind.

Lysander clasped my hand, however, pulling it tight to his chest like I’d change my mind and wrench away from him.

Typical possessive fae.

I tried to ignore Damelza, who was tapping at the wall beneath the magic mirror and pressing her cheek against it. It was disconcertingly either like someone checking for damp, an infestation of rats, or a medium calling to the spirit world. I didn’t know whether she was pranking me or truly trying to work on the spell.

Possibly both…?

With a hoarse cawing, Flair and Echo flapped through the open window. I winced, as they landed on each of my shoulders, and their scaly claws bit into me through my dress.

“We watched you win the tournament like a fucking legend, boss." Flair rambled a series of clicks with a sense of pride. Cauldrons and potions, I wasn't imagining the pride. "The freaky as fuck horse had almost as pretty wings as us."

I tapped Flair’s beak reprovingly.

Echo rubbed his pink feathery head against my cheek. "Why'd you drop the elf on his arse? His hair's even prettier." His eyes opened with horror. "You could've broken his prick."

I frowned. "I don't break pricks. I mean, I almost broke Sleipnir’s, but that was the one time…"

Lysander raised his eyebrow. "Good to know, although there is such a thing as overshare, especially about the Immortals’ private parts. One is reassured."

Sometimes,, I forgot that my familiars were invisible to other people.

I flushed, hissing at my familiars, "Why are you even here? Fly away."

Lysander's eyebrow raised so high that it disappeared into his hairline. "Well, if my royal personage isn't welcome, you only had to say."

He attempted to pull his hand out of mine, but I held on tight.

"Nosiness mostly," Flair replied, as if Lysander hadn't answered. "Plus, we couldn't bear another century stuck with you wailing and..."

"But she's so beautiful when she cries." Echo sighed. Was that sweet or disturbingly psychopathic? I could never decide with my familiars. "Because you love the fuckable mage, my Magenta. So, we do too."

My eyes burned with tears.

"M-my apologies," Lysander stuttered, dragging me closer. "One had no intention of distressing you. My noble self has much more cutting remarks prepared for such an occasion."

I huffed, wiping at my eyes. "I believe you. You have a spectacular talent for insults."

Lysander inclined his head, and there was that beautiful, genuine smile again that coiled warmth through me all the way to my curling toes. "My thanks." Then his gaze softened. "They've alive; I feel it."

My chest tightened. Against my will, I glanced at Damelza, who was now pressed against the wall with a look of intense concentration like a constipated starfish.

I pushed myself onto my tiptoes, before pressing a gentle kiss to Lysander's bruised cheek. He gasped, staring at me in wonder. Then he pushed his fingers across the imprints of his guardian's palm that'd marked his face.

Had my kiss wiped away his uncle's touch?

By the way that his hand squeezed my hand tighter, I witching hoped so.

Flair's eyes narrowed in jealousy. "How long have we got before that witchy bitch pulls the broomstick out of her arse and frees the mage? I could peck off the fae's balls. It'd make a perfect gift for the mage: Prince's Balls as handy stress relievers."

I cringed, as Flair clicked his sharp bill.

"Stop talking nothing but balls." I shrugged my shoulders in a hint for my familiars to take their feathery behinds a safe distance from Lysander’s vulnerable (as well as impressively large if he was identical in all ways to Andro, his clone), privates.

Finally, the crows flew to the windowsill.

Lysander's expression morphed into naughty outrage. "It appears that I’m not the only one who’s talented at insults."

"Peck, peck, peck," Flair encouraged. "What's he even using them for? After all, you won't screw him, when he's dying for a fuck."

"I need the fae's balls, and I shall be using them soon," I blurted out.

Lysander's startled gaze met mine, and I reddened.

My witching goodness, was it possible that I’d forgotten the art of romance and courting? Once, I'd have announced my intentions with glove flirtation.

Was this what they called being corrupted by the modern world?

"One appreciates the advance warning." Lysander's tongue darted out and wet his lips. "My balls shall look forward to it."

Wait, had his privates just accepted my invitation...?

Before I could demand greater clarity on the terms, Damelza twisted to us. "Ah-ha! It appears that my theory is correct about how to break this spell."

I rushed forward, and my magic spread out like ivy across the surface of the wall, as if I could seep through and reach Fox. He was on the other side...alive...I could feel it the same as Lysander.

I knew it. He had to be. Please...

"Magenta," Lysander's voice was tight, "hold on. Just...a little longer. Control your magic, otherwise it won't be stable enough."

I should've hated him. For commanding and leashing me...for telling me the truth.

I closed my eyes, clenching my hands. Slowly, I wrenched my magic back inside. I hurt. When I glanced over my shoulder, Lysander was pale, and his breath was ragged. He hurt just the same as me.

"Thank you," I breathed.

He flushed, dropping his gaze, but not before I'd seen the spark of surprised happiness in his gaze.

Damelza waved her hand. "Now don't get your little hopes up. This is unprecedented. No mage has ever been released. They're our enemies, although clearly the new generation have a problem remembering that. Perhaps, I need to create new rules about fraternizing because there's a message in that somewhere. As one of my favorite mottoes states—"

"Take your mottoes,” Lysander drawled, “and stick them up your feathery behind."

Damelza's mouth fell open and then snapped shut in shock.

That was satisfying.

"It's funny how quickly you've forgotten that your guardian has authorized harsher methods," Damelza snarled. "My daughter always was one to have her head turned by a handsome boy. But I'll marry her into a respectable coven by Christmas and who then shall protect you, Dunce? You're nothing but a crush, who she'll forget like your entire kingdom has. If I were you, I'd remember your new position."

Lysander's lips thinned. "Thank my wings, you're not me."

"Open the wall and free my lover." My voice was hard and dangerous.

Damelza's eyes glittered, but she held her palm against the wall. "By the branches of the tree, free those who are no longer your enemy, blessed be."

I jolted. The incantation was so close to the invocation that Byron had said as he'd pressed his hand to this wall, after Robin had been walled up alive. Also, the one that I'd repeated. Had Hecate heard us...or had Byron been praying to someone else?

I'd hoped that it'd free Robin, but it hadn't.

Had Byron simply messed up one of the lines, or had he only known some of them? After all, he wasn't a mage.

Witches above, I missed Robin, Fox, and I missed father.

This time, let it work...

I held my breath.

Please, please, please...

I jumped, as a gaping chasm of black appeared beneath the mirror.

It was opening.

Yes, yes, yes...

Lysander dived forward, clutching my hand and crushing my fingers between his.

I wasn't alone this time. I hadn't been alone since I'd been resurrected. Yet could anyone survive so many hours walled up?

There was a tumble of violet feathers and bronze muscles through the hole. I stared down at Ezekiel's eerily still body.

Not dead, not dead, not...

Lysander wrenched away from me to crouch next to Ezekiel. He brushed Ezekiel’s hair away from his eyes and pushed him onto his back. Lysander’s troubled gaze met mine, before he leaned closer.

"Professor," he whispered, urgently.

Ezekiel's eyes fluttered open.

Thank Hecate.

"W-where's the p-pussy?" Ezekiel broke off, coughing.

That was no euphemism.

Lysander awkwardly cradled Ezekiel onto his lap, even though he was twice as large as him, patting him on the back like he'd never helped anyone in that way before.

I fell onto all fours and peered into the darkness. Why wasn't my Fox crawling (or falling out unconscious) after the professor? If he wouldn't come out, then I'd go in after him.

When I started to edge into the wall, however, Damelza let out a squawk.

"Hecate above, do you have no idea what impact your magic would have inside a spell such as this? Do you wish to tear this entire academy apart?" Damelza demanded.

Ah, rhetorical questions.

In fact, yes, I did wish it. Truly to the depths of my wicked heart I did.

Lysander raised his wing to Ezekiel’s lips. How inappropriate. Did the prince believe that now was the time to offer the professor an aphrodisiac as he had to Bask in the magical game of Russian Roulette in the traditional fae way? Hard pricks were not a conventional medical cure, unless they were in the twenty-first century….? This world nowadays was, after all, strange; cum could be the new penicillin.

Perhaps, Lysander had simply misunderstood the pussy reference…?

When Ezekiel licked Lysander's feathers, however, I realized that he must've offered him something far more refreshing.

What a handy spell.

Was he creating water? Lemonade? Witches above, could he produce tea on his feathers because if so, I'd never allow this fae out of my bed. Those tea-infused feathers would be mine alone to lick.

I choked on a sob. I craved to lick my raspberry scented mage. Without him, everything else would taste of dust.

I huddled over, clutching my arms over my churning guts. I was crumpling, falling apart, dust.

Then Fox stumbled through the darkness in the wall, and I caught him in my arms. He was breathing, warm, alive. The sweetness of his scent was everything.

Dust coated his curls, dirt smeared his cheeks, and purple shadows smudged under his eyes. He was exhausted and pale. I shuddered to imagine how hard this last day had been for him.

Yet right now with the way that Fox’s arms curled around my shoulders and his cheek rested against mine, all that mattered was that I'd saved him like I hadn't been able to protect Robin.

I could never forgive myself for Robin’s death; I understood that now. Reaching for redemption as the Princes did, was a false hope.

But I could make different choices, and it started with Fox.

My magic burst out of me in an explosion of intense joy. It grew in brambles out of the floor and walls around Fox and me, protecting us in a glowing womb from the rest of the academy. I ignored Damelza's hollers, and instead, wrapped my arms even tighter around Fox. He raised tired eyes to mine, but I shivered at the strength of his love.

I kissed him, licking across his dry lips, and the breath rushed from my mouth into his. The way that his tongue pushed desperately deeper, before curling around mine was like it belonged there and always had.

It was...life.

I grasped Fox’s hair, twisting my hand in his curls. Then I drew back, panting. We rested our foreheads together.

Alive, alive, alive.

A laugh bubbled up, and I couldn't hold it back. Fox pressed kisses against my smiling lips, before slipping his palm to the hollow of my back, as if I was just as much a miracle as he was.

"I breathed for you," I murmured.

"Well, it worked." Fox's gaze was fragile, and his voice raspy, but then he smirked. "Pfft, I told you that I could hold my breath for a—"

"Really," I nipped his lower lip on each word, "really, long time."

"Don't hog the mage," Echo called from the other side of our magical briar.

"We won't peck his balls," Flair promised. "We know that you need his fuckable behind whole, boss."

"Tell him that we're glad he's not dead," Echo added. "We'd have missed his curly hair. It shines like moonlight."

When I spluttered with laughter, Fox raised his eyebrow at me. Had Lysander and him been taking lessons together?

"My familiars wish to tell you that they're glad you didn't smother to death in the walls because your hair glimmers like moonlight."

Fox bit his lip hard to hide his grin. "Wow, they're warming up to me. But then, who wouldn't wax lyrical about a mage like me? After all, I did win the Shiniest Hair Awards Five Years running and have the ribbons to prove it. I had several offers to pursue a career as a hair model, but that's a crazy lifestyle, and I didn't want it to turn my head."

Ah, my adorable pathological liar. How I missed you.

Then the tips of Fox's ears reddened, before he offered, "It's hard to explain...okay, the truth is that I don't want to explain yet but...I've sort of discovered a whole new perspective on this ghost business. I understand being shut away, invisible, and ignored, but I'm free from the attic now. Your familiars aren't free. How about we let them into our love nest?"

I stared at him in surprise, and Echo cawed hopefully

"Well, fuck me," Flair gasped.

No one had never loved me enough to also see my familiars. Admittedly, they were kinky, loud, and possessive, but they were also smart, loyal, and mine. Now Fox wished to include them.

I hadn't believed that I could love Fox anymore, but yet, I could.

My magic dissolved, and for a moment, I thought that I'd made a terrible mistake.

Were my crows too possessive to love Fox back?

Flair and Echo barreled into Fox's lap. Crack my broomstick, they were going straight for his privates...

I was quite...extremely...fond of those balls. I had plans for them later.

I shot out my magic in a protective shower of sparks.

Yet instead of pecking, my familiars cuddled Fox, as if they were on my knee, nuzzling in their own version of crow kisses. After a moment, Flair appeared to realize what he was doing. Embarrassed, he turned his beak up like he was only using Fox as a pillow.

My magic fizzled out, and I leaned forward; Fox and my breaths' mingled.

"I love you," I murmured against Fox’s lips, "for your kindness and your courage. And I believe, that you've just earned the eternal love of my familiars. Be grateful, since they're now on your lap and they have an awful tendency to peck."

Fox stiffened and gave a nervous laugh. "I have an Anti-Peck Certificate. It indemnifies me against all crow attacks. I'm bullet proof."

"I'll show our foxy bullet proof..." Flair dived for Fox's prick like it was a worm, but I snatched Flair by the wing, holding him back.

Then I noticed that Fox was hugging something to his chest by one arm. He hadn't been carrying anything when he'd been shut in the walls. I froze. Through the haze of safe, safe, safe, I recognized the book, which wasn't safe.

It shouldn't even have been in the walls.

How was Fox holding it?

How, how, how?

Now it was me who couldn't breathe.

Fox gently held out Robin's Your Heart's Desire Book to me.

Robin had gifted the book to me in Hecate's glade on the night that he'd died because of our first kiss. It was no more than sheets, which had been ripped out of other books because orphan mages weren't allowed to possess anything. But Robin had risked creating it for me, intending to give it to me at the Enchanted Ball. Such gifts were for those who you planned to court and marry.

Instead, I'd been bound to a fae prince, Titus, who’d been a stranger to me. Robin had still gifted me the book, as well as his first kiss, while knowing that I was to marry another.

It was to be our only moment as lovers together.

It'd been the best kiss of my life.

And it'd killed Robin.

I pressed the back of my palm against my mouth to hold in the sobs.

Fox clasped my other hand, entwining our fingers, before he brushed them over the soft red feathers on the front of the book: the ones that Robin had plucked from his own coat. Robin's bittersweet birdsong magically sang out.

Despite myself, I laughed, as my crows joined in with their own tone-deaf songs. Then I was shocked to silence as the aroma of sweet wild blackberries gusted across my cheeks.

It was too much...

Don't take me back there...to the woods with my best friend and first lover...searching out berries and feeding them to each other, as the juices stained our chins. To the life, joy, and every snatched moment of forbidden freedom. To the sensation of Robin's strong finger tracing my cheek, his emerald eyes, and how he'd awakened me.

Cold prickled against my neck like kisses, and I shivered. My eyes widened.

"What in the witching heavens have you done?" I demanded.

Fox edged backward; he looked half proud and half worried that he was about to be cursed with a Nipple Pinching Hex. "Yeah, about that. I might have freed another ghost. It's my new habit. But it's not a bad one because this one loves you. I can feel it in my bones, blood, and heart. He crushes on you like Tinker Bell does on Peter Pan. Oh, and he's a mage. So, mage solidarity and that."

"Robin," I breathed.

I shook, and I didn't hear Lysander's concerned calls or Damelza's sneered commands. I was lost: to the past and my personal ghost. I craved nothing but the cool breeze embracing me with a love that I hadn't felt for over a hundred years: Robin.

When the breeze swept away down the corridor, I snatched the Your Heart’s Desire Book. Then I leapt up and followed Ghost Robin. We'd spent our childhoods following no one but each other through the Dead Wood, into the Dreaming Space, or sneaking out at night to lie on the castle’s roof and stargaze. I'd imagined that we'd had our lives together to chase after each other on adventures, even if we were caught within the wards of Rebel Academy.

The span of our lives would've been enough.

But my prayers to Hecate had stolen it from us, along with my mother's attempts to marry me to Titus.

I burst into the Bird Turret, as Ghost Robin danced playfully around my shoulders. He traced cool fingers under my choker to the sensitive skin that tingled at the frosty touch.

I'd missed his touch.

I'd missed him.

"Robin," I called, clutching Your Heart’s Desire Book closer to my chest.

In response, the wind swept in a whirlwind around the room that I'd been shut away in as a child. The magical mural on the walls sprang to life, and I shuddered at its pulsing magic. Hecate's Tree swayed, and frogs hopped in celebration at their base. The sweet scent of the lilies of the valley filled the room.

I tipped my head back and stared up at the indigo roof, as Ghost Robin spiraled higher.

I laughed in shock, as the robins who'd flocked like crimson tears and had been silent as if grieving since Robin and my deaths’, burst into wild life with silvery song.

Tears chased down my cheeks, as I twirled around.

Dizzy, I spun to the robins’ song, part of the whirlwind. My magic coiled out in pink threads around Ghost Robin, entwining around him.

I'll never let go again.

When the Your Heart’s Desire Book burst into song as well, I stilled and glanced down at it. Magic vibrated through the cover. My hands shook.

When Ghost Robin had given me the book, he'd told me to open it, when I was alone. I'd been burned alive before I had the chance, which I believed was a reasonable excuse.

But wasn't now the perfect time?

I bit my lip. Sometimes, courage meant far more than facing dragon shifters, deadly missions, or even death.

Robin was my greatest regret but also my greatest love. I had to face the past that haunted me.

I flipped open the book.

I froze, and my breath hitched.

A miniature version of Robin stared out from the page. He wore his whipping boy uniform of black shirt and pants with a pink R embroidered on the pocket. His muscled chest was tight against the thin material. His red hair tumbled over his eyes, and his emerald eyes watched me intently.

My heart clenched. I'd forgotten how bright his eyes were. How had I forgotten that? How had I forgotten anything about him?

My breath became ragged.

I shouldn't have forgotten.

Paper Robin shot me a cheeky grin. "I told you so. It turns out that mama and I were right about ghosts."

I smiled. "How long have you been waiting to say that? Was it satisfying?"

Paper Robin's eyes crinkled as he smiled, and my stomach flipped. I remembered when I'd lived for those smiles. "Wonderfully. Although, I was also right that ghosts eternally crave, and I've only craved you. You're my best friend, and I've loved for you so very long. To see you again is more than I ever hoped."

I swallowed, and tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. Because he wasn't seeing me, was he?

This Paper Robin was my Heart's Desire...but was he real?

Paper Robin's brow furrowed. "Hush, silly sweetheart." Ghost Robin settled on my shoulders, caressing. Please, let him truly be here with me once more. "I told you that a part of me would be in this book. We'll always be together."

Always.

I sobbed, stumbling to the window seat that overlooked the bailey. How many times had I sat here as a child, watching the Rebels who I wasn't allowed to even play with? Who I had to witness being beaten and couldn't protect? Who I couldn't love, until Robin?

Father had taught me equality, fairness, and friendship. He'd suffered for it, and Robin and I had died in their name.

I knew now: I didn't regret any of it.

Paper Robin raised his hand, and I licked away the salty tears on my lips, as I in turn, raised mine to meet his paper likeness.

It should've been enough.

It wasn't.

It could never be enough. I'd forever lost the feel of his warm chest as he caged me beneath him, the feel of his lush lips, and the rapid thud of his heart against mine.

But I had this, Hecate above, I had this. And it was more than I'd ever thought that I'd have again.

"I love you." I leaned into Ghost Robin's cool embrace, as I traced his paper twin's cheek, "I've always loved you. When I first saw you down in the bailey, transforming into a cute squirrel, before I even knew what a shimage was, I knew that we belonged together. And by the way, I'm more than aware about ghosts. I'm still partly dead. Wait, that didn't sound particularly seductive."

I melted my legs to black mists, and Paper Robin’s eyes lit up.

"Only you could talk about hanging between life and death so casually. Believe me, you've never needed to attempt seduction with me. You're beautiful, in spirit, mind, and body."

"My, are you flirting?"

Paper Robin barked with laughter. "I wouldn't even try, unless I wanted to make a mage's prick out of myself." Then he sobered. "Did you wait for me?"

I stilled. Ah, was now the time to explain the whole non-Victorian view on virginity...?

"Ehm, there's a philosophical and a technical answer..." I hedged. Then I leaned forward, kissing the page. Paper Robin gave a gentle laugh, as my lips sucked over his entire head. Ghost Robin kissed down my cheeks in kissing retaliation. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "You were walled up, and I couldn't... I'm sorry, sorry, so—"

"Stop," Paper Robin ordered. His emerald eyes gleamed with anguish but also determination. "What happened to me wasn't your fault. I died willingly for you, and I would again. I loved you as a friend, and if I'd been more than a mage, I'd have asked you to marry me. It was wicked of me to crave more than my station deserved. Yet I hoped... Perhaps, change in witch and mage relations could've started with you. Your dad, who was a good man, he hoped it too." Then his lips curled into a smile. "Now I'm a ghost, did I miss my chance to marry you?" My magic burst out in confetti sparkles. Paper Robin smirked. "Is that my answer?"

Why should I not take this happiness now and steal a long-awaited love?

Who was there to stop me now?

Was it karma that mother was fully dead, while I was enough alive to go against her wishes?

My knuckles whitened around the book. "Well, as I'm half ghost as well, it's not conventional, but we'd match. Yes, oh witching heavens, yes, yes, yes..."

Ghost Robin wrapped around me like he'd never let go.

Never let go.

Paper Robin's eyes widened, and he paled. "You mean that? But I can't even touch..."

"Neither could I, but the Immortals still loved and resurrected me. Why should we not have this too?"

Paper Robin looked at me searchingly. "You're bolder now. I like it. Before, you could only tell me that you loved me through the art of Glove Flirtation."

"I was a proper lady then."

Paper Robin snorted. "Says the witch who went swimming naked in the lake with me."

"We were eleven!"

Paper Robin tilted up his chin. "And who was seventeen when they went climbing trees with me in the Dead Wood?"

"I wanted to know what it felt like when you were in Mr Tailsy form. You were training me as an honorary squirrel."

He smiled at me fondly. "You made an exceptional squirrel, and I promise to make an exceptional husband."

This time, I didn't try to stop the tears. But then, movement in the cold darkness of the courtyard below caught my eye.

I frowned, as I glanced out of the window.

The Duchess who was wrapped in a sweeping coat stalked past the statues of the three Hecates towards the exit of the academy.

Black cats, she was tall.

Behind her, trailing like a smaller shadow, was Bask. His shoulders were slumped, and his head was ducked. He looked...crushed. He dragged a large suitcase behind him through the snow.

I stared at them for a moment. Then it struck me. Damelza had promised to free one of the winning side from the academy. Yet she'd never had any intention to truly free them, only return them into the hands of their cruel families, who'd first sentenced them to the academy.

I couldn't let Bask return to the incubi harem and the succubi who'd broken him. How could I fail to protect him like I had Robin?

The Duchess had said that she was inspecting Bask today but wasn't she staying for the Enchanted Ball? I'd thought that I had time to break the wards. Time to save Bask. Time to save the Princes. Time to save all my lovers.

I stood, as rage flooded me. At my side, Ghost Robin rushed around the Bird Turret in agitated gusts. The robins called out in alarm; Hecate's Tree reached its branches towards me.

I dropped the book onto the window seat. My eyes glimmered; my magic sparkled along my skin.

I'd gained Robin but I was losing Bask.

I. Would. Not. Lose. Bask.

My magic tore from me, wild and unleashed. I wrenched at it, but I wasn't in control. Was this how it'd been for Willoughby?

Would I at last become truly wicked? Was this the chaos moment?

I didn't care.

This was for my lover. I was wicked, and I'd pull down the storm if it meant protecting Bask.

I hollered, as my magic burst from me, dragging at the threads that ran through the entire academy. I was connected to all of it at the same time. Nature screamed with me, answering my despair.

Roots burst up around the Duchess, and she wailed, trapped.

Bask stumbled back, but my magic surged through him, calling to the bond inside. If we bonded, then no one could take him away.

Even out of control, my magic held back, before Bask's magic answered the request to bond, binding eagerly. He tipped back his head, and his ruby gaze met mine. They gleamed with worship and thanks.

This was it: he was mine now, forever.

I married ghosts, was the first ever female Rebel, and loved mages. I gave a witch's tit for tradition or rules on who could bond with incubi.

Bask was mine and safe from the bitch who'd broken her own bond with him, and I'd never be parted from my lover.

All of a sudden, Bask collapsed.

Shocked, I banged against the glass. My magic continued to surge through the academy.

The Duchess screamed.

Ghost Robin entwined around my magic, soothing and calming the whirlwind. But I was lost to the storm, and it was tearing me and the academy apart.

Chapter Fourteen

BASK

Rebel Academy, Sunday September 8th

I ached, rising from a dark in which my Soul had been torn apart. And let me tell you, that was worse than a punch to the dick. My slinky self wasn't broken, however, because, I'd been remade with a glowing pink magic that tangled around me.

Wow, it was beautiful. Perhaps, I was beautiful inside now as well as outside...?

That would be a fine thing.

My forehead ached with a brutal pounding. I couldn't force open my eyes. Yet I was lying on something warm and soft, snuggled in a nest of...pillows. I could spot a pillow anywhere: it was my Pillow Gift. I was talented (of course, snicker).

I was also naked.

I wriggled my bare arse into the satin pillows, while curling my bare toes to sneakily edge another pillow closer because multi-tasking was winning.

My hazy mind was a wee bit unclear how I’d ended up in this luxury, but still, I had to admit that this was top level incubus care.

My brow furrowed (and frowning knocked whole points off my Pettability Level). Hadn't I been frozen before and frightened...? Then I was chilled with terror because my mind cleared, and I remembered...

I'd been bouncing on the bed, as Sleipnir had paced from one side of the Immortals’ bedroom in the West Wing to the other, waiting for the return of my foxy. I had this whole welcome home whipping boy planned, which would've been brilliant and involved dicks, sucking, and long, sweet kisses. Nile would've even cuddled him for ten...five...a whole minute.

I'd never allowed anyone to cuddle Nile before.

Did Fox think that he was just anyone? Silly human.

But then, I was the silly incubus who hadn't understood just how much Fox meant to me. I'd suffer an eternally unpettable arse for him. That's how serious I was about our love.

Unexpectedly, the Duchess had stalked into my bedroom like a violation. She’d barely glanced at me, as if my hair had become lank, and ordered me to pack because it was time to return to the incubi harem.

Despite everything, she still hadn't broken me because the love from the week that I'd spent with Fox, Slippy, and Magenta had warmed me inside. The memory would be my shield, which I'd hold deep within myself.

No one could break it.

My lovers had already saved me. I'd love them to the end for it.

Always.

What more could an incubus wish for?

As I'd struggled after the Duchess through the snowy courtyard, however, Magenta had been at the window of the Bird Turret like my wicked fairy godmother, lighting it up, and a new bond had shot through me.

Here’s the thing of it, Magenta’s claim shouldn't have been possible. Succubi could bond with anyone they desired, but full incubi were only meant to bond with succubi.

It'd be another bastard control issue like forcing us to wear gloves to regulate our skin-to-skin contact. Perhaps, succubi had a terrible fear of our seductive powers or simple dick envy. After all, they waved their tails around an awful lot like they were compensating for something.

How powerful was Magenta that she'd broken the bonding rule?

My rebel Magenta.

I scrunched up my nose, and the scent of the wild woods wound around me. The new pink magic that entwined inside me reached out like ivy to the aroma of yew trees in greeting. Suddenly, I was flooded with energy, and my eyes shot open.

I gasped, as my gaze met Magenta's. She caged me beneath her, hovering above. Her soft hair veiled my cheeks. Her gaze was searching.

She was stunning and my bonded.

Please, let her allow me to love her...truly love her...as a bonded. The Duchess never had. This sexy body couldn't take being rejected twice.

I had seen myself in a mirror, after all.

I raised my hand to my hair, smoothing it down because there was always time to look your best.

Shininess of hair: 9/10

Pettability of Arse: 10/10

I could work with that.

"Morning, sleepyhead. We must stop meeting like this." Magenta grinned.

"Away with you, I vote for all meetings being bare arsed in a pillow nest. These are mine now, right?" I burrowed deeper into the pillows.

Magenta laughed. "I pity the person stupid enough to attempt to take them away from you."

My clever Magenta. Fear the mighty incubus.

I nodded, determinedly. "Anyway, it's like this, see, we're bonded now," I rolled my hips against hers, and she gasped, "and that means, if you wish, we're together—"

"Always." Magenta ran her thumb over my lips, before kissing against the corners of my smile as softly as if I was the most precious thing that she'd ever touched (obviously). "And forever."

"What happened to not saying always?"

She froze, and her gaze flicked to a book that was covered in red feathers. Note to self: remind Fox not to piss her off enough to end up shaved and with his creamy fur stuck to her schoolbooks.

Magenta stroked my cheek. "I learned that some things...some people...are worth dying for. I've foolishly failed to understand death, despite haunting the veils."

Troubled, she pushed away from me. I struggled up onto my elbows amongst the pillows. I realized that I was in the Dreaming Space. It was a small chamber, which was veiled in cobwebs with a low arched ceiling and no windows. It was the highest part of the castle, which tingled with ancient magic. It was lit by Magenta's magic along the beamed roof like constellations of pink twinkling stars. It was morning, but we were lost in our own night.

Magenta's power was nature, and larger than the world.

"You know, Damelza got quite red with rage like she’d forgotten how to ride her broomstick and ended up inserting it in the most painful way," Magenta said, thoughtfully. I winced. "Still, I insisted that we follow your traditions. We're bonded, and that means we’re entitled to a First Night together. Why should a little thing like the sun stand in the way of consummating our bond?"

Her magical stars flared brighter in the black of the roof sky.

I shuddered at the memory of my original First Night with the Duchess. I hugged my arms around myself. In my first bond, I'd been stuck in a loveless relationship. But this time, I’d do everything in my slinky power to make certain that there'd be nothing but love, and no ghosts from my past would haunt that.

Magenta traced her finger over the initials MR, which were carved looping into the wood (Magenta had carved them there as a kid, along with her best friend). I shivered because I could feel him, tickling down my neck.

How could I sense this man who she’d loved and lost over a hundred years ago in the sudden chill? Why were Magenta’s eyes dazed like she was lost in her own memories?

My sexy self wasn't losing the woman who I loved to her ghosts on our First Night together. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I was claiming something for myself alone.

This incubus didn't do ignored.

I narrowed my eyes, before pushing myself onto all fours. My dick hardened, and my skin tingled.

My Magenta was all mine this morning, and I was all hers.

I crawled towards her with a sinful slink of my hips. Her eyes widened at my predator approach.

As I said, my clever Magenta.

I pressed my hands onto her hips without breaking eye contact, before swooping in as if to kiss her good bits, but at the last minute licking up her clothed stomach instead. Who am I kidding, there wasn’t any part of her that was bad, even if she was the academy’s wicked witch.

She let out a puffed breath of disappointment. Cute.

I grinned against her stomach, before kissing between her gorgeous tits, and teasing along the line where cloth met pale skin.

"So, what did happen last night?" I asked.

Magenta huffed. "Could we not discuss that at a more convenient time?"

She was adorably flushed, and wasn't thinking about anything but the path of my tongue up her neck.

Just as it should be.

"It's convenient for me." I sucked on her neck, and her breathing sped up. "But as you wish."

Unexpectedly, she stilled, before stroking my hair. "Ah, now that's what we need to discuss. You please me every single moment." I shivered, as her approval and pleasure bubbled through me, feeding my power in a rush that was as good as coming. Away with you, don't knock it until you try a pleasure feeding. "But it shan't be as I wish."

I blinked. So, she was a masochist? There were an awful lot of those in Rebel Academy. I hadn't seen that coming.

"You...want me to do the opposite of what you wish?" I ventured. "Then why didn't you just bond with Lysander because he already does that."

Magenta smirked. "That is rather the fae's best feature, however, I meant that this bond of ours will be equal. I'm not a succubi and I'm certainly not a traditional witch. I've been reminded recently that papa raised me to treat men with a respect that he hoped would start to change attitudes in our world." She bit her lip. "I was too young and sheltered to understand how brave and good he was and I died before I could achieve it. Yet I shall with all my lovers."

She meant it.

When I pinned her to the wall and devoured her lips, there was no softness but the joy of a predator unleashed. She didn't want only the side of me that gave pleasure, but the side that took it too.

I wasn't a freak to her. I was simply...me.

So, I might've been a wee bit heady on the freedom to be myself at last. She kind of looked dizzy from the kiss. But there was a whole section on how that was a good thing at the back of the Kissing Manual for Incubi. Seriously. Look it up.

At last, she wrenched back her lips; her pupils were dilated. "Last night, my magic offered yours a bond—"

"What are you doing?" I panted.

Her grin was wicked. "Telling you what happened. I thought it was convenient."

I nipped her bottom lip in punishment or reward. Definitely a mix of both. "As long as you desire it to be convenient with incubus loving on the side."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." She allowed herself to be pulled back by me into the nest of pillows.

Ah, there was the satiny goodness. I squirmed around, until I caught Magenta's fond expression.

The tips of my ears reddened, even though Rule 69 of the Incubi Night Code states: There's no shame in fighting for the best snuggle nest. There's only shame in surrendering it.

I gave a final defiant (but slinky) squirm of my arse, and then turned on my side, to wrap my arms around Magenta. Lying like this, was more intimate than when my tongue had twined with hers because our gazes were open and unable to hide, our foreheads touched like a blessing, and our breaths mingled against each other’s mouths.

"I nearly tore down the academy," Magenta murmured, "and was helped to calm down by one who knows me best, before I ended everything."

"You should write haiku, riddles, or possibly limericks."

She smiled brightly. "Thank you."

I sighed. It was impossible to do banter when all I wanted was to smother her cheeks in kisses.

"How'd you persuade that bitch Damelza to allow us a First Night together?" I caressed circles across her hip.

"Ah," Magenta pulled me impossibly closer. "The red-faced Principal was slightly put out that I'd bonded with you, and you should've heard the crude and vulgar words spitting from the Duchess!" My eyes widened. I'd never heard the Duchess swear before. That would've been a fine thing to witness, and even finer if Damelza had cast a Mouth Soaping Hex on her like she had on Sleipnir last term. It was hard to imagine my poised ex-bond with suds bubbling out of her mouth but worth it. "That fluffy tail of hers wagged like Pocus’. She pulled the most amusing grimace when I batted it away.” She pursed her lips; I was aflame with the desire to press my own lips to them. “Did I break some succubi tail custom?”

I snickered. “Aye, and it’s a fine thing.”

Her lips quirked. “You truly are quite wicked, aren’t you?”

I put on my best innocent face. I pulled it off. Lay off, Magenta believed it…a wee bit.

She kissed the tip of my nose. “Damelza was impressed, however, at the strength of my magic that it was able to create such a bond, especially at a distance. Of course, she didn’t say so, rather that I must be even more corrupted than she’d imagined. She’d assuredly strain something if she offered a compliment, possibly her witchy behind. She wants to study the bond.”

My pulse pounded, and despite myself, I attempted to pull up my knees defensively. All that achieved, however, was to press myself even closer to Magenta.

My hard prick rubbed against her stomach, sending sparks of pleasure along my pricks’ length and exploding behind my eyes.

Why, hello there, this is your neighborhood incubus prick.

Just for a moment, the intense pleasure made me forget the horror of Damelza poking and proding at the most private thing, which existed between Magenta and me.

“A bond is sacred,” I insisted.

Magenta’s expression softened. “I can sense that, but Damelza can’t. She’s a bitch; I’m no longer unclear on the problems in my family and heritage. I’m less certain about Juni. What would she’ve been like, if she’d been blessed to be raised by a father like mine? But Damelza’s curiosity is why she granted us this First Night.” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. “I believed that it’d be like courting, you know, romantic.”

Yet I remembered my First Night with the Duchess.

I’m sorry… I’ll try harder… What do you desire? I’ll become whatever you want.

I shivered, tightening my arms around Magenta. There was all the romance that I needed simply by holding her in my arms or even gazing at her portrait on our bedroom wall.

Yep, I was an obsessive romantic.

But not about this.

I wouldn’t break down. Not in front of Magenta.

Beg me to let you burn yourself.

Why was I shaking?

Stop, stop, stop…

Magenta’s eyes widened with alarm and concern. Her fingers traced soothing patterns on my back.

My eyes smarted. I couldn’t let this happen. My hands clenched into the material of Magenta’s dress. Wetness caught on my eyelashes and gathered in the corners of my eyes. My nose felt stuffy.

The only time that I’d cried since I’d been kid, I’d been condemned as a Not There.

Don’t cry…Tears make you ugly… Nobody loves an ugly incubus…

A single tear trailed down my cheek.

I gasped. What was wrong with my bastard self? It was the First Night. I should be proving just how pettable I was, but instead, I was making myself ugly for my bonded.

Magenta would never love me now.

I’d ruined it all over again.

What was the point of holding back my pain now? Loss, shame, and the memories of that First Night tore through me. Silently, I allowed the glistening tears (the traitors to the Night Lineage) to chase down my cheeks.

I closed my eyes because I couldn’t keep staring into Magenta’s intense gaze.

My breath sped up, as my heart beat too hard against my ribcage.

Magenta brought her hand up to my cheek, cupping it. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, I opened my eyes, and was shocked by the pure love that shone in her gaze. Her magic caressed over me. “My apologies. I beg the excuse that being trapped in a tree has (according to my familiars) left me with the manners and social awareness of a toad.”

I snorted through my tears. “Get on with you, it’s at least a frog.”

She traced her fingers through the trail of tears, and I flinched. “There’s no shame in emotions. It takes bravery to strip yourself bare to another. Right now, you’re beautiful.”

I sniffed, wishing that I could wipe away the tears, but not wanting to let go of Magenta. “Lay off, I bet that I have red-rimmed eyes and a swollen nose. I’d guess… 3/10 overall pettability.”

Magenta’s gaze was serious, as she licked down the path of my tears from my eyes to my chin. “You’re pettable when you cry, laugh, dance…” Could she mean it? Let it be true. “…and sleep.” She pinked. “I may be possessive enough now to enjoy watching all of my lovers sleep. I know that you’re safe, relaxed, and mine. And tonight, you need to know that you’re safe with me. So, it’s about your desires. You’re in control.”

When did an incubus have control?

My breathing slowed, and my shoulders sagged. Wow, I’d been tense.

Perhaps, she’d give me a massage. After all, she thought that I was pettable, right? Well, I was an incubus of the Night Lineage, and we were sizzling.

My desires curled through me. How did I choose from a very, very, very long list? I was a greedy incubus.

I gently pushed Magenta onto her back, and my ruby gaze hardened to the predatory. “You have a habit of wearing too many clothes.”

She raised her eyebrow. “How terrible of me.”

Her clothes melted away, apart from her silk corset.

She stretched out, clutching her hands above her head, as her hair spread out in a blond waterfall across the pillows.

Tease.

My breath caught. My gaze was also caught by the way that she tipped to the side, revealing the bow that held her corset on like an invitation.

My hands were shaky with desire, as I knelt beside her, pulling open the bow and unlacing her in an act of worship. As I freed her from the corset that trapped her tits, I kissed between her shoulder blades and pulled her hair aside to suck along her neck. She moaned.

“Touch yourself,” I murmured.

Magenta glanced over her shoulder at me, and I pressed a kiss to her lips. I only wanted to bring her pleasure, and as the commands fed bubbling pleasure through me, so I’d spiral her higher to her own release…or her clever fingers would.

We were a brilliant team.

She slipped her hands between her legs, and her head dropped onto the pillows. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she bit her lip.

Was Finger Envy a thing because I craved to take the place of her fingers, as they circled her clit, with my own tongue?

I unlaced her corset and freed her tits. I slid my hand up her stomach, as her muscles quivered, and between her tits. Then I circled her nub in time to her fingers on her clit, while the bond connected us. Her magic flared in the stars above us, pulsing with our pleasure. My dick pulsed as well, hard and heavy between my legs. But although I was in control, this was for Magenta.

What I’d craved from the moment that I’d been bonded was to love and please. Being loved back was a bonus.

I desired to worship Magenta.

Magenta twisted her head to meet my lips again; she was desperate and coming apart, as I had for her. I hooked my leg over her, holding her in place, as I flicked across both her nubs, before catching them between my fingers and twisting.

“Come,” I breathed.

She screamed against my mouth, as she stiffened, spasming. Her fingers worked harder, before stilling. I pulled her onto her back and smoothed the hair out of her face, before settling next to her.

Wow, I’d killed her.

“Ehm, was that…?” Mindblowing, brilliant, okay but can I have a cup of tea now?

Magenta’s gaze was glazed, as she patted me on the cheek, sleepily. “Perfect.” I puffed out my chest (of course, an incubus had skills). “But was it all you wished?”

I started to nod, before stopping myself.

Ma had told me that on her First Night, she’d allowed da to go skin-to-skin with her. She said that it’d connected them deeper than most succubi ever did with their incubi. She’d explained that it was why she understood my differences and trained me about the scheming of the female Court. She’d even read me an ancient book, which showed that once succubi had allowed all incubi to go skin-to-skin.

The Duchess never had.

“I wish,” I swallowed, and the desire to just once go skin-to-skin with my bonded burned through me, “that I could take off these gloves and also be free.”

Oh, she so didn’t hesitate.

I stilled.

She was going to say no and teach me my place.

My gloves were my friends: they taught me not to use my powers on my betters.

Why didn’t I believe that anymore?

Then Magenta struggled around to sit cross-legged next to me and took each of my hands in hers. She treated them like they were as precious as I’d worshiped her in her corset. Then she flashed me a deliciously wicked grin, as she drew off my left glove.

My skin prickled. I shook with my desire, yet I’d be in more danger after this than with the bond.

It was as intimate as dying…as resurrection.

My breath became shallow.

Magenta freed the fingers of my right hand from the prison of their glove. My sensitive skin tingled, as her magic threaded across it, tangling with my own.

Then our gazes caught and held, as for the first time ever, my palm met my bonded’s.

And it was everything that ma had promised and more.

Magenta and I arched, and the stars fell from the sky, dancing around us in a fiery embrace. I cried out, as all at once my power surged: images of Magenta’s deepest desires and needs flooded me. Yet stronger than any wicked longing was the love that bound us. It was Willoughby’s diary opened, in all its secret yearnings. She’d opened her pages to me: mind, body, and Soul.

She was mine, the same as I was hers.

“This is our First Night.” Magenta quivered; her palm was cool against mine. How could something as simple as a hand be so special? “The First Night of the only bond that’ll ever touch you again.”

I caught her lip between my teeth, and when she opened her mouth with a yip, I soothed across it with my tongue, before pressing inside. Her tongue twined with mine, and I lost myself in her.

At last, I forced myself to pull back. I dropped my gaze, pulling my gloves back on. It was agonizing.

It was lucky that I looked so delicious in the gloves.

“Here’s the thing of it,” I wiggled my fingers more firmly into my gloves, “other members of the harem are allowed at the First Night. All my lovers are connected, and I miss my foxy.”

I glanced underneath my eyelashes at Magenta. Had I insulted her?

She merely batted away a falling star that’d landed on her nose and gave a smug grin. “Your wish is my command.” Then she hollered, “It’s time for you to delight us with your presence. Don’t pretend that you weren’t listening. Did you enjoy the show?”

I flushed. Oh, who was I kidding, I put on sexy shows.

When Fox’s curly hair appeared in the low gap into the Dreaming Space, I couldn’t stop a grin that made my face ache. He crawled into the chamber, wiping cobwebs away from his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

His face was all scrunched up. Cute. Although right now, he could’ve been pissing himself, and I’d have found him cute.

Because he was alive.

I scrambled out of my nest (careful not to knock my lovely pillows, of course), grabbing Fox by the shoulders and dragging him further into the room. Fox eeped.

Sleipnir followed him through the opening, grumbling as dirt smeared across his hands. “Hey, you couldn’t have chosen somewhere more romantic for our Honeymoon?”

But Fox was all I saw.

Foxy, Foxy, Foxy…

I dragged him, until he fell on his arse, and then I leaped onto his lap with a whoop. I was never giving up the freedom to whoop again. It was addictive like chocolate or sex, right?

I squirmed happily on Fox’s warm thighs. Then I treated myself to a long sniff of his delicious, raspberry scented curls. When Fox sneezed on the dust, even that was adorable.

His wee scrunched up nose…

“My whipping boy.” It was never too early to stake my claim. I curled my hand behind his neck. “Once we’re back in our bedroom, you can snuggle Nile for a whole minute…alright, a whole night.”

Wow, I’d shocked even myself there. I could be a gracious patron incubus.

Fox blinked. “If I knew that I’d be granted such a bounty, I’d have tried almost dying earlier.”

I smacked his arm, and he mock pouted. “Don’t scare me again.”

“Despite being a mage whipping boy in a coven-run academy, I won’t risk myself in danger every moment of the day…whoops, I will.”

I smacked his arm, harder. “I can still take back the Nile offer.”

I couldn’t. An incubus of the ancient Night Lineage kept their word. But my mage wasn’t the only one who could lie.

“Will no one remember that I can literally tell when you’re lying?”

Oh, then there was that.

I merely lifted my eyebrow. “Where’s the Princes? If we’re working on moving them over to our slinky side, then won’t they count as our lovers now?”

I curled my fingers even more tightly around Fox’s neck at the thought of how the Princes’ bastard families had treated them after the tournament. I could’ve cursed Darby’s crystals to whack him in the eye every time that he took a step, for the way that he’d humiliated Willoughby.

We’d only just saved Fox from death, but Midnight had been hexed to a slow one. Already, he’d have had one night of being forced awake. I mean, I’d been unconscious, but that counted, right?

Sleipnir kneewalked to Magenta, before looping his strong arms around her waist. She melted against him; he didn’t play with her tits, and I admired his restraint.

“That asshole Titus is holding a special class with the Princes right now to enforce his new measures and policies,” Sleipnir growled, and his aquamarine hair spiked to red, “since their failure in the Rebel Cup and tournament.”

Mist darted out of Sleipnir’s pocket, before hovering to settle on my lap. He nuzzled against my thigh, and I stroked across his mane. Sleipnir shivered, like I was carding my hand through his hair, which I guess I was. His hair shimmered back to aquamarine.

“It’s my fault that they’re being punished.” Fox ducked his head.

My eyes became flinty. “Wise up!” Fox startled. “You take the blame all the time but I’ve never met anyone…” I huffed out a breath. “You’re innocent like Slippy here. You shouldn’t be in this bastard academy, and I wish that I could bond with you both.”

Mist nuzzled at me more insistently, and Sleipnir flushed.

Fox’s eyes were wide and gleaming; he stroked along my thigh. “Well, that’s easy because you already are. Okay, not officially, magically, or technically…okay, what I mean is…”

“What the eloquent mage is trying to say,” Sleipnir drawled, “is that we’re connected by blood, resurrection, and magic that transcends the veils. If you’re bonded to Magenta, then we’re bonded to you.”

Wishes did come true.

Access to the Princes’ Private Larder, permanently shiny hair, the ability to have multiple orgasms…

Well, it was worth a try.

My glance darted between Fox who was squashed beneath my pettable arse and Sleipnir, who was wound around Magenta. “If you desire it, this is your First Night too.” I grinned. “And Magenta said that I was in control so…” My power flowed through me from my pleasure and skin-to-skin feeding, stronger than ever before. “Take off your clothes.”

“So forward,” Fox gasped.

Sleipnir’s lips quirked, but he immediately hurled off his blazer (that’d crease) and dragged off his tie, before looping it around Magenta’s neck. Wow, that was hot. Then he stripped off his shirt like it’d personally offended him. Poor shirt.

I cast Fox an imperious look (stolen from the Princes). “Foxy, you’re falling behind.”

Fox gently cupped his hands under Mist and placed him to the side, before tossing me into the pillows far less gently in a way that made my dick twitch.

“If you want to see this booytliciousness,” Fox knelt up, running a finger down his tie, and I snickered, “then I need to get in the mood, but don’t despair, I’m known as the Mood Master. Where are the candles, rose petals, and soft lighting?”

Sleipnir shoved down his pants and kicked them across the chamber onto Fox’s head. “How’s that for getting you in the mood?”

“It’s a start,” Fox’s muffled voice spoke through the seat of Sleipnir’s pants. Then he shook his head, and the pants fell onto Mist, who squealed in protest. “But this is why I’m the Mood Master.”

He pulled out a magical iPod with speakers from his pocket. Instantly, The Sound of Arrows’ electropop “Wicked Ways” spun its spell, and I quivered at its breathy, ghostly lyrics.

Fox wiggled his arse like he was having a fit, while he unbuttoned his shirt.

Was this a striptease mage style?

Magenta and Sleipnir smothered their laughter against each other’s necks.

As Fox shimmied off his shirt, revealing the pale beauty of his shoulders, however, the music pulsed through me like a dream that I’d suddenly remembered. I’d believed that having a loving bond and harem like this was nothing but a childish fantasy.

But it was real.

Even before I’d met these Immortals, I’d loved them.

I smiled at Fox, and the uncertainty in his smile fled. He rolled his hips and slipped his pants down. I let the passion of the music take me.

As Fox pushed down his underwear, and his pretty dick sprang out hard and eager, I whistled.

An adorable blush spread down his neck and chest. He wasn’t an incubus. He’d never done this before. But he’d tried it for me…because he loved me.

I loved him with my every breath. I dived to him, and he caught me, winding his hand through my hair, so that he had better access to my mouth.

This incubus had no problem with that.

Sleipnir, however, rolled his eyes. “Now for something that our dicks…”

“And lady bits,” Magenta supplied.

“…and lady bits can rock to.” Sleipnir clicked his fingers at the iPod.

Instantly, the epic guitars and soaring vocals of Evanescence’s “Haunted” exploded through the Dreaming Space; even the stars shook like they were headbanging.

Fox twirled me in a whirl of hyperactive energy, and I squeaked. “Dick. Officially. Rocked.”

Sleipnir nibbled Magenta’s ear. “He’s like a windup toy. It sucks that they don’t have an off button.”

“Ah, a pity,” Magenta said, amused, but with a teasing gleam to her eyes. “We could check…?”

Fox’s eyes widened, before he scrabbled backward.

There was no way to escape a fully powered incubus, silly human.

I swung Fox around, and he landed in the center of the pillow nest with a startled ommph. But then, he stroked his hand across the satin, before stretching with a feline like stretch. His body was a gorgeous temptation of lean limbs. I craved to mark every inch as mine.

Tonight, I was allowed to be possessive.

Sleipnir, Magenta, and I crawled over Fox like he was our sacrifice as much as our prize. I shot him a sly grin, before tweaking his nipple. Even though he groaned, his dick twitched.

Interesting.

“Perhaps, this is the off switch?” I said, before trying his Off Nipple, just out of scientific interest.

What do you mean that you don’t believe me?

“Well,” Magenta teased the nipple, which I’d just tweaked between her teeth, and Fox yelped, “at least we’ve found what controls his voice box.”

Sleipnir firmly clutched Fox’s dick, moving it back and forwards; I winced. “Huh, here’s the joystick.”

Magenta looked up from licking Fox’s nipple; he was quivering now and making these cute yipping sounds. “I can assure you that it gave me joy. It’s rather an uncouth term though. Why not the pleasure pole or the Cum Exploder?”

Fox, Sleipnir, and I all grimaced at the same time, and I patted my own dick in comfort.

Sleipnir stroked Fox’s joystick faster with only the flimsiest impression that he was using it to play any game but the Driving Fox Crazy Game.

Magenta sucked up Fox’s neck, as if searching for the non-existent stop button (and I’d never turn off my foxy anyway), while I ran my finger down his stomach, before skirting his balls and down his perineum.

Fox’s breath hitched.

I gusted my breath between Fox’s legs, nudging them apart, before winking at Fox.

I circled my finger over his hole. “Found it.”

Then I laughed, as Fox’s pupils dilated, and I lunged up to kiss him. I tongued him deeply, pressing my body to his; our dicks coiled pleasure through us, as Sleipnir’s hand was caught between us both, wanking us off. Magenta in turn dropped to her knees, catching Sleipnir’s pulsing dick between her lush lips.

Pleasure flared through me at the sight.

We were connected. Our tongues, dicks, and hands touched. The falling stars rained on us like a million stars had imploded. It wound our pleasure higher.

Nearly there, so close… We were all so close…

Was this how I got my wish for multiple orgasms?

Yet even as my balls ached and at last… now, please now… I came across Fox in a pearly streak that mixed with his own warm arc, and we groaned in ecstasy into each other’s mouths, it was weirdly incomplete.

Sleipnir followed, moaning louder than Fox and me combined, before he showed Magenta just how talented a god’s tongue could be.

Yet the Princes weren’t with me in our tangle of blissed out pleasure, sleepy joy, and tacky cum. Even if they weren’t bonded to me, they were still mine. Incubi possessiveness was this whole thing.

Plus, now that Titus had set us the task of creating the Enchanted Ball, it was even more important that we broke the wards. We needed to escape before the Dragon Court descended into war, Titus wrecked Lysander at the Enchanted Ball, and Midnight died from the Sleep Deprivation Hex.

The House of Crows controlled the students, calling breaking them reforming.

But I wouldn’t be broken again, and I wouldn’t let the Princes be either.

This time, no matter the danger, we were fighting back.

Chapter Fifteen

FOX

Rebel Academy, Sunday September 8th

Naked bondage was becoming my familiar classroom experience. At least in Spells, Hexes, and Potions. I tingled with a weird anticipation for which of those three thrilling...okay, horrifying...options would be guinea pig tested on me today. Was this how they controlled and brainwashed whipping boys into obedience?

If I didn't get tied down in Professor Bacchus' lesson, then I wouldn't know what to do with my feline self.

Was dancing to “Stop in the Name of Love”, while shaking my furry ass in Bacchus’ face and whacking her with my tail an option? You know, on that options sheet for our studies that we'd never been given.

Possibly, that was why she tied me down in the first place.

Slugs and beetles, I was screwed.

I groaned, dropping my forehead forward and then groaning again, as it thunked against Midnight's.

I grimaced.

Whoops.

Pluck my prickles, this morning I wasn't even waiting for Bacchus to hurt me (or get the Princes to do it with their experimental hexes), I was going for it myself.

Who said that I wasn't committed to the Rebel Academy's mottoes? I'd even internalized my mage self-loathing.

Who'd have guessed that I'd have turned out to be my own worst enemy?

Well, everybody.

"Ehm, sorry." I rubbed my head side to side against Midnight's like that had magic bruise removal properties. "The head bump greeting is reserved for those you love in shimage society. It's an honor like..."

...Wedding vows...

I might've invented the whole head bump thing, but I still shivered with delight, when Midnight with a careful reverence bumped his head against mine again.

Oww...

Couldn't I have invented a less painful way of showing love? Rebel Academy truly was corrupting me already. Could Bacchus make me want to punish my own foxy arse?

I took a deep breath, counting backward from one hundred. Then I regretted the deep breath because ancient magic bloomed out of the room's spores, and I choked on it.

Familiar or not, I still hated being ensnared. It'd taken me a decade to escape the attic that my family had shut me in, and all the witches wanted to do was wall me up and tie me down again.

I pulled on the purple vines that bound me cross-legged on the floor to Midnight, and they only tightened. I winced, hating the way that Midnight did too.

How many times could you say sorry in one class? I'd bet that I'd smash that record today. So, something to look forward to.

The vines wound around our arms, holding us together from elbow to wrist, and then where our knees touched sort of like a pretty center piece.

I couldn't even wriggle or tap my foot like last time, and each movement jerked Midnight because we were connected. I gritted my teeth against the urge to squirm like the Itching Balls Hex had been cast on me; the floor was a tangle of roots, which also curled around the moss walls, and they dug into my private places.

Bacchus and Hecate combined in this classroom with its blacked-out windows and naughty roots, and they had far too much fun tormenting mages.

Midnight's soft charcoal gaze met mine; his dark eyelashes were sinfully long. "My king."

My breathing slowed, along with the thudding of my heart. Even the roots appeared to lose interest with my balls.

I smiled. "My knight."

Midnight's eyes brightened. He was also naked and palely beautiful with raven hair that tumbled to his waist. His prick was lost in the forest of his hair. I could see its pink head, peeping at me with a twitching hello.

His prick liked me. I was the Prick Charmer.

Midnight's skin next to mine looked like we'd always meant to be tied like this together. Although, that could be the bondage brainwashing talking. He always appeared calm like kneeling as if he was classroom equipment or hanging by his ankles was no different to taking notes on a lecture. For him, it wasn't.

Yeah, an academy education offered equal opportunities. If by equal you meant...you’re lucky not to be thrown to the wolves, shut up forever, or walled up alive pathetic whipping boys...

Three cheers for an Oxford education.

Except, I was taking off one cheer for the leather that bound Midnight's broken wings, and the way that he was unable to curl his soft feathers around himself.

Willoughby's healing song had been stolen from him, and he hadn’t been able to set Midnight’s wings for him. I knew what it was like to have my shifter power suppressed by blood magic, but what would it feel like to have a power stripped away?

Yet even so, Midnight held himself still, rather than vibrating with anxious energy like me. It was only the somber darkness of Radiohead’s “How to Disappear Completely”, which crept through my Power of Confess like his depression shivered through my Soul, which told me that he was barely holding on.

I fought against the vines for a moment, desperate to hold him and be certain that he hadn’t disappeared yet. That he was still safe. I ached that I didn’t know better how to help him. I felt intensely how my skin pressed against his at my knee and along my arm.

He was still with me. I hadn’t lost him.

Let him know that I was still with him too.

Over Midnight's snowy shoulder, Bask sprawled on a lab table. I snorted. Of course, he'd take the back table, even to sprawl over. He was a bad boy rebel, after all.

Sleipnir pinned Bask’s hands above his head; his single strong hand encircled both Bask’s slim wrists.

Mist stood as dominantly as I’d yet seen him with his chest thrust out on Bask’s palm like he was the one holding him down; it looked like he was happily imagining his mane blowing in the wind.

Magenta stroked Bask's prick through his pants with an impressive determination, while Willoughby kissed him, slowly and thoroughly.

Bask was the one held down, but he was in charge. This was him claiming the elf, after Willoughby had been missing from our bonding last night. Bask was possessive like that.

A twinge of worry shot through me at the thought that the other Prince, Lysander, was still missing.

Could I help it if I imagined what it'd feel like to have Lysander’s elegant fingers palming my prick, while he kissed me, and his cherry blossom feathers stroked my cheek?

Okay, while his cherry blossom feathers stroked my prick...

My prick did a twitching hello at that, as if answering Midnight's.

Midnight's tongue darted out to wet his lips, revealing a hint of fang. Then I noticed the smudged purple shadows under his eyes, and the tightness to his mouth. He looked exhausted.

He was disappearing even in front of my eyes.

If a Sleep Deprivation Hex were ever cast on me, I'd go crazy within a week. I needed my sleep to have the energy to...well, fail at everything.

But I wouldn't fail Midnight. For whatever reason, he'd chosen me as his king, and I took my royal duties seriously.

I pressed a light kiss to Midnight's lips, and he gave a surprised, happy sound that filled me with joy.

Truth: I never thought somebody would love me.

“I missed you and I thought of you when I was walled up in this academy’s luxurious…okay, dusty and rat-infested…walls.” Don’t disappear inside yourself. You’re needed. Midnight’s pleased smile was enough. I cocked my head. "Have you tested this hex then?"

Midnight looked down. "On my wings, it's hard to never sleep and have so much time to think," his voice was gentle with a soft Welsh lilt. "I only have so many good things to remember."

"You're with us Immortals now. Just watch the good times come rolling in. I promised to save you and I will." I pressed my bound arm more tightly against his. "I'm Champion of Pedantry; it means that I'm hated but it comes with perks like always being the smuggest person in the room and the ability to make anyone look stupid. So, sleeping: that's the state of being asleep, right? What about a cat nap? Meditation? Just a really epic zone out. My dad said I was brilliant at zoning out. I'm not sure it was a compliment."

Midnight's smile widened, but he shook his head.

My brow furrowed. "Okay, more extreme now but go with me here. How about knocking yourself unconscious? Do people sleep in a coma or...?"

This time it was Midnight quietening me with a kiss; his lips were soft, and when his fang caught at my lip, I blushed at the thought of how much I desired that he'd bite my lower lip.

Then heavy hands landed in my lap, before I was being pushed back from Midnight by something furry, swishy, and black. I spluttered, unable to bat it away.

Who knew there were so many disadvantages to bondage?

Something even heavier squirmed in Midnight's lap and mine, before curling around.

I found myself staring into the furiously protective eyes of my naked pussy nemesis: Bacchus' cat Halfling and familiar, Pocus.

I winced, as Pocus' claws bit into my chest, as if my nipples were pincushions. He shoved his nose against mine; his eyes were narrowed with predatory danger.

Hanging around with naked vampires was apparently my new thing.

"The mage is not harming my vampire, or I'll knock him on his silly curly head," Pocus hissed. "Pocus knew not to trust you."

What was it with my curls?

I pulled at my arms like I could smooth down my hair. Being shut up in the walls probably hadn't helped with its wildness.

Pocus was a lithe Korean vampire with striking black eyes and matching black ears that poked out of his mop of hair. His tail was right now wrapped around my balls. I shivered; I'd rather that a psychopathic pussy didn't have me by the balls. Unlike the Immortals, he didn't look like his torture of them would end in fun orgasms.

"And I always trust someone who grabs balls and talks later." I arched my brow. "I thought you liked my silky hair. Why don't you have another stroke?"

I shook my hair like it was a cat toy.

Come to the silky hair...

Pocus hesitated.

"Last chance..." I forced myself to hold still.

Pocus darted out his hand and carded it through my curls. Then he sniffed. "Pocus is still not impressed."

Pocus needs to be taken to the vets and neutered.

When I smirked, Pocus looked at me suspiciously.

"My king is helping me," Midnight's voice was steely, "and this is not a fair fight. You won't hurt him, just as you won't hurt the Princes."

Pocus sneered at me, before turning on our laps (and getting in a final twist of his claws). His tail thwapped me in the face again, and I got a closer look at his hole and the balls swinging between his legs than if we'd been lovers. I reddened. Then he settled, straddling Midnight, before shooting me a smug, possessive glance over his shoulder.

"But I protect you," Pocus insisted.

Truth: I'm sorry that I can't protect you.

Pocus had been at Bacchus’ side at the tournament, but he hadn't been able to stop the hexing.

He might be my nemesis, but how long had be tried to guard Midnight? Midnight had been alone apart from Pocus, and Pocus hadn't been able to do more than offer comfort.

But I still respected him for doing that. Very, very, very grudging respect.

Midnight's expression gentled. "Now I'm lucky to have more who care to protect me, see? Blood and bones, I never thought that I’d be so blessed again. Be pleased for me…?"

I heard the uncertainty.

Pocus wrinkled his nose. "Can I claw him a little?"

Midnight narrowed his eyes.

Pocus pouted, nuzzling his ears under Midnight’s chin. “Just a little?”

He fluttered his eyelashes, hopefully.

“I withdraw the right to stroke my hair,” I huffed.

Pocus hissed.

“You only claw him, if he wants you to,” Midnight admonished. Wants…? Midnight blushed. “On my fangs, you may enjoy it.”

Yeah, just as much as I’d enjoy Bacchus using my foxy tail as a fun clit toy.

I shuddered. Bad brain, the Wank Bank would be closed for the next week…okay two days…okay, for tonight…to wipe out that image.

Wait, did that mean that Midnight enjoyed Pocus’ claws?

The Wank Bank was officially open for business again.

Pocus shot me another smug grin.

Over Midnight’s shoulder, the Immortals and our Prince swaggered together towards us.

Mist rode Sleipnir’s shoulder; he was still high on the whole dominant thing. I’d better not coo then.

It was weird being bound on the floor. It made me realize how much I trusted all of them that I didn’t stiffen, but only grinned.

“You appear to have adopted a pussy,” Magenta pointed out.

Pocus bared his fangs, and his tail wagged, rubbing against my face again.

I spluttered. “Stop pissing off the pussy. And you’ve adopted a Prince.”

Magenta looped her arm through Willoughby’s. “He’s quite charming, don’t you think? I’m determined to keep him.”

Willoughby’s lips quirked.

I nodded. “Let’s sign the papers to keep the Prince, and my fellow whipping boy.” When Midnight’s eyes flared with longing and desperation, I wished that there truly were papers that I could sign to officially claim both Willoughby and Midnight. Although, by breaking the Membership, maybe that’s what we were doing. Adopt a Prince could become a popular scheme. “But this pussy isn’t housetrained. I’m sending him back, unless we…?”

I whispered snip, snip, snip in the hushed way that meant parting him from his manly bits.

And that’s what happened when you wrapped your tail around my balls...not that I was against it as a principle…I mean, my merrily swinging against my stomach prick wasn’t…

His fur had been so soft…

Pocus’ expression darkened. Then he twisted in outrage, and his claws extended over my manly bits.

I’m mage enough to admit that I squeaked.

“You’re lucky that Midnight said no scratching.” Pocus leapt off Midnight’s lap, flouncing with a swish of his tail back to the corner.

Sleipnir blinked. “Honestly, I’m more of a dog person.”

Bask snickered and then prowled to Midnight with a predator energy that meant he’d fed well on pleasure. He fluidly dropped to his knees behind Midnight.

Willoughby dropped his gaze, and his hair hung across his eyes like a gorgeous waterfall. “I regret like the numbing silence now inside me that I can’t heal you.” I could sense the truth of it: there was no perfect single violin note or the hummed lullabies of the Other World. Inside Willoughby, there was only a crushing silence. Damelza had cut him off from his last contact to his homeland and family. I vibrated with the need to slap that witch up. “Yet these Immortals forgive us our pasts and flaws. They trust us, and so we must trust them.”

There was no hesitancy in Midnight’s nod.

Willoughby raised his head, meeting Bask’s eye. “I owe you a debt, and if you’ll have me, I shall spend the rest of my life repaying it.”

My breath hitched. Was it just me or did that sound like the ding, dong of wedding bells…?

Bask winked, snuggling closer to Midnight. “I already have you, and although my arse is versatile in the spanking department, how about we start with you over my lap, pointy ears?”

Okay, that made my prick do an embarrassing dance of joy.

The tips of Willoughby’s ears pinked, but his expression became mock stern. “What did I tell you about insulting me with the pet name pointy ears? For such a crime, it’s lucky that you do have such a versatile behind.”

Bask wriggled around as if to prove the point.

Magenta twisted Willoughby to face her, however, grasping him by the chin. “Do you awfully mind if you thrash Bask later? I’m certain that he’ll take it with great bravery.” Sleipnir choked off a laugh at Bask’s shocked gasp. “But it’s not a debt. You owe us nothing. Any kindness that we offer you may once have been an exchange or…” Her gaze flicked to Sleipnir, who raised his eyebrow, “part only of a plan, but now we offer it out of love.”

Willoughby raised Magenta’s hand to his plush lips and kissed the back of it.

Why didn’t I have the type of gracefulness that could take a single gesture and show such love and duty through it? Probably because I could pull off disgruntled hedgehog better than romantic gentleman.

Oh, but I made an epic hedgehog.

Bask worked his fingers around the leather that bound Midnight’s broken wings, unwinding it. Midnight bit his lip, and I gave him a head bump (code: I love you), which got me a judgey glare from Sleipnir and a tender gaze from Midnight.

Midnight’s ash wings fell free of the leather, hanging from his shoulders in a way that made every bone in my own body ache.

Bask wound his arms around Midnight. “Do you wish me to kiss and heal you?”

So, that was why Bask had been laid out like a sacrifice to screwing on the lab table: he’d been building his powers through pleasure just for this moment. At least, that was his excuse and he was sticking to it.

Why didn’t my power of Confess need chocolate or crisp sandwiches to work? Could I redesign this whole shimage thing? I mean, how about I got to transform into something dangerous like a bear, tiger, or rabbit?

Don’t mock the fox with the rabbit phobia. Sometimes, irony is cruel.

Willoughby swallowed. “I trust you.”

How could three words speak such worlds of hurt and new hope?

Bask leaned forward, kissing up the side of Willoughby’s cheeks and encouraging him to turn his head. He licked across Willoughby’s lips, before he opened them. It was breathtaking to watch the way that ruby sparkles passed from Bask’s mouth and into Willoughby’s. I couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy at their kiss, even though I knew it was to heal him.

Plus, the way that Bask’s black hair mingled with Midnight’s dark waves was beautiful.

They were beautiful together.

This greedy foxy wanted them both.

Midnight gasped, and his wings spread. Their wingtips pulsed with violet light. His feathers gleamed like polished gems, as he beat his wings.

He was stunning, and he was healed.

Bask gave Midnight’s lower lip a final satisfied lick, before settling back.

“Thank you,” Willoughby breathed.

Pocus looked up from where he was curled in the corner. “Pocus thanks the sparkly incubus too.”

Bask pushed himself to his feet. “Incubi don’t sparkle.”

I smirked at Pocus. “Yeah, that’s vampires.”

Pocus snarled at me.

All of a sudden, the classroom shook, and a rumble rolled out like thunder. I wrinkled my nose at the intoxicating scent of mulled wine.

At times like this, my Mr. Fierce side begged me to roll into a ball, but that only toppled me to the side, taking Midnight with me into an embarrassing tangle of naked limbs and feathers. My breathing was too ragged, and my pulse raced.

Sleipnir crouched over me protectively at the same time as Willoughby.

Magenta’s magic burst over me in pink brambles. How could Magenta’s connection to nature make me feel so safe, while Bacchus’ roots reminded me with every touch that I was the enemy mage?

But I’d never be Magenta’s enemy.

Out of the floor next to Pocus, coiled sinuous purple vines. The ivy tangled into the outline of Bacchus, the Immortals’ Tutor and brilliant but scarier than Hecate in a rabbit costume, American professor. In her class, you never knew where she’d appear: on a throne, out of the walls, or from the floor.

Maybe it was a game of Whack a Professor. If she’d only let my hands free and pass me a mallet, I’d be happy to take a turn.

See, academy spirit. I was a brilliant student.

The vines fully formed into a professor who was scrutinizing us like she could see into our Souls. I straightened up, projecting my brilliant student thoughts, but Bacchus’ eyes only narrowed with frenzied fury.

Then Bacchus raised her hand, and vines shot from the stools, grasping the other students (apart from Magenta) around the waist and dragging them to sit down, before tying them securely in place.

“Valhalla!” Sleipnir struggled, and Mist flared his nostrils. “Whatever happened to asking us to take our seats? It’s called using your words.”

Had the professors forgotten to tell us that it was Bondage Sunday?

Bacchus’ eyes flashed. “The son of Loki dares lecture me about words over actions, when he’s nothing but reckless deeds?” Pocus pushed himself onto all fours, before crawling to wind around her feet, rubbing his head against her thigh. She stroked his ears as if calming herself. For the first time, I realized that Pocus did protect Midnight and those who he loved, simply by playing the faithful familiar. Yet did he also love Bacchus? “Shall I show you just how words and deeds are connected in spells? After all, we have two whipping boy puppets.”

I stiffened. Okay, puppets didn’t sound good.

Yet a spell couldn’t be as dangerous as a hex or a potion, could it? The way that Bacchus’ lips curled with the danger of a true wicked witch forced my heart to beat harder against my ribcage.

Magenta’s concerned gaze met mine.

Bacchus’ gaze was ancient death and retribution. “I’ll delight in teaching you the Mind Control Spell. Then you can use your words to influence anybody to become your magical bitches, and today, your whipping boys are the bitches.”

Chapter Sixteen

FOX

Rebel Academy, Sunday September 8th

Bacchus’ cat-like hazel eyes swirled to amber with ancient possession and madness, which was a scary combo. Especially to see it reflected in the face of your professor, as you sat bound to your fellow whipping boy at her feet.

Oh, and not to forget that Bacchus’ lesson plan was to turn Midnight and me into bitches. I’d watched Shawshank Redemption on the TV that dad had brought me in the attic, cheers. I knew what that meant.

Unless, magical bitch was more like I’d be bred for real, grow a womb, and pop out my own litter by the end of class…?

I clenched…everything.

Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop…

Sweat slipped down my neck and between my shoulder blades.

Midnight caught my gaze and shot me a shaky smile, but his wings were also quivering.

100, 99, 98…

I bit my lip, forcing myself to count back from hundred. My cousin, Aquilo had taught me the trick, when I’d first been trapped in the attic and shaken by panic attacks. He’d trapped my hands between his, before encouraging me how to deepen my breaths and concentrate on the counting. The suffocating, claustrophobic darkness of the attic had fallen away, along with the crushing pain in my chest. I’d been able to control it: the panic and the fear.

After, Aquilo had softly explained, “Perhaps, we’re nothing but weak boys. But even if our families can hurt, bully, and control us, our mind is our own.” His frosty gaze had met mine. “Use it.”

My chest had tightened again. Because I’d known then for certain that he’d suffered like me, which meant that I’d never truly be alone again.

It’d been an agony not to be able to save Aquilo, just like I hadn’t been able to save Glow or dad. Was he safe now from his mother and twin sister? Had he been married off to some bitch of a witch?

Nope, it didn’t sound cuter just because it rhymed.

No one had saved me, but I was okay with that because Magenta had shown me that I wasn’t nobody and I could save myself, as well as my other lovers.

My breath steadied. Aquilo had always been smarter than me, even if his self-esteem had been beaten out of him. If he’d believed that my mind couldn’t be truly controlled, then I’d find a way to turn this mind control thing around to bite Bacchus’ ass.

Midnight needed me. That was enough to slow my heart, and curl a warm smile across my lips, as I offered him a confident head bump.

Midnight’s wings stopped quivering, and he nipped my lower lip.

“Whipping boys don’t injure each other; that’s my job.” Bacchus swept closer to Magenta, and her purple dress, which was pinned at the shoulder with a moth badge, tangled on the roots. She tugged on it impatiently. Her hair fell to her waist in an ebony veil. “Well, your Prefect’s job too.”

Magenta stiffened, and her magic encircled me protectively. “Ah, I’ve found our first point of difference.”

“Hey, I doubt that it’ll be our last.” Bacchus raised her arm, and a short iron spear appeared in her hand; it was covered in ivy and topped with a pine cone.

Magenta sighed. “You can’t just wave your screw or tear limb from limb wand around and get your own way, you know.”

Bacchus’ expression darkened. “My bacchal thyrsus has whipped men and women into orgies, which have rent apart cities and burned empires. It's chaos, frenzy, and ecstasy. For thousands of years, I've used my thyrsus to liberate people from the pettiness of their morals and society's rules. It's not my way but the way of fervor."

"But can it produce a pure Chaos moment?" Sleipnir growled.

"Or a Broadway production of Wicked?" I added.

I'd always wanted to see that.

Bacchus shook her thyrsus threateningly or like she was auditioning for a part in Wicked.

Bask cocked his head. "Or how about a professor who isn’t possessed by a revenge obsessed bad bastard of a god?”

Sleipnir raised his hand. “I vote for that one.”

Mist attempted to raise his hoof and slipped off Sleipnir’s shoulder onto the lab table with an alarmed snort.

Willoughby chuckled.

Slowly, Bacchus lowered her arm.

Wow, we'd done it. We'd broken the professor, and all it'd taken was the power of banter.

Then Bacchus swung and pointed the sharp point of the spear at my forehead.

I swallowed, paling.

"If you insist on a demonstration, a frenzy is always an invigorating start to a lesson." Bacchus’ grin was sly. "Points to those who guess correctly: will the whipping boys screw or tear each other limb from limb?"

Midnight whimpered. I wasn't an exhibitionist, but screwing in front of my class and professor had never sounded such a good option.

"Do we get extra marks if the answer to this thrilling multiple choice quiz is neither?" I asked.

Bacchus tapped her chin, and Pocus looked worriedly at Midnight. "I'll award extra marks if you don't die."

Always look for the silver lining.

"Wait," Magenta hissed, “I shan’t allow it.”

“No one allows a frenzy; it simply is.”

To my relief, the door to the classroom crashed open, and Bacchus swung away from me. I sighed, as the thyrsus grazed but didn't pierce my cheek.

Lysander limped into the classroom. He was even paler than he'd been yesterday. His blazer was askew, and he pulled at it almost absentmindedly, dragging in deep breaths.

Lysander rushing in late like he'd run here after corporal punishment was becoming as familiar as me being tied to Midnight.

How long had Titus been showing Lysander just how he felt about him losing the Rebel Cup and Dragon Polo Tournament?

Titus was a dick. Why couldn't we turn that into the school song and chant it?

Oh yeah, because then we'd be limping too.

Willoughby straightened on his stool, scrutinizing Lysander like he could see the injuries beneath his uniform.

I tensed because last time that Lysander had been late, he'd failed to take responsibility and Willoughby had been transfigured into a sky-blue throne as punishment. Then Willoughby had spent the class with Bacchus' face on his ass.

I shuddered. Yuck.

Lysander ran a shaky hand through his sweat dampened hair, before throwing back his shoulders like he was on parade. Bacchus prowled closer, circling him. He stared at the far wall, rather than meeting her eye.

"One is truly sorry," Lysander opened with (and thank Pan he'd learned from the whole Willoughby Throne incident). Could my fae become a rebel as well? Wait, my fae...? I refused to take that back. I was embracing my whole Fae Kink side, and it felt good. "My lateness is my responsibility alone." He darted a glance to Willoughby, and his expression softened. Willoughby's eyes lit up. "One accepts your punishment."

Lysander’s hands clenched at his sides, and he screwed shut his eyes.

Would he be transfigured into an emerald couch with golden tassels?

Please choose a cute Pomeranian...

"Must this academy heap punishment upon punishment?" Magenta vibrated with fury; her eyes glittered. "You shan't harm him."

"It's a miracle; you can now read minds, right?" Bacchus rested her hand on Lysander's shoulder, and he flinched. "Except, you can't because I shall."

I held my breath.

Bacchus rapped her nails on Lysander's shoulder. "No excuses?"

Lysander's lips pinched. "My royal personage was being chastised justly by my guardian. One is aware that's no excuse for tardiness."

Bacchus gave a satisfied smile, before steering Lysander next to his own whipping boy and then pressing him down. "Kneel, Dunce." A muscle twitched in Lysander's jaw, but he knelt with his head ducked. His wings curled around himself in comfort. "Transfiguration is for students, but you're only a Dunce now. Do you think you deserve even my ass on you?" Lysander pinked. "I can still use you though. You can be helpful in this lesson, just like your whipping boy is."

I shivered at the malicious delight that Bacchus took in each humiliating word. But then, Midnight opened his wing and wrapped it around Lysander. In shock, Lysander raised his head to meet Midnight's compassionate gaze. The same whipping boy who he'd made crawl was offering his support now that his patron been brought even lower than himself.

Midnight was epic, and Lysander wasn't the bastard that I'd thought he was. My furry tail wanted them both, and furry tails (especially crooked ones), shouldn't be denied.

Magenta offered Lysander a smile, which appeared to shock him as much as Midnight's feathery snuggle. Lysander offered a tight smile in return.

Bacchus prowled to lean against the wall, crossing her arms. "The Mind Control Spell is more powerful than any other because it creates a connection that's deeper than you'll ever taste between the caster and their puppet. It’s the true bond of gods and their followers. That's magic, darlings. Who holds the power, and who dances to their tune. Do you think you’re in charge of your own mind, fate, or will? Con others but not yourself.”

“I rather think that you’re the one who’s deluded. Don’t con yourself that since you have an unhealthy relationship with your god, we all do. My god is awfully nice.” Magenta blew a kiss to Sleipnir, whose hair softened to candy pink waves.

Sleipnir attempted to coolly nod his head, but Mist jumped up like he was trying to catch the kiss. Sleipnir could never hide his emotions now that Mist had been created.

By my prickles, don’t let anyone create a mist version of Mr. Fierce because I’d be screwed.

Bacchus’ knuckles whitened around her thyrsus. “Don’t speak about the darkness of eternal dedication that you could never understand. I’ve given up my Soul for my god, girl.”

“Ah,” Magenta said, brightly, “but have you ever given him a blowjob?”

Sleipnir covered his face with his hands.

So, this was what Religious Studies was like. I’d always considered that it’d be more about differences in belief and less my god is better than your god face-offs, where the bout was won with blowjobs.

Respect.

Bacchus’ smile was all teeth. “If you already have such power over gods, then step forward and let’s see you cast this spell over the Princes’ whipping boy.” She glanced dismissively down at Lysander. “The Dunce, despite his failures, is still magically powerful. He can cast the spell on your whipping boy.”

Magenta stiffened at the same time as Lysander, who caressed a reassuring hand over Midnight’s wing, before pushing himself to his feet.

Even though Lysander swayed, he still defiantly tilted up his chin. “I refuse—”

“As Flair would say,” Magenta hurriedly cut in, materializing in a fog of black mists in front of Lysander (was it weird how fuzzy it made me that she was protecting Lysander now?), “Fuck you, fuck your hex, and fuck your pointy fuck wand.”

Bask snickered and then paled as Bacchus spun in a furious circle, chanting an invocation.

Sticky red dripped from the walls like they were bleeding. “What you and this Flair need is a Fuck You Not Hex.”

“Dear Hecate, don’t let that be a celibacy hex.” Magenta shivered.

“It’s a ban on swearing. It can even include words that are considered dishonorable.” Willoughby looked lost, staring down at his hands. “It was cast on the nursery, which belonged to Darby and me.”

“My room at the Fae Court too,” Lysander muttered. “But I was creative.”

I rubbed my hands together metaphorically (although, only metaphorically because I was still tied up in purple silk), exchanging a mischievous glance with Sleipnir.

There were advantages to being mates with Loki’s son.

It was funny how I barely swore but now that I couldn’t, I’d never wanted to scream fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck so much in my life.

“What happens if you swear without being creative?” I asked.

Never let it be said that I was too stupid to ask the questions that other students were too smart to ask.

Wait, I meant…

“Try it,” Bacchus suggested.

“My king, don’t.” Midnight’s panicked gaze met mine.

“But the fucking witch just told me to swear, and it’d be taking the piss not to bloody listen to her.” Wow, I was bad at normal swearing.

Dad would be so cross with me right now. Although on the other hand, proud.

I didn’t like the way that Lysander’s eyes, however, gleamed with amusement.

The back of my tongue started to tingle. I smacked my lips in confusion, as the tingling spread along my tongue, roof of my mouth, and even into my gums. Then in a roar like dragon’s flame, heat exploded. I gasped, and my eyes watered.

Hot, hot, hot.

Willoughby winced in sympathy.

My tongue burned like it’d been dipped in hot sauce and then rubbed down in chilies for that extra kick.

What was that high whine? I shook my head, trying to clear it from my ears.

Oh, it was me.

“Stop this,” Magenta demanded.

“It’ll wear off.” Bacchus snorted. “Mage Baiting should be a sport.”

Tears chased down my cheeks. Where was a whole pail of milk when you needed one? Lysander no longer looked amused.

He grasped my chin, tipping up my face. “Allow me to help you…?”

I nodded.

Then between the waves of pulsing heat, I was aware enough to feel the way that Lysander’s thumbs were hooking open my mouth and his tongue was pressing inside.

So, help was what the fae called it…?

The cool of Lysander’s tongue, however, against the inferno of my tongue was blissful. Both Lysander and I groaned into the pleasure of the mingled hot and cold.

The distraction of Lysander’s wing feathers caressing my shoulders, as his thumb swept behind my ear like I could break at any moment, which matched the sweeps of his tongue, tamped down the burning, until it became a blurred pain-pleasure that prickled a flush through my entire body. My dick thickened with thoughts of pulling the fae onto it, just as right now he was riding my tongue.

Then Lysander pulled back with a final affectionate stroke of his wings (and I wasn’t imagining the affection), and I blinked up at him like I was drunk.

“The hex was never lifted from my bedroom by my guardian,” Lysander explained. “One is truly disappointed if you believe that I was never caught out swearing.”

“Who kissed you?” I blurted; my tongue felt heavy…burned.

Lysander’s expression shuttered. “But it appears that you do believe I was alone and unloved. Now that is disappointing.”

Despite everything, when he drew back, standing as stiffly as before, I felt cold at the loss of him.

Midnight’s pupils were dilated, and his grin was both sappy and over-excited like a kid who’d just walked in on his divorced parents kissing on Christmas morning. Brilliant. Now I had pressure to play nice with the fae prince who’d probably only kissed me to recreate the memory of some first love.

Since I’d experienced no more than a handful of kisses in my furry life, that hurt. But then, how many had Lysander had?

Sleipnir arched his brow at me, but I only shrugged.

“You, madam, are an eye-offending, mother bucketing horny toad with a fudging god-complex.” Sleipnir winked at me. “Creative enough?”

Bacchus caught Pocus’ tail hard enough for him to yowl. “It wasn’t an invitation for you to swear as insultingly as possible in my lesson.”

“Wasn’t it?” Sleipnir drawled.

“Holy hijinks!” Magenta clapped her hands.

“Caesar’s ghost!” Bask yelled out.

“Insert swear word…?” Willoughby ventured.

The elf was trying. Us Immortals would have to work harder to corrupt him.

“Squib!” I hollered. When everybody looked at me blankly, I blushed. “My dad would’ve laughed.”

“Enough.” Bacchus rapped her thyrsus against the floor. “Do none of you understand that it’s not a contest to get as close to triggering the discipline as possible?”

Magenta tried for outrage. “Holy daughter of a contemptible badger, of course we fudging do.”

“Don’t take the cat pee.” Bacchus smirked. Wait, had Bacchus just beaten us at our own game? Then she snapped her fingers, and the purple silk melted away that held Midnight and me together. “Stand up.” I pushed myself up, holding out my hand to pull up Midnight as well. “How about we move from hexes to spells. It should be clear enough to you all how powerful words are now.”

Lysander marched to stand next to Magenta, shoulder to shoulder, just as I stood next to Midnight. I no longer felt like any of us were on rival teams.

“My royal personage lost the Rebel Cup, remember? My guardian cannot become angrier at me, and nor can I fall lower than a Dunce. Your threats are hollow.” Lysander’s emerald eyes steeled with resolve. “How do you propose to motivate me now, professor?”

He had to ask…

“Through my rewards that aren’t hollow.” Bacchus glanced at Midnight. “Sleep deprivation is a punishment often used in my cult against its enemies. Have the tremors started yet? The paranoia or hallucinations? So many other delightful surprises that I’ll leave for you to discover.”

Midnight whimpered.

“I would strongly advise you to stop speaking, unless you wish me to kick your witchy fraking behind.” Magenta’s mists coiled around her.

“I was merely offering a reward. If you both cast the Mind Control Spell, then I’ll allow you to use it to let Curse sleep after class for a full, refreshing hour. The spell has such power that if there’s a bond between the puppet and their master, then it’s stronger than the strongest hex or potion. Don’t you want this reward?”

“Yes,” Lysander whispered, “I want it, please.”

My chest was tight. Magenta didn’t answer, however, only glanced at me.

How could I see those smudged shadows under Midnight’s eyes and even hesitate?

I waggled my eyebrows at Lysander. “Control me, baby.”

Magenta paced closer to Midnight. “This is your choice.”

“Then let me sleep.” Midnight peeked at her from underneath his eyelashes. “You have my permission, see, and I’d allow you anything…”

He snapped his mouth shut like he’d said too much. By the sudden flicker of conflicting emotions across Magenta’s expression, possibly he had.

She carded her fingers with the same tender care that I would’ve done through his waterfall of hair. “Then let me in.”

I startled at Lysander’s equally gentle touch to my curls. “May one be trusted with this honor?”

My breath caught. I’d expected this spell to feel like a violation. I’d also never imagined that Lysander…or anybody…would think it an honor to take over my mind.

I was a mage, and weren’t we there to be taken by force?

Pan’s balls, Lysander wouldn’t be able to see inside the Wank Bank, would he?

Lysander’s brow furrowed in confusion, as I offered him a weak smile. “The honor is all mine.”

Then the world fell away, and it wasn’t a violation; it was a revelation, which was scented with cherry blossoms. Lysander was inside me, but I could feel him. He was a protective, possessive, pining presence, winding through me.

On instinct, I tried to reach out and drag him into a desperate hug. Nobody deserved to suffer alone such emotions and yet hide them.

But I couldn’t lift my arm, move my leg, or even turn my head to look at Midnight to discover if he was as paralyzed as me. The only thing that I could move was my hardening dick, which looked like it was trying to hug Lysander in its own unique manner.

I bit my lip, willing away my hard-on. Nope, even the rising panic of being trapped in my own head with Lysander’s sweet love wasn’t working.

“One step forward,” Magenta ordered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Midnight taking a step.

Pan’s balls, I’d been turned into a Mage Puppet.

At least I had a hot vampire puppet friend. Except, that just made the inappropriate hard-on situation worse because now I was having hot puppet show fantasies and okay…could Lysander tell…?

“Why don’t you stop your whipping boy waving his dick at me?” Lysander drawled.

Yet now that I was watching for it, I didn’t miss the way that his lips twitched.

“He’s waving to me,” Bask pouted.

“Only if you promise that your whipping boy greets me with his soon. It’s quite delicious,” Magenta shot back.

Aquilo had taught me that I was never the one without the power. Even if I was trapped in a frozen body with an out of control dick. I just had to use it…the power, rather than the dick…I could follow the letter of Lysander’s orders but not the spirit.

This lesson could be fun.

Lysander caught my chin between his fingers. “Concentrate on me.” Then he backed towards the lab table, before clicking his fingers like I was a dog. “Walk.”

That was what happened, when I went remembering the soft feel of Lysander’s feathers, the protective press of his mind on mine, and forgot the fae asshole who mistreated Willoughby and Midnight.

When I walked towards Lysander, however, Sleipnir chuckled. What was wrong with my hips? Why had they suddenly decided to slink like a sexy dancer?

Stop it, naughty, naughty feline born to funk hips.

“What are you doing?” Lysander hissed.

“You’re controlling him, Dunce.” Bacchus gentled her hold on Pocus, scratching behind his ear in apology. “It’s mind control, rather than Soul control. You entwine like ivy and free their—”

“Inner diva?”

I could choose what to do, if a command was left open. I could stop walking, as easily as keep on, but Lysander had just called me a diva.

My diva hips kept right on, pressing Lysander against the table, until he scrabbled at my shoulders. “W-wait…s-stop…”

“It’s not your turn,” Bacchus called out.

My naughty hips (nothing to do with me, m’lord, I didn’t even have control of my mind at the time), bent Lysander across the table, and his wings settled around me. I couldn’t tell if he was holding onto me or pushing me away. His dick, which was tenting his pants, was equally confusing because it felt like it was pushing me away, except for the way that it rutted against me, shooting sparks of pleasure through my own, which dragged indecent breathy moans from me…and Lysander.

“Hurry up,” Lysander gritted out.

“Or don’t.” Sleipnir looked ready to pounce on both Lysander and me.

Bask put up his hand. “I vote don’t.”

Willoughby lifted his arm. “So do I.”

Lysander shot him a betrayed glance.

“Do only precisely as you wish, Midnight,” Magenta commanded. “You have total control over yourself.”

I had to imagine the smile that she was shooting Lysander, but it’d be epic.

“Stop walking and stand up straight,” Lysander gasped.

Well, that was the end of my free will rampage.

I snapped to parade attention.

Lysander smoothed out his uniform, before pushing himself up. “Why is he so difficult?”

“He’s only doing exactly what you say.” Sleipnir arched his brow. “Huh, being a dictator is harder than it looks, who knew?”

Bacchus examined her long nails. “Crow’s turn.”

Midnight caught Magenta in his wings, before kissing her with a passion and longing that sang of sleepless nights, where there was nothing but loneliness and fevered fantasies. She was Midnight’s queen, but until the moment that I saw him, holding her like that, I hadn’t truly understood what that’d meant.

He loved her, as much as Willoughby did…or as heat furled through me…as much as I loved Midnight.

Lysander gaped. “B-but…and n-now with the k-kissing and the... ”

“Jealous?”

That would make two of us.

Lysander swallowed, but his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Of course not, but why’s he behaving?”

Magenta narrowed her eyes. “Because he chooses to.”

That was right: throw the pussy under the bus.

Lysander clenched his jaw. “Do only precisely as you wish, Fox.” Was that the first time that he’d used my name? I could get used to that. How could I get him to say it again? His expression softened. “You have total control over yourself.”

Why was he licking his lips again almost like…nope, exactly like…he thought that I was going to lean over and…

Before I even had time to think that I was choosing what I did next, I turned away from his waiting lips and marched to Magenta and Midnight, before snuggling between them and kissing both of them in turn.

So, I was a jealous pussy.

Bacchus flicked her wrist, snapping the vines that held the other students to their stools. “So ends the lesson on the power of control.”

Why did she look pleased with herself?

“Petting time!” Bask bounced up, leaping over the table to Magenta.

Magenta curled her mists around Bask, who hung around her neck. Her magic burst in happy fireworks around us.

Mist neighed and flew around in a circle.

Sleipnir dragged Willoughby in his arms like a mad dance around the tables, before snatching me in his arms.

Pocus purred, diving away from Bacchus to wind between Midnight’s legs.

I laughed, caught in the whirlwind.

Then I glanced up and caught Lysander’s gaze, as he stood abandoned and alone. I wished that I hadn’t.

“You.” Lysander stared at Magenta with intense rage and hurt. “Look at them flock around you like their savior. They all love you so easily. They give up control and power to you, when you don’t demand it. Yet I can’t even…”

“That’s because I don’t demand it.” Magenta brushed Bask’s hair from his cheek but she didn’t drop her gaze from Lysander’s. “If you want love, why don’t you ask for it?”

Lysander’s wings beat; I knew what it looked like to be breathing too shallowly that you were tipping into panic attack, and beneath his rage, he was close. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To make me beg?”

“I truly wouldn’t,” Magenta said, quietly.

Sleipnir wobbled his hand in the universal sign for fifty-fifty.

Willoughby reached out his palm to Lysander. “Come join us for a small post task celebration. Our families couldn’t fault us for that.”

“You know that they could; they will.” Lysander pointed at Magenta with his wing like it was his scimitar. “Did you make my uncle beg you, before you left him at the altar?”

I thought that I was the one with the claws.

“Now, I’ve landed on the side of hell, yeah I’d make him plead,” Sleipnir growled.

When Magenta prowled towards Lysander with a deadly calm; I’d never seen her look as dangerous. Yet Lysander looked just as deadly. I’d have been hiding under a stool rolled up into a ball by now, but Lysander had only spread his wings in a display of dominance to meet hers.

Except, her gaze kept darting to his lips, as his kept darting to hers.

This was my fault. Why hadn’t my traitorous lips just kissed Lysander first? There was enough mage to go around.

“You infernal…” Magenta breathed.

“Infuriating…” Lysander’s lips grazed hers.

This was about to get even hotter and not in the sexy way if they triggered the Fuck Me Not Hex.

Could I help it that I wanted to see what happened if one burning tongue tried to kiss another? Did it cancel out the heat or lead to spontaneous swearing combustion?

I was a bad foxy.

Lysander wrapped his hand in Magenta’s hair, and she wrapped her fingers even harder in his.

“I think I just came,” Bask murmured.

Lysander and Magenta demanded at the same time, “What?”

Bask eeped, hiding behind Willoughby. At least, the Princes and Immortals were united in their desire to spank Bask.

Unfortunately, Bacchus appeared to agree.

She swept towards Magenta. “Good. Finally, teamwork. Would you like an extra reward?”

Merlin’s balls, let Magenta realize that it was a trick question.

“Cheers, but Midnight already has his aren’t you spoiling him single hour’s sleep, and I’m full up on cat treats.” I patted my stomach. “I’m trying to cut down.”

“Reward sounds lovely,” Magenta replied, sounding like she was dazed and still lost in a destination that I bet was named Lysander’s Lips.

Flatten my prickles and call me a hairbrush, we were screwed.

Bacchus’ grin was wicked. “Since Princes and Immortals have such closely bound fates and love, then I’ll reward you by giving you the rest of the day off and then tomorrow, you can plan the Enchanted Ball together. But you’d better not leave each other’s sides because it must be perfect. If it isn’t, you’ll all now equally be blamed. Then there’ll be no rewards and only punishment for the rest of your time in this academy.”

I froze.

I hadn’t been at a party since I was a tiny kid and I’d never been to a ball. But how could we plan the escape attempt tomorrow, if Lysander would be shadowing us?

The other Princes were Immortals now, but Lysander was still a Prince with so much to lose.

Yet perhaps, giving up control was the greatest control of all. To trust all the Princes was our only chance, even if it was a dangerous risk.

Chapter Seventeen

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Sunday September 8th

I’d never considered that the hardest test I’d face in my second chance at life after death would be loving a fae prince.

The risk of allowing Lysander into my heart in the same way as my other Immortals wasn’t only of being hurt or opening my lovers to the same hurt.

It was far more dangerous.

It was allowing myself to give up the hurt of the past.

Yet how could I?

The ghost of my death and Robin’s had haunted me throughout my long imprisonment in Hecate’s Tree but it’d also warmed me because I could admit now that it’d been all I had left of the first man who I’d loved: my best friend.

It was my truth.

What did I have if I finally let that heartache go? And how could I, now that Robin had returned to me?

I knelt before Hecate's Tree in the Dead Wood, ghosting my gloved hand across the trunk that pulsed with magic. This was back to where it had all begun. I'd once knelt in the same place and prayed to Hecate for freedom from my marriage to Titus. I'd been selfish. Perhaps, Hecate had granted me the freedom of death in order to teach me the lesson that you should never pray for yourself alone.

The only thing that’d mattered had been the freedom of all the Rebels. And that included the entire academy, down to its roots, and even Hecate herself who was trapped by my own magic, which had created the wards.

I understood that now.

Some would say that I was a rather slow learner.

The air thinned, darkening with the shadows of twilight. The sky was low and oppressive.

My hand clenched into a fist against the blackened trunk. Once, this glade had been wrapped in the intoxicating scent of lily of the valley, while butterflies had fluttered between violets. Now, the glade was transformed to bones. It was a black ring in the white of the wood. My mother had murdered it, when she'd murdered me. The only sound was the fizzing of ancient magic along the withered branches.

Yet delicate snowdrops tentatively pushed their heads up around the base of the trunk. They'd sprung to life, just as I'd been resurrected. My Immortals had brought them to life with their love. I brushed the tips of my fingers along their half-closed petals. How easy it'd be to crush them.

And how easy to tend them to life.

I glanced down at the Your Heart’s Desire Book on my lap. It'd been agonizing to leave it behind, during Bacchus' lesson. After being reunited with Paper Robin, it'd felt like abandoning him all over again. Yet I couldn't risk Bacchus sensing him. She was a bitch with an unhealthy obsession with her wand (Sleipnir had explained that she no doubt fantasized about using it as a strap-on, before he'd shuddered, but why would she want to strap something on?), but she was exceptionally powerful. I couldn't risk her sensing Paper Robin. Plus, my bosom might be large, but there wasn't enough room to hide an entire book down my cleavage, and it was a distinct flaw of my dress not to have pockets.

I traced my hand over the red feathers. When a silvery song rang out, I shivered.

I need you Robin; I've always needed you.

Flair and Echo swooped down from the branches of Hecate’s Tree, landing next to me.

"Are you OK, boss?" Flair cocked his head. Why did he sound panicked? "Why don't you just back away from the tree. Right. The. Fuck. Now."

I blinked.

"The last time we found you like this," Echo explained, fluffing his feathers in distress, "you ended up dead, dead, dead..."

I scooped Echo into my arms, and he wrapped his wings around my neck. "I beg your pardon. I would never pray to a goddess again. It's been tattooed on my heart. I'd never do anything to separate us."

Yet would I achieve that by breaking the wards and attempting to leave the academy? What would happen to my familiars?

I stroked over Echo's head. For over a century the twins had been all I'd had. We'd been each other's family.

Flair hopped closer. "By my fangs, stop kicking yourself up the beautiful arse. We've been...innocently...investigating every part of this academy and we know how rotten it is. You have to escape." He exchanged a glance with his brother. "We've talked about it, and if that means that even our fuckable behinds fade, die, or whatever happens to ghost familiars when the witch they're bonded to leaves...then shit happens, right?"

My eyes smarted with tears. "Then I stay."

When Echo poked me with his sharp beak, I yelped.

"You don't trap yourself again for us," Echo insisted with steelier resolve than I'd ever heard. "You're our kind, beautiful, witch, and we'd do anything to free you, even from us." Then he added, more softly, "Perhaps, we’ll be able to fly away with you. I'd never free myself from you."

"Then you'll escape by my side because a bond like that doesn't break. I shan't let you leave me. You don't have my permission to die, do you hear?"

Echo sighed happily like that was the most romantic wooing he'd heard. For freaky vampires like him and his brother, it probably was.

Sweet Hecate, let it be true that they'd be tied to me, if I escaped the academy.

"So, if you're not here to make the second biggest mistake of your witchy life by praying to Hecate, what's with the angst?" Flare demanded. "Echo could be getting in his nightly fix of elf prick in the Princes’ showers." Surely, I couldn't be blamed for how much I wished that I could accompany him…? But I wouldn't be satisfied as a voyeur. Elf prick had many uses, I'd discovered, and many more that I was dying to try out. "And I could be getting a quick roll in the Omega's bed, you know, just to get me through the night."

"You're still insisting that it's not stalking?" I asked.

"You call it stalking, I call it romance from a distance." Flair sniffed. "And don't change the subject, boss."

I played with the edges of the Your Heart’s Desire Book. Paper Robin was inside here, waiting for me, but guilt coiled inside me because I was thinking of Lysander, who was the nephew of the fae who'd kept Robin and me apart, leading to both our deaths.

In Bacchus' lesson, I'd been thrumming with desire for Lysander. My magic had vibrated with it from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair. I'd felt like I'd burst on fire, hotter than poor Fox's punishment for swearing. The way that Lysander had curled his tongue into my lover's mouth to cool it, had made me want to catch him in my arms and make certain that he understood that I saw him: the kindness and nobility, which he had to hide from Titus.

Yet it'd also been like I could feel the phantom touch of Lysander’s lips on mine, and I'd craved it.

As soon as the lesson had ended, I'd dematerialized in confusion and distress, reappearing in this glade that'd been my murder scene, prison, but also sanctuary.

I shook at the memory of Lysander's plush lips. They'd been so close. One breath away. In that moment, he'd been all I’d wanted. Needed.

Sweet Hecate, was he who I'd always been waiting for? My true fae prince?

But this was no fairy tale. I was the wicked witch, and if I craved this, then it'd be on my own terms.

I wrapped my fingers tightly around the book on my lap. "Is wanting Lysander as an Immortal a betrayal of Robin?"

There. Cauldrons and candles, I'd voiced it.

Flair snapped his beak together with a clack. "You want to fuck him. No judgment because I'd fuck that tight behind."

"No, I mean, yes..."

"You want to nest in all those golden feathers because I would," Echo tried.

"Also, no but yes."

Flair shuffled closer. "You want to spank his tight behind because it'd make me come so hard that I saw stars to see it bouncing and cherry red. Don't you think he'd look delicious, sobbing and ruined?"

What a startling and surprisingly hot image. Perhaps, I did want that. Lysander had certainly earned it by bringing up his uncle, during class.

"I never realized that the English language is woefully inadequate because it hasn't developed a word that means no but yes."

"You love him," Echo said, softly.

A slow smile spread across my face and it felt like life. "Ah, now that's simpler." My smile faltered, and for a moment, I could sense how caught I was still between the veils, tremblingly close to death. "Or it should be." I glanced down at the book in my lap. "Should love be a betrayal?"

Flair's gaze became knowing. "Is this about squirrel boy's gift?"

I flushed.

Echo tapped my cheek with his wing. "Who said love's easy?"

Flair rested his beak on the book. "Do you reckon that you're the only one with a past, boss?" I startled. My familiars never told me about the time before they'd been turned from vampires (which were Fallen Angels) into familiars on my twenty-first birthday, and I'd never forced them. "To move on, you're always leaving somebody or something behind. On the heart of pain, the only betrayal that matters is if you betray yourself."

"We were both owned by a warrior Glory, and we fought in the ranks, under a fellow Wing called Commander Drake. By my feathers, he was dazzling, brave, and he looked out for the kids in the army." Wait, there was an angelic children’s army? The Glories were the female angels, and I knew that they dominated the male angels, the Wings. Echo refused to meet my eye like any moment he'd say something that would make me reject him. Witching heavens, why was he so scared of that? "Plus, the Commander was a secret rebel because he'd secretly warn any Wings he could, if he knew their Glories were going to Mark them."

When Echo flapped off my lap into the protective embrace of his brother, I stiffened. Both crows shook. How had the angel who should've loved and protected them (like I did) hurt them so badly that even now, they were frightened?

"What in the name of Hecate is being Marked?"

"It's like having your balls on a leash." Flair wrapped his wings closer around Echo. "You’re no longer part of the harem; you’re nothing but your Glory’s bitch. So, that night we rebelled and Fell. On my blood, we betrayed Angel World, our pasts, and families, by becoming vampires. Were we wrong to do that, boss?"

"Of course not,” I replied. “I only wish that I could hex your Glory's lady bits to woof every time that a Wing strolled past her, so that there was no doubt who the true bitch was." Echo snickered. "What happened after you Fell?"

"Oxford's vampire Duke accepted us into his Court. He's gorgeous, and has all these pretty beads in his hair." Flair's expression was dreamy. Somebody had a crush. "It became our home."

"Until the witches caught us," Echo added, darkly.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

How could they bear to be with me? To comfort me? I'd always known that they'd been stolen from their home, but now it felt real.

Flair did the crow equivalent of shrugging. "Don't get your panties bunched, boss, no one's ever treated us as well as you."

Echo rubbed his head against a snowdrop. "And no one's loved us, loved us, loved..."

My chest tightened. No one had loved me the way that the Immortals had, since I'd been rebirthed. Apart from Robin, and our love had been as new and delicate as these snow drops. Perhaps, it would’ve blossomed into something more, but we hadn't been given the time.

I'd never get over Robin but I didn't have to. I just had to allow myself to love all the men who met my different needs, as well as to meet their needs too.

I placed the Your Heart’s Desire Book onto the ground next to me. "If you don't awfully mind, I’d appreciate a quiet moment."

Flair nodded. "Got you."

I stared at both my familiars, who hadn't moved. "Ehm, traditionally, that means by oneself."

To my surprise, Flair cawed with raucous laughter, before flapping into the air. "Next time you want some privacy to finger your quim, until you’re gasping out Lysander, Lysander, Lysander, just ask."

I took great insult at that: my breathy moans sounded far more civilized.

Echo flew after his brother. "Don't forget to chalk it up to the Wank Count and to tell us about it."

Ah, this modern age.

"I shall in great detail."

I simply shan't admit that it's imaginary, since I'm not doing anything to my quim, thank you very much.

But I didn't want to spoil their fantasy.

I watched them swoop away into the twilight like two dark specters. Then I turned, resting my back against Hecate's Tree. I could feel her magic pulsing through me; I crossed my legs because right now, Flair's idea was tempting.

Then I opened the Your Heart’s Desire Book.

A gust of icy wind blasted through the glade.

Ghost Robin circled the glade once, before tickling down my neck (which had been his weak spot as a child) and then ghosting waves of icy air all the way down to my hips like he was rediscovering the feel of me.

I shivered, smiling at the sight of Paper Robin. Only, he was in Mr Tailsy’s red squirrel form, scampering from one side of the page to the other. This small, he was even more adorable and just like one of my toys from the Bird Turret. I longed to pet him, while his tail would wrap around my arm like ivy, and he’d rub his tufted ears against my hand.

Mr Tailsy paused, staring up at me with a delighted tuk tuk. Then in a burst of glitter, he transformed back into a man, who stuffed his hands in his pockets in an attempt to look casual.

Like he hadn’t merely been waiting in here for me to visit him again.

“Good evening, wife,” Robin said like he was testing it out.

Had he been desperate since last night to say those words? Did he not truly believe that I wished to marry him, no matter that our marriage could be solemnized by secret vows?

I arched my brow. “How are you, husband?”

His expression relaxed into a grin, before he yawned. “Bored. Merlin’s breath, could you draw some trees for me? I’m aching to leap from the branches and take all those furry risks that I know you hate. The dead need their exercise too, you know.”

My chest tightened. “You’re not dead.”

“Quite right. I’m more like an echo. I’m not delusional, after all, I’m a magical enchantment, who’s trapped inside a book. Mama would’ve understood what it all meant or possibly, she only pretended to because it seems to me that there are any number of different kinds of ghosts. Yet I never thought I’d have a second chance with you, and that’s all that truly matters. I count myself lucky.” He peered at the blackened trunk behind me. “Where are we?”

“Our glade.”

“Then the years have been far kinder to you than Hecate’s Tree.”

Laughter bubbled out of me, in the same easy way that it always had around Robin. “To be fair to her, she was burned by mother. Oh, so was I, but when I was reborn, I was restored with what my lovers have assured me is enviably flawless skin.”

Paper Robin strolled closer to the front of the page like he could step right through it, and all of a sudden, I realized that he was shaking.

“Burned you?” He demanded.

“Did I not mention that part?” I caressed over the book’s spine.

“Well, at least we now know who’d win the Traumatizing Your Child to Death Award between our mothers.” But he didn’t stop shaking. “Funny how you didn’t mention your lovers either.”

“Ehm, my what now?” I tried for innocent but I was far too wicked to pull it off.

He cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at me. “Don’t lie to me.”

So, was the shaking distress, anger, or both?

Ghost Robin cocooned me, and my magic sparked to meet the cold. Was his phantom touch stronger tonight or was it simply because we were once more together in the glade that connected us?

I took a steadying breath. “This modern age is different than I’d ever imagined. I’m different. Cauldrons and broomsticks, I loved you so much back when we were first alive that it was like a bruise that I couldn’t stop touching. I never thought that you’d see me as more than a friend, and if you never had, then that would’ve had to be enough. You were my best friend and… I can’t take back what happened to you because of me. On my Wickedly Charmed magic, I swear that when I knew you loved me too, I’d have chosen to marry you alone. But I had no choice.” I swallowed; his eyes gleamed, as he studied me. “Titus took it away. But now, I love other Rebels too. To them, loving each other is as natural as breathing. Would you be able to share our marriage bed?”

Paper Robin’s gaze softened. “Other Rebels like the one you almost pulled down the Academy to save…?”

Ah yes, he’d witnessed my magic bonding to Bask. He’d calmed me, controlling my powers.

I nodded.

“Pan’s balls, by asking you to wait for me, I didn’t expect you not to cherish and protect other Rebels. It’s what you did for me. Why wouldn’t they love you, like I do? I’ve always only wanted you to be happy. I’m not possessive like a fae.” Why did he have to mention fae? Golden wings, silky emerald hair, and blazing eyes that were the same color as Robin’s and yet so different flooded me. I craved them both. How could that be wrong, when it made joy that I’d never experienced before flow through me, lighting the glade with pink fireflies? “I was wicked for craving a single moment with you before, but now every moment that I’m granted with you is a blessing.”

I gasped, as Ghost Robin feathered frozen kisses down my jaw. I arched my neck to grant him access, and he slid lower, taking advantage.

How delicious would his cold feel next to Sleipnir’s heat?

“I’ve recently discovered,” I murmured, “how wonderful it is to awake in a warm tangle of your lovers’ arms. The Immortals call it knifing…or possibly it was forking…”

“They have an obsession with cutlery?”

I furrowed my brow. “Spooning, that’s it. I rather think that they should rename it squirrel tailing because being cuddled in bed with so many, feels like being wrapped tight and safe in your tail.” I blushed. “I adored that as Mr Tailsy you could love me, and I could love you, even when we were only friends.”

By Paper Robin’s answering blush, I knew that he felt the same.

“You always treated me as a man, despite the fact that I was a shimage.” His blush darkened.

My eyes glittered. “I treated you like a man and a shimage. It was never despite anything. Mages aren’t my enemy, and witching heavens, my husband shall forever be my equal.”

Paper Robin’s radiant smile was worth everything.

Then a blast of wind tumbled the book to the side, slamming it shut.

My eyes widened as Ghost Robin’s outline appeared in front of me like a charcoal sketch with a flash of blurred oils — emerald eyes and burnished red hair. I reached forward, and the outline hovered backward. I scrambled desperate to touch — touch — touch. A cheeky smile hovered on his lips.

So, like that was it?

I laughed, chasing after Ghost Robin around the glade. His powers were stronger. I’d never been able to manifest, and I’d been attempting that trick for over a hundred years. Where was he gaining the energy from to appear to me?

When Ghost Robin twisted behind me, I turned too quickly and tumbled onto my back. He caged me beneath him within the cool band of his arms. The scent of sweet blackberries enveloped me like a coming home. I could taste their tartness on the back of my tongue. I longed to hear Robin’s voice, feel the tickle of his hair against my skin, and the heat of his warm hands. Instead, his lips blew icy gusts across my lips.

Closer, sweet Hecate, just a little closer, please…

His lips grazed mine.

All of a sudden, there was a golden flash in the branches above me. Through the charcoal outline of Ghost Robin, it was as if he’d been painted in by gold paint. I squinted in confusion.

I reached out, as if I could wrap my arms around his neck and drag him closer, but my hands only broke through cool air. I couldn’t touch him.

Ghost Robin’s eye’s gleamed with anguish, before he faded.

“No, please…” I clawed at the air, desperately.

Nothing.

Then Lysander swooped down from the branches, caging me with his arms, just like Ghost Robin had been. His wings stretched out, beating majestically. His heart thud, thud, thudded too rapidly; I could feel it through his shirt, matched by my own. His breath was warm against my cheek, when Ghost Robin’s had been cold.

Lysander had been watching me?

I could feel Ghost Robin’s loss beneath my skin, in the prickling of my magic, and in the aching of my gums.

Now a fae was in my glade, which had once been Robin’s and mine alone.

Yet why didn’t it feel wrong or a betrayal?

Lysander studied me, even as he shook like he was the one in distress. “So, you can even love a ghost…a memory…but it’s only my noble self, with whom you can’t bear to bond?”

“Perhaps courting rituals have changed, but stalking isn’t appealing to me.”

“Please, your incubus did nothing but stalk you. In fact, your Immortals literally brought you back from the dead because of their obsessive desires. How is my royal personage any different?”

I’d have been offended, if there hadn’t been such genuine insecurity threading underneath that question. Lysander’s wings curled around me, stroking over my shoulders. I shivered at their softness and the scent of cherry blossoms.

He was spring, hope, and predatory danger all at once.

He was a sweet tasting trap.

Why was it wrong to wish to love this fae prince, even while I hated another?

Lysander pressed a kiss to my forehead with as much reverence as Bask ever had. “In his training sessions with me since the tournament, my guardian has made one thing brutally clear. My royal personage is forbidden to touch you, love you, or…” When his tongue darted out to wet his plush lips, I longed to catch it with my own. My skin was too tight, and my magic sparked. My nerves were on fire. “…kiss you.”

“Are you so afraid that Titus will hurt you?”

Lysander snorted. “He’s already hurt me in more ways that you can conceive.” His wingtip stroked down my cheek, and he rested his forehead against mine. His hair veiled us both. Had we ever been this close before? His eyes were beautiful and so like Robin’s. “One fears only that he’ll hurt you.”

My eyes became frosty, and my fingers curled into the hard muscles of his shoulders. “Hecate’s tit, he’s already hurt me as well, and I shan’t ever allow him to do so again. You seem to be confused, so let me make it clear. If you choose it, you’re one of my Immortals, as much as Willoughby or Midnight. I won’t allow Titus to destroy our new love like he did my old.”

Lysander shuddered, as he closed his eyes, feathering kisses across my forehead.

Then he drew back and the depth of the love in his eyes made my breath hitch. “My uncle hates you, and he taught me to hate you as well, but damn my feathers, I love you.”

Lysander’s lips hovered over mine, just like Ghost Robin’s had.

Warmth pooled in my stomach. I’d go crazy…crazier…if he didn’t lower his mouth to mine and…

Yet he drew back, and his gaze was once more shuttered; disappointment crashed through me. “Are you truly naïve enough to believe that my guardian can’t still hurt you? There were courageous fae who thought like you. Their tribe were known as Rebel, and their young Lords were taken as hostages to our Fae Court to force the rest of the tribe to obey. To my childish mind, the bravery of those young Lords was admirable because they stood up to the Court Fae, when I couldn’t. Yet even so, when their tribe rebelled, they were sent to the Wicked Reform School. My guardian demanded that I…”

When he turned his head away from me, I nibbled along his jaw, and he reluctantly looked back at me. I was shocked by the glint of tears in his eyes.

“A Court Fae must obey,” he whispered, “and kill without hesitation. Yet my royal personage is weak.”

It was my turn to snort. “I’ve seen you face off with Juni.” I grimaced. “That takes a fae with…”

“Large wings?” Lysander smirked.

He rocked his crotch against mine. Witching heavens, his hard cock and balls definitely matched his large wings.

Were all fae so blessed, and did the size of wings always match with size of their manly parts?

I’d be careful not to mention my thesis around Bacchus, or she’d set it as coursework. Although, Fox with his not so secret Fae Kink would no doubt achieve a top grade and be exceptionally thorough at testing out the theory.

“Strength,” I replied.

Lysander’s expression once more became open and vulnerable. “Titus ordered me to execute the ringleaders.” I gritted my teeth. This was it. I’d never known why Lysander had been sentenced to the Rebel Academy but I’d known that it had to be something bad enough to depose him and for an entire kingdom to turn their back on a prince. After all, Willoughby was a killer and a traitor, even if only because of his inability to control his powers. Why had I expected that Lysander wouldn’t be? “My noble self refused.” I startled, staring at him with wide eyes. His lips turned up at one side in a lopsided smile. “To lay down your scimitar and refuse to kill in the name of your Court is a crime, but I wouldn’t become a murderer. That’s why I was sent here to be reformed into a true Court Fae.”

What in the name of Hecate…?

Lysander was as innocent as Sleipnir.

My guts clenched. Sleipnir would possibly punch a wall. Bask would curse Titus’ wings to malt, whenever he wore dark clothes. And Fox would cuddle Lysander and never let go.

Was this why Lysander resisted rebelling? After all, he’d witnessed a failed rebellion where fae had been punished and slaughtered.

Lysander drew back. “Did you expect me to be a killer, rather than one who failed to become a killer?”

I huffed. “Well, obviously. You have excellent predator vibes.”

Lysander inclined his head; his sharp teeth glinted in the light. “My noble self is all predator, witch, but I’m no fool. Were you not listening to my little tale? The Rebels were discovered, executed, and I lost…” He took a shuddering breath. Who had he lost? Wait, who had he loved…? “With deluded faith, one believes that it’s possible to reach a place where one can no longer be hurt, but it’s not true. There’s always something or someone else to take. One knows that you’re scheming to bring down the academy. You don’t need to tell me your plan because I trust you.” My magic sparked against Lysander’s in shock, but he lay his cheek against mine. His words gusted against my skin with a hollow fear that bled through me. “You’ve been dragging all us Princes into your plot, and we go willingly because we’re enthralled by you. Titus forbids me from loving you, but I can’t stop it any more than Willoughby can melt the ice flowing through him, or Midnight can fight his need for blood. Yet you’re leading us to our ruin; my royal personage knows because the past horror of the massacre still haunts me. If you continue to rebel, we’ll all become ghosts.”

Chapter Eighteen

FOX

Rebel Academy, Sunday September 8th

I hung back in the shadows of the yew trees at the edge of Hecate's glade. At least, that was what I called hiding or stalking, either worked. Then I watched (muffling my gasps and pants in the woolen coat that Sleipnir had slipped around my shoulders and enjoying his warm scent), as Magenta indulged in intimate sexy times with a ghost and a fae.

My fae.

Woah, I appeared to have caught the possessive bug.

I'd searched for Magenta, after she'd done her witchy vanishing into black mists act (which always had my dick standing to attention), at the end of Bacchus' class because I’d been desperate to check that she was safe...okay, to sneak in some one-on-one sexy times with her myself.

When I'd found the shimage who'd come before me (or what remained of him) in the walls of the castle, I'd felt the connection between us. It’d drawn me to this glade, just as much as the pull of Magenta’s magic.

Everything came back to Hecate’s Tree.

Hecate’s dark magic was like a witch slap across the face to a mage.

I ached to run away before the goddess decided that my foxy ass needed a true spanking. Yet I ached even more to run towards Magenta because she meant safety, home, and love.

Then I hesitated because Magenta thought herself alone with her past, and if I threw myself out of the shadows like a naked stripper out of a hat — ta da, Fox is here! — I'd have spoiled her special moment.

I could practice my stripper moves for her later (Fireman Fox was popular), but right now, I had to hide inside the dark, cold, cake.

My stomach growled. Only Princes were allowed treats like cake. Would their private larder be raided for the Enchanted Ball?

I narrowed my eyes at Lysander, as he flapped his wings. Would he hex me with a Tail Be Straight Hex, if I crawled out and joined in with Magenta and him? What about if I just licked his feathers? A single lick…?

Surely, he wouldn't be that cruel?

Not my beautiful crooked tail...

I hugged my arms around my middle, taking a reassuring sniff at the collar of my coat. Magenta was held down by Lysander's wings. They were beautiful together. I bit my lip. Except, it was like watching the TV with the volume turned down because I was too far away to hear their murmured conversations.

I bet it went something like: You infernal witch, I hate you...but kiss me anyway... You're such an arrogant fae...but I’ll kiss you if you ravish me first...

At least, that’s how it went in my head. Don’t judge me.

Would they kiss? They were so close.

Come on, entertain your audience...

I mean, if they actually got to the kinky stuff, I'd close my eyes. I could be good. Pathological liar here, I was never looking away because the way that they rocked against each other like they were desperately screwing, even though they were dressed, was hotter than anything I'd yet seen.

That was added to my Wank Bank.

Magenta said that she didn't like stalking, but wasn't I being a voyeur...okay, a polite peeping tom...okay, a bad, horny foxy?

A wave of exhaustion hit me, and I staggered, catching myself on the nearest yew tree. I scrabbled against the frozen bark. Wow, I wished that I'd been given gloves to wear, but then, whipping boys weren't expected to feel the cold. I winced.

Ever since the Walling Up Alive Incident, fatigue had seeped into my aching muscles and bones. It was like being consumed from the inside.

I closed my eyes, sagging.

Don't let the others notice that something's wrong. Bask would go into overprotective panic.

Of course, in all the years that I'd been locked up in the attic without medicine when I’d been ill (and I'd often had throbbing headaches, which dad had said was a result of the binding of my magic by the Blood Amulet), there'd been one easy way to relieve my pain.

There were two things that a guy always had even in the worst situations: his hand and his dick.

My dick right now was hard and demanding. Relieving him would relieve the tension and pain. Some plans just write themselves, and I had the perfect new Wank Bank material.

A smile teased the corners of my mouth, as I slipped my fingers down my pants towards my twitching dick.

Come to foxy...

"Look what I've found on my rounds," a voice as smooth as honey whispered into my ear, "a wanking Fox."

A large hand slammed over my mouth, smothering my yelp of shock.

My eyes snapped open, and I stared up at Emerick, the Groundskeeper, and Damelza's beautiful adopted son. His chocolate brown eyes, which matched his pants and shirt, glinted in the dark, as he pinned me with his other hand against the tree. His skin was velvet ebony, and his sable hair was woven with feathers.

Emerick had helped me on the day of the Hunt, when I'd been in animal form. He helped the animals but soft as he was with animals, I was in human form now.

And he looked pissed.

Emerick scrutinized me like he could see into my mind. I froze, breathing hard.

Don't think about Magenta's tits...Lysander's dick...pillows are safe...pillows, pillows, pillows...rolling around in pillows, while sucking Magenta's tits and Lysander's dick...

Emerick snatched me by my collar. "Poor thing, out here all alone. You'd better come with me."

He dragged me after him through the wood. I scrabbled against him, booting at snowbanks as we passed.

Wow, he was strong.

But then, Emerick had got those muscles working outside each day, and the most exercise I'd done inside was freaking out to funk.

"Some of us like to be alone, mate," I insisted. "I'm a secret introvert. That’s why I could only watch the other guys from a distance, you know, happy in my own company..."

I waggled my fingers.

Emerick merely arched his brow at me, while dragging me after him across the wintry grounds. I skidded in the slushy snow, and he steadied me. His hand was warm on mine.

"Okay, you caught me. I was being a naughty foxy, but you don't need to take me to the Damelza, right? She's just been waiting for me to be sent to her study again. She walled me up alive before. What's next? Locked in a safe? Cemented in a cellar? Great Pan, I'm not Goth enough to get a thrill from being nailed in a coffin..."

Emerick swung me around, hushing my wail with his warm palm over my mouth.

"You were much quieter as an animal. Do you always talk this much or do I make you nervous?" Then his gaze softened, as he studied me. "I'd never take anyone to Damelza’s study. I didn't choose to have a witch like her as a mum. She chose me like I was a pet from the orphanage, after my parents were killed by wolves."

He lifted his hand away from my mouth.

I paled. "But Snow said..."

Emerick raised his eyebrow.

Horn and hoof, how did I point out that Snow trusted Emerick, when he'd just admitted that his parents had been murdered by wolves? This was why I didn't do diplomacy. I needed Lysander, who’d probably been taught whole books of War Strategy Etiquette, before he could fly. Actually, Ezekiel had probably already taught that to Bask and Sleipnir.

This was what happened when you missed out on your education.

I bit my lip. Did Emerick resent that his life here at the academy was the fault of shifters...?

"Snow told me that you were his mate." I struggled, trying to wrest free. "You know how I can literally tell if you're lying, so come on: are you tricking him? I'll let you know now that I'll kick your ass...somehow...if you are."

Emerick's lips twitched almost like he didn't believe that I could kick his ass. Then he let go of me, taking a step back.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and scrutinized me. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I dusted down my top, straightening out my crumpled collar. "Don't dodge the question. And only my pride."

Emerick chuckled. "If it'll get you back to my cottage, so we can have our little talk," Merlin's cock, I'd hoped that he'd forgotten that, "Snow is my best friend. He's as much a victim of the war between the witches and wolves, as I am. He's been taken from his family, land, and own people. He's a slave, and technically, I'm not. Of course, I've helped him. That doesn't make me good, it makes me...decent. Anything else would be wicked." The truth of every word rolled through me like hallelujahs on a wave of thunderous drumrolls. He was right. It was how I'd felt about my werewolf, Glow. I shivered, hugging my arms around my middle. I missed him. Then I swallowed, as his gaze darkened. "Little talk time now."

He gestured towards the frozen lake, and I avoided his gaze, before marching ahead of him. He placed his hand on my shoulder, guiding me past the lake. I stumbled, barely able to see in the dark, but Emerick moved through the grounds steadily like it was daytime.

How many times had he patrolled these same grounds in the shadows? The grounds were larger than my attic but they were still a cage.

My lungs burned, and my breath ghosted the cold air. My skin prickled, and felt too tight where Emerick touched me.

What would happen once we reached the cottage?

I hadn't been alone without the other Immortals or a professor since I'd arrived, apart from the Hunt. It'd been terrifying to be caught in the kitchen with Emerick. In fox form, he'd loomed over me, and although he'd been a friend to shifters and animals, he'd also been a threat. Now, I didn't know whether he was my greatest ally or foe.

Our footsteps crunched on the snow, as we rounded the yew hedges at the back of the Groundskeepers Cottage. The high oak gate hid the secret garden behind it. Emerick cast me an inscrutable look, before shoving past me to slip a rusty key into the gate, which squeaked open.

He gestured after you like he was inviting me in for coffee, followed by screwing, rather than...okay, could I just pretend that it was screwing?

Dick now was not the time to perk up and show interest.

I squared my shoulders, before swaggering into the garden because going home alone with groundskeepers who catch you wanking was what they taught at schools, right?

That was definitely not the take home message from this.

Emerick snorted, before following me into the garden, which was simply a wave of snow that lapped at the cottage. The thatched cottage was ancient and leaned tiredly to the side. Yet the ice sculptures that played around the garden struck me as more beautiful under the moonlight than they had, when I'd seen them before under the sun. They sparkled like they'd been encrusted by diamonds. An ice elf climbed the branches of a tree, a vampire waved at him, and an elephant blew water at a snarling tiger.

My breath caught. What did I know about genius? I could draw an epic cartoon doodle of a hedgehog. But I hadn't been able to draw a fox without making the tail look like a dick. Don't imagine it or you'll be scarred for life like me. These ice sculptures, however, sang truth with a pure and perfect violin note that made my chest tighten.

Emerick's expression gentled, and he wandered to the tree sculpture, stroking his hand along the elf's thigh. "I'm never alone with these creations. Willoughby's talent is more than magic or a gift. He was meant to use his skill to create his legacy as a king, but instead, he creates a family for me. He's lost as much as I have, but still, he can share such beauty. Creativity like this is a blessing. Yet he believes what his bastard brother says about him. He can only see his mistakes." Emerick's gaze hardened. "Do you remember that I promised you were safe with me as long as you didn't trick or lie to Willoughby?"

I shifted from foot to foot. "Wow, great chat. Looks like I'm safe then because no lying to Willoughby here."

Says the lying foxy.

Emerick stalked towards me, and I backed away. "So, you do think that I'm a fool?"

"Is there any way to answer that, which doesn't end in my furry ass getting kicked?"

I dodged behind the ice elephant.

I didn't want to fight him. He was Snow and Willoughby's friend. I couldn't truly trust him because he was Damelza's son, but I wouldn't hurt him either.

Okay, I was the one who'd be hurt. But I could pretend for my pride, right?

Emerick prowled after me. "I told you that if you wrecked Willoughby, then I'd wreck you. Willoughby’s brother has been punishing him for hours. I know everything that goes on in this academy. It's the only way that I survive. Do you think I don't know that you Immortals have been messing with him? Then it's time that I bring down the power of my family on your tail because I fight for my family."

When he dived for me with a growl, I threw myself to the side, transforming in a shower of blue glitter into my Arctic fox form. I landed hard in a snowbank with an oomph, and my paws scrabbled at the snow.

My senses were suddenly enhanced, and I lowered my head, overwhelmed by the scents of the yew trees and the thrumming magic.

He wouldn't attack an adorable little fox, right?

When Emerick loomed over me, I lowered my ears and whined. Then I flashed him my cutest please don't hurt me expression that I could.

"Your tricks won't work on me, Fox." Emerick glared at me. "Transform back."

I shook my head, shaking my tail at him for good measure.

Emerick tried to snatch me by the neck, and I dodged through his open legs. He hissed in frustration, as I skidded around the snarling tiger. He chased me, as I wove underneath the ice elephant, who now seemed as large as a giant. My heart beat against my ribcage; my pulse pounded. The garden was no longer a playground but a terrifying Land of the Giants. I slunk around the sleeping dragon, who circled the entire garden, as Emerick hunted me.

When I reached the family of ice wolf cubs playing on the dragon's tail, I hunkered down to join them. My cream fur was camouflaged by the snow.

I covered my head with my paws.

If I couldn't see him, he couldn't see me, right?

A shadow covered me. His heavy boot tapped next to my head.

Tap — tap — tap.

"You're caught." Emerick's calmness should have been comforting. It wasn't. "I protect my friends. You'll learn that today."

Perfect. Another unique learning opportunity from Rebel Academy.

"Aye, I protect my friends too, and moon knows, I'd do anything for my wee brother," Snow's Scottish voice thrummed with protective dominance.

His calling me wee brother shook me with an intense emotion that had me pulling my paws away from my head and gekkering wildly.

Snow smiled down at me. His arms were wrapped around Emerick's waist.

Snow was Juni's werewolf because witches had claimed Omegas after the witch and wolf war. He was also the twin of the werewolf who'd been raised with me, Glow. I owed Glow as much as I did dad or Aquilo for keeping me sane in the long years of my exile in the attic, but even before that, Glow had protected me, treating me like a brother. I loved him as much as I did Hartley, my sister. The difference was that he hadn't abandoned me as soon as I'd come into my magic.

He hadn't called me a monster.

Snow was gorgeous with bronzed muscles and strawberry blond curls. He was also naked.

Did Juni never allow him clothes, even in this freezing academy?

I leaped up, bouncing on the spot.

Snow laughed. "Calm down, wee fox. What trouble have you got yourself into now?" Then he shot an accusing glance at Emerick, before swiping his ass with a crisp smack. Emerick flushed. "Fur and fangs, no threatening students."

Emerick rolled his eyes.

I smirked. Even in fox form I pulled that off. It was a gift.

Snow fixed me with a stern glare that had my little balls climbing back inside me. "And there'll be the same for your furry behind if you upset my friends." I wrapped my tail around my ass like that could protect it. Snow pulled Emerick closer. "I'm sorry, but Juni sent me to fetch you. There's a gathering in the Memory Theater. They have it all laid out for a..."

"Matching," Emerick said, dully. I knew what that meant. I'd been trained for it, just like Hartley had been taught Husband Management, since I'd been able to talk. I'd hoped that I’d be matched with the French witch Mesilande, who’d been my first crush, but then, all hopes of love or marriage had ended, when I'd been shamed as a mage. "Which House?"

"Nay, we'll find a way..."

"Which house?" Emerick insisted.

Why was he shaking? Didn't he want to be married?

Matching was the greatest day of your life (until your marriage day), or at least that’s what mum had told me. Wasn’t that true? It had to be because it was what I’d grieved for all those years, after it’d been stolen from me.

I’d lost the chance of a normal life because of my magic.

Snow massaged Emerick's lower back. "You know which House; the same one as has been after you for years. The House of Jewels."

Emerick paled, but not as much as I would've done if I hadn't been in fox form. Now I got why Emerick wanted to kick my furry ass and had never trusted me.

Plus, my family was visiting the academy…they were here now…? But they weren’t here to see me (their disappointment of a mage son), rather to match Hartley to Emerick.

Would she make a good wife like I'd always hoped?

Could I vomit now?

I loved Magenta and the other Immortals but I couldn't help the twist of jealousy that Emerick was about to experience everything that I'd lost. He'd be seen and valued, like I'd been taught mattered most. He was the beautiful prized virgin son, like I'd once been.

It was a great match both ways: The House of Crows was powerful, and the House of Jewels was wealthy. I could see why both Damelza and mum had chosen it. Plus, they were old friends.

Did mum know that her old friend, who was trying to marry her son to my sister, had tried to murder me this week?

Would she even care if she did?

Tears smarted my eyes because my family wanted Emerick, but they didn't want me.

How could they still hurt me so much after over a decade?

When I whined, Snow crouched next to me.

He stroked his hand over my head. "Goddess Moon! I shouldn't have just... I'm sorry. I know how it tears you apart to lose your sibling because I miss Glow every day. Look, Emerick will be the best husband for your sister."

"I won't." Emerick's eyes flashed, and he took a step back. "Because I'm not property to be sold to the highest bidder."

When Snow carefully stood, his gaze was soft and sad. "Nay, you're the son of a witch, and if she decides on this marriage, you'll have no choice. My brother is in the House of Jewels. Glow can brighten the worst of days. I promise, you'll have a new best friend."

"I don't want a new..." Emerick's voice broke, and he bit his lip hard.

I transformed back to a man, shoving to my feet. My magic broke against me in distressed waves. In the last week, I'd repressed my past. Everything with Magenta was thrilling, loving, and washed me along with excitement and fear, until I didn't have to think about...

Don't think, don't, don't...

Dad's death, the darkness in the attic, whippings, Blood Amulet, Glow and Aquilo, Hartley's rejection...

Mage's are monsters.

My breathing became ragged, and I gritted my teeth.

I'd lost everything, but I'd found it again in Magenta and the Immortals. This time, I'd create my own life.

Yet now, Hartley was in the academy. How could I move on, without seeing her?

"Take me with you," I demanded.

Snow shook his head. "You won't be safe. Not a chance."

Emerick's assessing gaze met mine. "Let him. At least then, I'll be able to see what this sister of his is really like. I'd rather know from the start than on my marriage night."

I winced.

Snow drew in his breath. "I'll catch it from Juni for this, but I'd pull out every fang if it'd help you."

"What charming imagery. Does that mean that I can attend as well?" When Magenta materialized at my shoulder, I squealed in as equally a manly way as both Snow and Emerick did. "As you just saw, I can attend invisibly."

I wrapped my arms around Magenta, burrowing my face onto her shoulder and breathing in her wild woods scent.

I wouldn’t be alone.

Pink sparkles tickled my skin. I felt safe, centered, and loved.

Emerick coughed. "Excuse me, did I send out an invitation to a garden party and forget about it?"

Magenta waved her hand. "A wonderful idea, but I don't stand on ceremony. I believe that I'm getting better at this modern courting technique of stalking. After all, I am the Voyeur Ghost. I'm connected to my lovers, and Fox's magic cried out to mine. Did you imagine that I'd allow him to face his witch family by himself?"

Snow's eyes brightened. "Aye, you're a surprise all right."

Magenta's eyes glinted. "Thank you, kind sir."

Snow nodded, gravely. "You can care for my wee brother."

"Hey," I shifted in Magenta's arms, "I'm not a pet."

Magenta carded her fingers through my hair. "But you are mine."

Snow's eyes widened. "You're bonded."

When Magenta tipped up my chin to press her cool lips to mine, and her magic sparked, I knew that we’d always belong together. Why had I been jealous of Emerick or the witch world that I'd left behind? I'd been trained from birth to wish for the traditional matching and marriage, accepting that the decision would be made for me.

Screw that.

Now I loved and was loved back by those who didn't care that I was a mage and allowed me to make my own choices.

They'd never hide me away, beat, or force me against my will. I trusted them.

Did I trust that my sister would grant that to Emerick?

Magenta broke the kiss, and her lips quirked, as I tried to follow them for more kissy treats.

Come on, lips in need of kissing here.

"I detest arranged marriages in witch society," Magenta murmured. "They destroyed my life, leading to the death of the first man who I loved and the curse on this academy." I gasped, as her magic exploded like fireworks above the garden; the ice sculptures were lit up, as if they'd been frozen by that curse. Her magic vibrated through her with a violence that I'd never felt before. "My father wished me to be different to mother, using my powers to change the magical world. I shall start that by ending Damelza's matching."

"You know that you're risking..." I glanced warily at Emerick. I didn't trust him enough yet to share our whole rebellion plot. "...our Membership plans.”

Magenta stiffened, but her magic rumbled through the garden. “I once believed that I wasn’t strong enough to save even myself from this academy. I didn’t trust the strength of my magic but prayed to Hecate instead to save me, when I should’ve been protecting every Rebel. But I’m the Wickedly Charmed witch, this is my academy, and I’m saying enough. No more marriages shall be forced on the unwilling without love. Surely, I can be a vengeful spirit, after I died for the same reason…? I can’t protect every Rebel, if I turn my back on protecting one.”

Magenta’s magic zigzagged through the sky. She was powerful, but was she losing control like Willoughby had? This was personal to her.

What if our entire escape attempt was risked? Midnight wouldn’t survive much longer with the Sleep Deprivation Hex.

I shivered, wishing that I still had my furry tail to wrap around myself. Weirdly, despite all the danger, there was only one word looping through my mind:

Hartley, Hartley, Hartley…

I’d never thought that I’d see my sister again, and now I’d have to face her, as she chose a man to marry.

Why did I still love her?

She could crush me all over again, and it terrified me.

Chapter Nineteen

FOX

Rebel Academy, Sunday September 8th

How could I’ve forgotten that my sister’s wavy hair was the exact same white blond shade as my own? What other memories had I lost? And why was my kitteny side purring, desperate to dash to her and curl on her lap?

Why did I expect strokes from her, rather than a spanking?

Hartley hadn’t seen me yet.

I stumbled to a halt in the entrance to the Memory theater, as Snow meekly paced in front of me like I was a wanted guest, rather than a gate crasher.

What in the name of Merlin’s hairy balls was I doing?

My sister didn’t want me and the witches hated me. I could lie to myself, but a male brought up in a magical household could never forget that a mage was the enemy.

Yet I had forgotten the way that my sister’s hair would mingle with my own like we’d been twins, as we’d bent over the flowers to make daisy chains, and then how she’d balance the daisy crowns on both our heads, promising that we’d rule together.

BM — before magic — Hartley had treated me like I deserved equality.

AM — after magic — Hartley had treated me like I deserved solitary confinement.

I swallowed, pressing my nails into my palms.

Do not poop, do not poop, do not…

Perhaps, Damelza could turn that into one of her motivational sayings?

Face your fears without pissing or pooping.

It was good to have high expectations of your achievement levels.

I wrinkled my nose at the scent of burning sage. The black and pink tiered seats were lost in shadows, and the stage was blinded with light. My magic prickled at the room’s oppressive and ancient magic. It suffocated my already struggling lungs.

I was here, safe, and with Magenta.

I was loved.

A cold breeze gusted behind me, and warmth curled through me. Magenta was invisible but she was here with me. From the moment that I’d stepped into this coven-run academy, I’d been in danger, but I hadn’t been alone. Magenta had been with me, watching over and loving me.

Great Pan, I loved her.

I shivered with unease, unable to look at the stage yet. Instead, I tipped back my head and squinted up at the words that swirled in and out of focus on the ceiling:

Share our pasts in order to move forward as one together.

My expression hardened. This theater stole our pasts, so that the witches could feed on them and control us Rebels.

Yet could I move forward if my furry ass didn’t face Hartley? Perhaps, more than my ass had better face her, but it was tempting to wave my crooked tail at her with a twerk of my ass, before walking out with my dignity intact.

I grimaced. Okay, I could’ve lost my dignity back when I allowed Aquilo to put a tutu on me and use me as his magician’s assistant in a show to amuse dad.

You had to be there. I did draw the line at Aquilo’s planned hedgehog Swan Lake.

I bit my lip, by slow degrees forcing myself to look at the stage but avoiding Hartley.

I could hear her though, chatting to Juni. Were they mates?

Hartley’s voice was gentle, but there was a steel underneath it that hadn’t been there as a kid. Except, possibly it had, and I’d just been blinded to it because Hartley had been the older sister who I’d adored.

I pressed my nails harder into my palms. Snow shot a final concerned glance at me, before striding to Juni and dropping to his knees. He clasped his hands behind his back.

Three feathered thrones were arranged under the spotlight for Damelza, Juni, and Hartley. In the center was a crow skulls table with a porcelain tea set balanced precariously on top. The witches politely sipped their tea, as they waited for Emerick to be presented to them like breeding stock.

Would my matching to Mesilande, who’d cruelly rejected me once I’d become a mage, have been like this?

Magenta trailed icy kisses down my neck. Her magic entwined with mine, and I knew: I could do this.

AM and BM no longer mattered. There was only MAGENTA.

I straightened my shoulders, before lowering my gaze to the achingly beautiful face of the sister who’d rejected me. She glittered, loaded down with diamonds, just like mum always had been. Then I gasped, because she was staring at me like I was a ghost.

Ashen, Hartley dropped her teacup, and it smashed. The tea spilled over the train of Damelza’s dress.

Hartley and my gazes locked.

“I wasn’t supposed to see him,” Hartley muttered. “Mum promised that I wouldn’t…”

In a sudden rush of shockconfusionanguish, which I couldn’t untangle, I transformed in a spray of glitter into my cat form, dashing towards Snow, who scooped me into his arms. Yet unable to control my emotions, I immediately changed into a fox, gekkering and slipping out of his hold. Then I transformed with a pop into a hedgehog, squeaking and madly running towards the safety of sapphire material studded with blue diamonds that was weirdly familiar, curling in distress into a ball.

“Well, don’t say we didn’t offer you entertainment.” Juni nudged Hartley with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Why did I hate that Juni was acting so buddy with my sister?

In an explosion of glitter, I changed back into a man, who was now curled at Hartley’s feet with my face pressed to her silky dress.

Well, that’d happened.

Awkward.

Did I imagine that Hartley’s lips quirked?

I pushed myself up onto my ass suavely (yeah, I pulled it off) like I’d intended to make the dramatic entrance. “Ehm, hi. That was called the triple transformation move. I’m still working on it, obviously. What mark do you award me?”

When Hartley’s hand twitched, I flinched. Was she going to stroke or slap me?

Hartley’s face became a haughty mask, and she stilled her hand.

“It’s called the black mark or the mark of shame. Aren’t you lucky to be awarded both?” Damelza shook out her dress, and her expression soured, as it fell on me. “I apologize, Hartley, I’d hoped to be granted a night off from your criminally minded brother, but the life of a Principal is a demanding one. There’s no rest for the wicked. Why did you bring him here?” Her eyes narrowed at Snow, whose shoulders hunched. “Did your tiny beast brain become confused? You were sent to fetch my son. I’ll have lost my mind as much as that Rebel witch, before I willingly socialize with a mage.”

Hartley’s lips thinned. For a moment, her eyes flashed with guilt but then, it was hidden.

I cringed. What had I done? It was just like with Glow; Snow would take the punishment for me.

Hartley was studying Snow in fascination. After all, he was identical to Glow.

“Is Glow okay?” I tentatively rested my hand on the hem of Hartley’s dress; the diamonds were hard beneath my palm. “He’ll be lonely without dad and me, and I didn’t get to say goodbye—”

“An Omega doesn’t have a name.” Hartley wrenched her dress away from me, and the diamond cut into my palm.

I curled my hand against my chest.

When Snow rested his hand on my shoulder, I understood the truth of that gesture. It warmed through me in howling of packs long torn apart and images of ancient forests:

Cheers for asking after my twin, when an Omega can’t.

The growling bitterness at the Omega was there, but at least Glow was still alive

Damelza patted Hartley’s knee. “It’s delightful to meet another witch from a traditional House who knows how to keep both mages and wolves in line.”

Hartley’s eyes glittered with mischief, before she patted Damelza’s knee in return. “Your wolf would look pretty with bows in his hair. Mine does. Why don’t you try it?”

I knew Hartley would be dressing up Glow like one of her dolls.

Damelza gaped at her. “In this House we don’t discipline with ribbons; we prefer whippings.”

Juni gripped Snow by the back of the neck, yanking him closer to her. “He’s my Omega, mother. He can be caged for the next week, but you won’t touch him. Are you surprised that the whipping boy tricked him? He is the prince of liars.”

I grinned. “I’ll take that recommendation for my resume, but my actual title is Grand Vizier of Untruths. I mean, I’d accept the Emperor of Inaccuracies or at a pinch, the Lawyer of Misrepresentations.”

Hartley snorted and then hurriedly covered her mouth.

“Was he like this as a child?” Juni asked.

Hartley blinked, and her shoulders stiffened. “That isn’t my brother. That’s the thing who stole my brother from me. That’s a monster.”

I jerked away from Hartley, scrabbling towards the seats. My back hit the seats with a sickening crunch, but I didn’t feel it. I only felt the stab of her words.

Take it back…

My eyelashes were wet with tears, but I didn’t let them fall. If she didn’t accept me as brother, then she wasn’t my sister.

She wasn’t…wasn’t… Pan’s cock, she was.

I turned away my head, unable to keep looking at her. I needed Bask’s pillows right now to hug…or Bask.

Magenta’s frosty cold wrapped around me, and I dragged in desperate gulps of air. Magenta was with me, in me, beside me. It didn’t matter if Hartley didn’t see me because Magenta did.

Juni tilted her head, assessing me, as her fingers carded through Snow’s hair. “If you want to stay, Confess, sit in the seat quietly. Be as invisible as a ghost.”

When she raised her eyebrow, I blanched.

Was Juni helping me? Did she know that Magenta was here?

I struggled onto the seat, ducking my head.

Right now, I’d take any dubious allies that I could, even the Princes’ Tutor who’d threaten to cage Snow.

Was this academy education everything that mum had hoped?

I definitely wasn't the son that either Hartley or she had hoped for...and I didn't care...okay, I cared just a cat's whisker...okay, more like a crooked tail...okay I cared all the way down to my caterwauling breaking heart.

I'd never let Hartley know.

I clawed my fingers into the armrests, composing my expression to the same polite mask that I'd been taught as a kid. In the House of Jewels, I'd spent hours standing in front of relatives, who’d discussed my faults at the same time as praising my beauty or kneeling facing corners in punishment and no matter what, this was the face that I'd been taught to wear.

Hartley swept an assessing glance over me, before her attention was caught by movement at the door.

Emerick stalked into the Memory Theater with his chin tilted up defiantly. He'd changed into fancy clothes for the matching: dark chocolate chiffon pants and top that were almost transparent. His top hung open over his muscled chest, which had been oiled.

He'd have looked like sex on a stick, if he didn't appear as uncomfortable as a gardener, who'd suddenly been dressed up for a sultan's harem. To be fair, that was pretty accurate.

Emerick refused to look at Hartley, even though he stopped in front of her like a tin soldier.

Damelza took a sip of tea. "Now here's how a man should behave. Doesn't he look pretty?" Wow, that was fishing. She needed this match. Was she trying to gain the House of Jewel's money for the academy? Was that the only reason that she'd adopted Emerick? She tapped Emerick's ankle with the toe of her boot. "Hands on your head."

Emerick flushed but raised his hands onto his head, which pulled his top further apart, revealing his entire chest.

Damelza used everyone in this academy like pawns. She was just like mum, who’d also wanted to trade me for my beauty. Damelza would use her students as assassins or marry off her own son.

It was all about the survival of the House of Crows.

Hartley's pupils dilated, and her cheeks flushed, as she looked Emerick up and down.

She was crushing on him.

She didn't love me, and I shook with fear, that she couldn't love Emerick.

Magenta wouldn't allow the marriage, but I had to know that my childhood hadn't been a lie. Because if it had been, could I believe anything was real again?

"Go on then," Juni grinned at Hartley encouragingly like she was at a strip club, rather than urging her mate towards her own brother, "take a closer look. He's a good boy."

Hartley gave a tight smile, before rising from her throne like a shimmering princess. For a moment, the diamonds woven into her dress and hair blinded me. Then she circled Emerick. Her expression gentled, and she smiled at him. When she touched his chin to turn his head one way and then the other, Emerick's eyes darkened with defiance.

If I hadn't become a mage, would my official matching when I'd turned twenty-one with Mesilande have been like this? Would she've inspected me in the center of my grand lounge under the sparkling light of the chandelier, as my family sat watching and drinking tea, like I was no more than property? Would I’ve been sold to Mesilande in the same room that I'd played toy horses with Hartley?

As a kid, Mesilande had sat me on her knee and kindly called me her petit knight. I'd giggled and felt important.

Lies, lies, lies...

When I hissed, unable to restrain my feline rage, Damelza raised her eyebrow at me.

Just wait, cats catch crows, and I'm imagining a feathery massacre...

As if in revenge for my outburst, the back wall was suddenly lit with a kaleidoscope of projected images. They were the memories of every student who'd been punished in the Memory Theater, including me.

Merlin's prick, please don't show it...

Then there it was: my teenage self, kneeling on the mattress in the attic and peering out of the window at Hartley's birthday party below.

It was the day that Hartley and Mesilande had crushed me. I'd learned that everybody knew I was being held captive, and nobody would save me.

Nobody had.

I keened, before slamming my hand over my mouth.

Unexpectedly, Louis Armstrong's gravelly voice boomed out, backed by the joyful flute and trumpet of "It's a Wonderful World."

Hartley appeared as shaken as me. Ghost-white, she tangled her hands in her hair, as if tearing out the jewels would tear away the memory.

Why was her witchy behind distressed? She'd been the one to arrange her garden party, where "It's a Wonderful World" had played, so that I'd be able to watch and hope...for the only time in a decade...that I was still remembered and loved. She'd let me join in her tiny slice of happiness.

Then she'd been the one to take that away from me, right?

Juni dived out of her chair to Hartley's side, wrapping her arm around her. "Mother, shut it off."

Damelza's smile was sly. "What's the problem? Aren't you a jazz fan?"

"Mum admires your clever cruelty." Hartley's gaze was frosty. "I simply admire cleverness, and it's rather dumb to upset your future daughter-in-law or don't you care about the safety of your son...or what I tell mum about your hospitality?"

It looked like Hartley was a rebel too.

Damelza's smile faltered, and then she sniffed. "I prefer music with a darker edge, anyway. I have an excellent playlist entitled Songs to Curse or Fuck To."

It was always the quiet ones. Plus, where was the Fuck You Not Hex when you needed it?

When Damelza waved her hand, the music shut off but not the memories, which replayed on the back wall.

Hartley shrugged away from Juni, before prowling around Emerick. This time, there was a predatory glint in her eye that made my throat tighten. No gentleness remained. Instead, she ran her hand down the center of Emerick’s glistening chest, tested the firmness of his bicep, and ran her hand across his ass like checking over a breeding stallion.

"Your sister tells me that you're good. Are you?" Hartley asked with an icy indifference.

"I've been trained to be neither seen nor heard," Emerick replied.

"It'd be a shame for you not to seen." Hartley cast an assessing eye down him. "In the House of Jewels, we like pretty things, as long as they're quiet and act with decorum. You'll be on display. What are your skills?"

I jolted. This was Husband Management 101.

Hartley had been forced into those classes but she'd hated them. She'd defied them every time that she'd smuggled me out to ride her pony, played snow fights with me, or clasped my hand in hers to run through the gardens, when I was only meant to walk.

Let some of the sister who I'd once known still be in there, or it'd be like she'd died along with dad.

Finally, Emerick met her gaze. "I can care singlehandedly for magical woodland, survive outside in snowstorms, and I can rectally examine foxes."

I burst into laughter, and Snow's shoulders shook suspiciously.

I knew that I'd had a close escape from his medical attentions.

Hartley gaped at Emerick. Those skills weren't on the Approved List of Skills in the Husband Management Booklet. They should add them.

Damelza's feathers ruffled in outrage. "Do you know what happens to boys who misbehave at their matchings?"

"They don't have to marry witches who they don't love?" I snarled. "Come on, I've got it right this time, yeah?"

Fathered straps shot out of the seat. The straps bit into my thighs and upper arms, and I yelped.

Wind blasted through the theater. Magenta was pissed.

Hartley took a step towards me, and for a moment, I thought that her mask would break. "This match was arranged by mum years ago."

"Would you've allowed Mesilande to treat me like that?"

Hartley furrowed her brow. "I tried to make it clear at my party. It wasn’t fair for you to continue in your delusions. Mesilande wouldn't want you, brother, because you're a mage. There was no point you...still hoping...because no witch would touch you."

Emerick chuckled. "Well, you're in for a shock."

"Silence," Hartley snapped.

Hartley's eyes widened, as Emerick dropped his hands from his head and crossed them over his broad chest. "We're not married yet. I'm not in the mood to be dominated, in fact, that's not my dynamic at all."

Juni attempted to hide her snicker in Snow's curls.

I shrugged. "Wow, look at that. He can think and talk like a real person. Don't you remember that I could?"

Damelza slammed down her teacup with a sharp crack. "Delightful as this reunion is, can we refocus on the deal—"

"You be silent too," Hartley hissed.

Damelza sank back into her throne in shock.

My prickles, that made everything worth it.

Almost.

How powerful had Hartley become? Her magic glittered off her, as she prowled towards me. I'd wanted her attention, right?

Be careful what you wish for.

Hartley reached to stroke my cheek. I hated myself for it, but I leaned into her touch. It'd been so long since she'd touched me gently. Since the Kitten Incident, when I'd first transformed in front of my family into a Birman cat, I'd craved this.

But as soon as the tips of her fingers had touched my skin, she'd pulled them back.

"You locked me up." This time, I didn't look away. The words crawled from my throat, each one more painful than the last. "You never visited me. You forgot me."

Hartley’s hands clenched into fists.

Use them, hurt me, beat me because at least then you're seeing me...

Instead, she merely tossed her head like I was beneath her notice and began to turn away.

Desperation wailed through me, vibrating through my magic. I craved to prick her until she bled, at the same time as I wanted to snuggle in her arms, purring.

I needed her attention and I feared it.

Magenta's magic sparked around the room. Her rising fury rattled the teacups, and Damelza narrowed her eyes. Magenta’s outrage for Emerick and me battled against the oppressive magic of the Memory Theater.

There was one witch who fought the system and loved mages: Magenta.

"Why?" I whispered. When Hartley continued to turn away from me, I howled, "Why?"

She hesitated, but she didn't look at me. "You became a mage."

"I was still your brother. Wasn't it enough that your older brother had been thrown to the wolves? Did you regret that the same hadn't been done to me? Did you beg mum to throw me to the wolves as well?"

To my shock, Hartley let out a shocked sob, as her knees buckled. She lay her head on my lap.

What had I done?

Juni stared at her. "I shall send you on a Discipline Run every Sunday for the rest of term if you don't undo this."

I wriggled in my straps. I couldn't even move my arms to comfort Hartley. Emerick marched over, however, to drop to his knee next to her and rub her shoulder.

He should've listed comforting the distressed to his skills because he was epic at that (to be fair, he was equally epic at terrifying threats).

"I didn't know." Hartley's voice was soft and stripped of its steeliness. "Mum told me that Reed had died." My chest tightened. My older brother's name was Reed; no one had ever told me that before. I held it to me like it was more precious than any jewel that my House owned. I was shaking, and Hartley raised her head like she was surprised to feel it. Tears chased down her cheeks. Why was she crying for a mage? “Mum locked Reed away like you in the attic, but he was shackled all the time. I was so young, and I couldn’t bear it. Then mum told me that he’d died. I grieved. Don’t you get it? I lost two brothers to the evil of magic.”

“I’m not dead,” I snarled, blinking away tears. “I was alive and alone, and you chose to lose me.”

Hartley knelt up, and this time her hands rested on my cheeks and didn’t move away; her ice blue eyes that were twins of mine, didn’t flinch from my gaze. “I cried for Reed. He was my brother. I idolized him. He was perfect, and when he…when I thought that he died… I had you, and it was like we were all offered a second chance. I loved you so much: my beautiful little brother. I tried to make up for everything that’d been done to Reed and let you have what I wished he’d been allowed as a kid and would never have again.” My breaths were ragged, and my vision blurred. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the sobs inside, even if I was being clawed to shreds. Stop speaking, for the love of Pan, enough… A tear escaped against my will, and Hartley wiped it away. She was too close, and yet, not close enough. Her face twisted, as she bunched her hands painfully in my lap. “And then you spoiled it all over again.”

Emerick gripped her tighter by the shoulder; his expression was grim. “Well, that was touching. How about we leave Fox alone now? You enjoyed stroking my chest. Have you felt my abs yet?”

Hartley shook Emerick off, leaning her cheek against mine. My eyes fluttered shut.

Why was I so desperate to hope even now?

“Why did you have to be a mage?” Her tears were wet against mine. “Why did you have to be taken away from me as well? Now even dad’s gone. You did that.”

My eyes snapped open, and I wrenched my head away from her. “Mum did that; I know that now.” Her eyes widened at my hard tone. Had I ever spoken to Hartley like that before? “Reed and I were born with our magic. It’s not bad. It’s natural and who we are, right? You and mum chose to abandon us. Witch society is screwed-up. Stop crying and make a stand to change it. If you loved us, you would.”

“The fox has balls.” Emerick pushed himself to his feet. “And he’s right.”

“Yeah, and one final thing,” I glanced up, as Magenta’s cold fingers clasped mine, “a witch does love me, and I love her.”

Instantly, a blizzard raged through the Memory Theater.

Juni screamed, huddling on the floor with Snow, while Damelza stood in the eye, as her eyes glittered with rage: a crow in the storm.

I laughed, and Hartley shivered, falling back on her ass. Snow rained down on her.

Then Magenta appeared, as the storm died down, in the midst of coiling black mist.

Now that was an entrance.

Magenta was wicked and she was the most powerful witch here. The entire academy shook on each step.

How close were we to breaking the wards?

For the first time, I firmly believed that Magenta could unmake this academy.

When Magenta sauntered towards me, I gazed at her, mesmerized.

My dick hardened. Now was not the time to test if I could come untouched, simply by the power of Magenta’s awesomeness.

Yeah, it was possible.

My dick pulsed, and I bit my lip.

Magenta leaned over me, stroking through my curls, before murmuring, “May I kiss you?”

“My dick will never forgive you if you don’t,” I murmured.

She grinned. “Well, we can’t have that.”

When Magenta pressed her lips to mine, I knew that I’d never be rejected again. I moaned, as her yew-scented magic, caressed mine in time with the strokes of her tongue. I deepened the kiss, giving everything that I was, because she gave me everything that she was.

When she drew back, sucking at my lower lip, like she never wanted to break the kiss, I smiled against her lips.

Then Magenta turned to look at Hartley who was still sprawled on the floor. “How enchanting to finally meet you. I’m the Wickedly Charmed witch from the House of Crows who cursed this academy, and you’re the bitch who hurt my lover.” Her smile was all teeth. “Hurt him again, and see what fun we’ll have.”

Hartley’s mouth tightened, and she scooted backward. “I’m not here for him. I’m here to match Emerick.”

Magenta raised her eyebrow. “I once believed that I had no option but to be trapped in a loveless marriage. Then to escape it, I destroyed everything. Are you sure that you wish to continue such a tradition?”

Hartley pulled herself shakily to her feet. “My mum…”

“Lied about Reed,” I said. “And lied that witches couldn’t love mages.”

Hartley wiped angrily at the tears on her cheeks. “This matching is off.”

Damelza stalked towards Magenta. “Do you know why I hate those who destroy matchings?”

“You’re the Grinch?” I suggested.

“Insecure matriarchy?” Emerick ventured.

Magenta tilted her head. “Irritability caused by appalling tea etiquette?”

“Because the House of Jewels was meant to be united with the House of Crows, and you’ve just undone decades of work.” Damelza’s cheek twitched. “Since you’ve wrecked my chances at the money this academy needs, then you’d better impress the patrons at the Enchanted Ball. Perhaps, I should have a Hunt with Snow and Emerick the prey to be savaged, since he’s no use to me as a son.”

Emerick flinched, and Snow hunched his shoulders.

“There’s no need to harm him.” Hartley laid her hand on Emerick’s arm.

If I squinted, I could imagine she cared.

Damelza’s eyes flashed. “My dear, if you don’t want him, I can discipline my son any way that I like…both my son and your brother.”

Hartley hugged her arms around her middle.

I should never have forgotten what a master manipulator Damelza was.

“Be careful,” Hartley’s voice was icy. “I admit that it’s come years too late, but I’ve realized that my brother is sort of epic. Release him from that contraption.” My mouth was dry, but I still shot Hartley a grin that she met, shyly. Joy thrilled through me. After all these years, I still only wanted to see Hartley happy. To my surprise, the straps opened. “The House of Jewels doesn’t take well to threats.”

Damelza fiddled with the feather charm, which was tucked behind her ear. “That suits me, since the House of Crows only issues promises. Sweet Hecate, are the younger generation all this spoiled?”

Juni darted a nervous glance between Hartley and Damelza. “Mother, there’s no need for…”

“Don’t mother me.” Damelza swung to Magenta; her eyes glittered. “And you, materializing with your flashy tricks and even flashier morals. Let’s just see how wicked you truly are. I can say with utter certainty that you’re the worst behaved student today and have earned the punishment of the Memory Theater. What will your lover think of you, when your memories and secrets are revealed?”

Chapter Twenty

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Sunday September 8th

I stood in the center of the Memory Theater, waiting for my mind to be violated of its secrets. My hands balled into fists, and I scrunched my nose against the overwhelming aroma of sage and with it, the hungry magic of this theater that was eager to devour my memories.

Damelza waltzed to her feathered throne, throwing herself into it like she was eager to watch the Magenta Show.

Ah, the thrills of theater.

So, she expected wickedness, hidden cruelty, and excitement? Perhaps, another treasonous patricide like Willoughby’s or the moment that all hope was extinguished like Fox’s?

I’d had the misfortune to live my life the first time around, and I’d even bored myself.

It’d gone mostly: embroidery — cup of tea — walk around the lake – cup of tea — reading Jane Eyre — cup of tea.

Except, then there’d been Robin.

He’d been a mage, and I’d loved him. I glanced at Fox and the sister who’d rejected him simply because he was a mage. It delighted me to see her on her behind at his feet.

I straightened my shoulders, twisting my magic into the jaws of the ancient theater’s magic. It shuddered in shock.

Let it drag out my best and worst memories with Robin…our first kiss, his death, and my transformation into a wicked witch, as I cursed the entire academy…because then Fox would know just how much a mage could love.

The spotlight shone brighter on me, before it flickered. The walls groaned.

“Shall we?” Damelza’s self-satisfied expression faltered. “Before you lose control again and pull down this whole place on top of us. What was I thinking wanting to get inside your mind? I’m trying to be optimistic but I expect it’s as withered and blackened as Hecate’s Tree.”

Hartley’s eyes widened.

“Who wants to watch a boring tree trunk?” Fox blurted. He blushed, when I raised my eyebrow. “I mean, not that Magenta has wood between her ears…okay, I’m going to stop digging, before this hole is deep enough for a foxy grave, but I’ve been bad today, so why not punish me instead?”

The Memory Theater had destroyed Fox last time, and he had far more nightmares in his past than me. I couldn’t let him relive them, when his sister was here to witness them as well.

To my surprise, it was Hartley who shot to her feet, pointing at Damelza. “In the name of Hecate, you’ll do no such thing. I let mum lie that Reed was dead, but I know that Fox is alive now. Don’t think you can harm him. I’ll be checking up.”

Damelza huffed. “Don’t you know the definition of a whipping boy?” Then she sighed. “Have it your way, but Confess can’t be excused the general classes and training of the academy. I have my reputation as an educator to think of. I’ll also be looking forward to a sizable Don’t Harm the Mage Fund from the House of Jewels.”

Hartley’s lips pinched, but she nodded.

Damelza flicked her wrist, and I was spun around to face the images that flickered on the back wall. My guts roiled to see the fae, vampires, angels, and gods (all of them Rebels), who’d been trapped here for hundreds of years.

I wasn’t the blackened and withered thing at the heart of this academy. The House of Crows always had been.

Damelza shoved me with her magic, as if she expected me to resist. The images spun faster and faster. I raised my palm to touch them like welcoming an old friend.

My best friend.

Behind me, Fox gasped.

Then I was falling onto my knees with a crack onto the hard, wooden floor of the Dreaming Space. I shook, drawing in a desperate breath.

Turn all my frogs into princes, I’d been a fool to believe that I didn’t have secrets.

The Dreaming Space had been my childhood refuge. For the brief minutes that I’d treasured up here in the most magical point of the castle, I’d allowed myself to dream that Robin and I were alone, that it was safe to reveal our hopes, and that nobody would discover our true selves.

Well, didn’t I now look like I should be the one wearing the Dunce mark, rather than Lysander?

Now I understood why this had broken Fox apart. My mind knew that I wasn’t truly back here, but my Soul sang that this was real.

My Blessedly Charmed magic connected to the academy’s. I’d transformed back to a teenager, and my body was warm in the way that it hadn’t been in over a hundred years.

I was fully alive again.

I jiggled my bosoms, which were disconcertingly small. How strange to be able to breathe easily in my corset. I glanced down at my hands, which were bunched on my lap.

Witching heavens, my dress was frilly and pink.

Now all my secrets truly were out.

All of a sudden, my mind became hazy, until nothing remained of the rebellious witch who’d become Wickedly Charmed, and I was my teenage self once again.

I glanced sideways at Robin, who knelt next to me. His red hair tumbled across his eyes. He’d grown so much taller this year. He used to be smaller than me; how strange it was to look up at him.

No doubt he’d become insufferable about winning our running races now. He’d always been better at climbing trees, even in his human form, although I was the stronger swimmer.

Why was everything changing so fast? Why couldn’t we just stay the same…like now…best friends forever?

Robin was carving his initial R into the wooden beam with a knife.

I smiled at the way his pink tongue poked out of his mouth, as he concentrated. I’d bet he didn’t even know that he had that habit.

Did he notice little things about me too?

Would he smile at me today?

I blushed, looking away. Why was I suddenly so hot?

I ran my hand through my hair, flicking cobwebs off it. I’d crawled up to this room with its low arches through the dusty passages. My dress was smeared with dirt.

I furrowed my brow. Would papa be blamed?

Henrietta had prowled into the Bird Turret this morning, snatching up my essay on The History of Hecate like I’d written it to personally disappoint her. Byron had rested his hand on my shoulder to comfort me, but his foot had tapped in his tell that I knew had meant he was more nervous than I was.

I hadn’t missed the significant glance that Henrietta had cast him and the way that his shoulders had slumped, before she’d tossed down the essay and swept out.

“Papa, tell her that my poor writing is my fault…” I’d gasped.

“Hush.” Byron had squeezed my shoulder. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re in charge of your own choices, but I won’t allow you to blame yourself for another’s actions. Why don’t you take the afternoon off and see your friend?”

Had he been making sure that I didn’t witness his whipping? When I noticed his bruises, he’d tell me that he deserved them because he was bad.

But he wasn’t. He was the kindness person I knew.

How could I save him? Why wasn’t I strong enough?

Papa, I’m sorry…

How could I’ve abandoned Byron to Henrietta’s mercy, even if I was taught that her treatment of him was Husband Management? Would I be expected to treat a husband of my own like that?

My chest ached at the thought. I squeezed shut my eyes, clawing my nails into my thighs.

Then a strong hand gripped my chin, and I opened my eyes to gaze into Robin’s concerned ones. They were as bright and green as emeralds and just as precious.

Warmth curled through me again, prickling my skin.

“Here,” Robin pressed the knife into my palm, “time to claim our room.”

He backed away, tracing his finger over the R like it was the start to a rite.

I dug the blade into the beam, carving an M in front of his R, sizzling my magic through the blade and entwining it to bind Robin and I together.

I’d make this a hidden rite.

“Best friends forever,” I whispered.

Yet Robin hesitated.

My heart pounded in my chest, and my hand shook.

Byron had given Robin to me. He was my most valuable possession.

Let him be mine…

Robin’s voice was low and vibrated with something that I didn’t understand, “Always, silly.”

I dropped the knife. “Did you hex the professors with a Trust Hex to allow you this blade?”

Robin chuckled. “I stole it at lunch.”

My eyes widened. “You…you…reckless…”

“…Brave mage?” Robin’s eyes twinkled. “I know that our friendship must be in secret, and publicly, you must treat me with as much contempt as the others, but I thought that this could be our secret promise.”

My expression gentled. “It’s perfect.”

Robin shrugged. “Anyway, if they had caught me, it’d only have given them another excuse to beat me. See it as me taking part in the academy spirit. Your mother gave a rousing speech about that this morning after breakfast. After all, imagine how happy beating me would’ve made the Princes.”

How could he joke about such things?

I loved him for it.

I blanched. Wait, I loved him as a friend…didn’t I?

Sweet Hecate, this heat inside me wasn’t friendship.

My magic thrummed, reaching out for Robin. I was desperate to smile, smile, and never stop, as long as I was with Robin.

I could’ve burst flowers from the wooden floor and ivy from the walls.

But if I let it show, then it’d destroy the only truly good thing in my life. Robin was my best friend, and I’d couldn’t risk that.

I’d die if I lost Robin.

Robin threw himself onto his back, pillowing his head on his arms. I didn’t miss his wince or the way that his forehead furrowed in pain. I settled next to him on my side, massaging his temples. He winced again.

“How’s your head?” I asked.

“Handsome,” he smirked.

When I nudged his shoulder, he flinched. My eyes became flinty. So, he’d been whipped, just like Byron.

I swallowed hard at the thought that the two men in my life who I loved had both been beaten and I couldn’t protect either of them.

“The Princes?” I demanded because we both knew what I meant.

“They’re just in a bad mood, since they lost their Privilege Points. In SHP they were meant to be transfiguring a personal belonging into a paper ship. They almost got it right, but appear to have missed by a single letter.” When Robin’s lips quirked, I stared at him in confusion. “The stink as the shit rained down on them was appalling but hilarious. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help transforming into Mr Tailsy in my excitement and well, you know how impulsive I am in my squirrel form. Can I be blamed for climbing up the tall elf prince, when covered in that shit, he looked so much like a tree?”

Robin’s laugh rang through the Dreaming Space.

He was so handsome when he laughed. Did he know that his eyes crinkled at the edges? I cuddled closer to him, resting my head on his chest, and he wrapped his arm around me.

In joy, my magic wound out, curling around the beams like sparkling branches.

“You’re a wonder, Miss Crow,” Robin breathed. “My magic tingles like…” He flushed, dragging me even closer. “Even when we’re not together, I can sense you flowing through the academy. I’m never alone.”

My breath hitched. Then I smiled, dancing my magic to form a gleaming crown in front of us.

It was time for one of my favorite games, which we often played in the Dreaming Space: What If…?

“What if I’d been born as a non-magical queen and you were my trusted adviser?” I murmured.

Robin’s gaze became dreamy; it was the look he got, whenever we imagined ourselves safe out of the academy, cocooned together in our joined fantasies. “Then I’d be your loyal adviser at your side, and you’d be the admired queen in all the non-magical kingdoms. We’d dine on delicious meats and cakes, as well as the finest tea, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And I’d make the princes fight dragons to prove their worth as your husband.”

I waved my hand and my magic swirled into a dragon that roared, before fading away.

I scrunched up my nose. “Why must I marry?”

“What’s a queen without her king?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Historically speaking, more powerful.”

Robin avoided my gaze. “What if…I defeated the dragon and became your husband?”

When he pinked, I stiffened. I was suddenly aware of every place that Robin touched me, and how warm his skin was.

“Sweet Hecate, we both know that you’re more likely to cuddle the dragon than to slay it.” Why was I breathless, as my pulse fluttered in my throat?

Robin ducked his head. “Guilty.” Then he raised his head, and I swallowed, when I saw the seriousness of his gaze. “What if we ran away from the academy?”

I startled, wrenching away from Robin and banging my back with a sickening jolt against the wall. Robin’s face fell, before shuttering in a way that it never did with me.

That was how he looked in front of the Princes.

Don’t hide from me.

I reached out to him, but he only sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“We can’t leave the academy,” I explained in a terrified rush. What if somebody overheard us? What would they do to Robin? “How many times have we walked the wards looking for weaknesses? They can’t be broken, and the brand on your hand connects to the wards. You’re imprisoned here.”

Robin studied the brand, rubbing it angrily. “Merlin’s breath, I don’t believe that and nor does your papa.”

I flinched, imagining the swish — crack of the whip. Was Bryon suffering that right now?

“Don’t talk about dangerous things like that with papa,” I hissed. “Do you think him safe?”

Robin’s gaze hardened. “I know that he’s not, just like he’s aware that I’m not. I love him like a papa too. He’s a good man. Just like you worship, Hecate, mages should be free to worship our god, Pan. Your papa’s brave enough to allow me that.”

Was Bryon as reckless as Robin? If they were caught…

I sucked in desperate breaths. They’d be killed. I’d lose them both.

“It’s forbidden,” I insisted, desperately snatching Robin’s hands like I could get him to understand…promise that he’d never worship Pan in our coven-run academy, which was woven with Hecate’s magic.

Mages were our enemy and their god was an abomination. Although, I’d heard that Pan was beautiful.

Robin rubbed his thumb along the back of my hand. “Studying the dead is also forbidden, but that didn’t stop mama. The witches shut you away not because you’re weak and need protection but because they fear your power. They want to contain and tame you. I know that I’m only a mage and don’t have the right to speak of this but…” He sought out my gaze, and when his tongue darted to wet his plush lips, I was mesmerized by his mouth. I wanted him like my insides were being wrung over and over and… “One day, I know that you can break free. These don’t need to remain as dreams. Don’t do it for me. I only ask that you do it for you. If you get the chance, leave here.”

His smile was small and sad like we were already separated.

I dived forward, clutching him hard to my chest. He was warm in my arms. We were together.

Why didn’t it feel like enough?

“Best friends?” I gasped.

He carded his fingers through my hair. “Always.”

I’d lost him, hadn’t I?

A tear slipped down my cheek, and then the world span.

My knees buckled, but Fox caught me, before I could hit the floor of the Memory Theater. He cradled me in his arms, stroking my hair as Robin had.

Except, Robin had been dead for over a century.

I was no longer a teenager, warm, or alive. But I had lost both Robin and Byron as I’d feared.

As Robin had known.

I’d made a promise to Robin, however, and nothing in the witching heavens would make me break it.

Damelza thought that remembering my past would tear me apart, but it’d only strengthened my determination to tear apart the academy.

The wards that’d trapped Robin and me were weakened. The House of Crows had relied since my birth on the Membership, with its wards and brands, to control the Rebels. They’d always been there, and they couldn’t conceive that one day they wouldn’t be.

Ah, glorious tradition.

I hoped that Damelza wouldn’t miss the irony when the very witch whose magic she relied upon, destroyed her own House.

“I didn’t save him,” I murmured.

Fox kissed the crown of my head. “It’s just a hunch, but I don’t think that Robin expected you to. But you’re powerful now like he said. You’re a vengeful spirit, right?”

I sat up, straightening my shoulders.

“Always.” My magic surged around me, howling through the theater.

Hartley stared at Fox and me with sad longing. Was she lonely for love or for the love of her brother?

Fox grinned. “There’s my wicked trooper.”

Damelza met my glare with a sly smile. “Well, that was enlightening. Not only are you a mage lover, but your father illegally worshiped Pan. Don’t worry, I’ll help you reform. Many of my students need extra help, coming from the disadvantage of terrible parenting.”

My eyes glittered, and Damelza’s smile faded. “My mother burned me alive. Hecate’s tit, you’ve no idea the lengths that I’d go to stop others being similarly disadvantaged.”

Emerick’s face lit up, and he pushed himself to his feet. Juni’s gaze was speculative, and her hold tightened around Snow.

Did Damelza understand that she’d lost?

Damelza stalked closer to me; her eyes flashed. Crack my cauldron, she didn’t look like she’d lost.

“Let’s play the What If Game.” Damelza smoothed down her dress. “What if you’d been placed with the Princes, rather than as a Prefect for the Immortals? Crown would’ve kept you in line with his unique brand of discipline. He may be a Dunce now, but until you arrived, he was excellent at controlling both the elf and whipping boy.” Damelza’s eyes lit with glee. “You’d no doubt be used to feed the vampire. Isn’t it a pity that dreams don’t come true? Why, I’m the Principal; I can make fantasy reality. So, tonight the Princes will be joined by Crow. You don’t mind sharing blood with a hungry vampire, do you? Unless you choose to select another Immortal to take your place. Should your whipping boy suffer the punishment for you?”

Firmly, I shook my head, hushing Fox’s protest.

I clenched my jaw. I’d been given to the Princes. If there wasn’t love, it was a violation to become Midnight’s Blood Lover. Wasn’t it as close a bond as marriage? I’d never force that on Midnight, unwillingly.

Did Midnight love me?

Sweet Hecate, I was no longer a virgin but I’d never experienced the sensation of a vampire sinking his fangs through my skin and drinking my blood.

Tonight, I’d belong to the Princes. Would they both love and savage me?

Chapter Twenty-One

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Sunday September 8th

I squirmed in the uncomfortable basket next to the counter in the Princes' bedroom in the East Wing. It was oddly disconcerting to look up at the grand wardrobes with their mosaic battles between Immortals and Princes, Willoughby's bed that was carved out of ice with columns twisting to the ceiling, and Lysander's obsidian four-poster.

Everything was so much bigger than me; I was nothing at the feet of these Princes.

Was that how Midnight felt? Did Lysander insist on it?

Ah, the ego of fae.

My heart beat more rapidly because from down here, the Princes were caught in a twisted fairy tale.

As Blood Lover, I expected blood or kisses, possibly both at the same time. Belonging to the Princes could either be an exceptionally good or bad thing.

Tea would be part of their usual evening ritual, I was assuming?

Will bleed for tea. Was that not fair?

Echo would peck my behind for such an offer. But then, Echo would bleed for a kiss from the elf.

Flair’s demands would be cruder.

Juni had led me up here in stony silence, before shoving me into Midnight's bed like I was a treat for him or his supper.

Then she'd fixed me with a steely glare. "Do you remember how I once begged you not to harm my Princes?"

"Was there begging involved? I don't remember you saying please."

Juni's cheek had twitched. "Then please believe me that your presence has harmed Crown. It was my mistake for thinking that you could care for him like you do your Immortals or wish to protect him from his guardian. Instead, you've destroyed him." Had I? Once, I'd have been thrilled to have ruined a fae prince. Now, the thought had made my magic scream through me in distress, until it’d rained snowflakes. Juni had blown the snow off her nose. "Do you believe Crown can recover from the disgrace of being marked Dunce? Don't fail at the Enchanted Ball or you'll discover Titus’ true..." She’d glanced around the room uneasily, before turning on her heel and storming to the door. Then she’d hesitated. "You weren't the one who put Crown together, after he first arrived here." Her voice had shaken. Black cats, she wasn't crying...? "I was only a teenager, and mother put me in charge of the Princes so that I could have hands on experience of our business. Titus broke him, and I mended him. On my magic, I swear that if you break him again, then I don't care if you claim to be the wickedest witch, I'll destroy you."

Then she'd slammed out of the bedroom, and I'd blinked.

Well, I was most certainly spanked.

I curled my legs in the small basket, dragging the blanket over me.

Did Juni care for her Princes like Emerick cared for the animals who stumbled into the academy? Of course, it involved more controlling food privileges and monitoring the creases in their blazers, and less rectal examinations.

I hoped.

If I'd been raised by Damelza without Byron to guide me, would I've viewed the Rebels any differently to robins with broken wings?

A stray ash feather on the blanket tickled my nose, and I smiled. I stroked its softness. Then to my surprise, I felt the outline of something harder, tucked beneath the blanket.

Carefully, I unraveled the edge of the blanket and scraps of paper, which looked like they'd been collected from broken exercise books, fell onto my palm.

Of course, whipping boys weren't allowed to own anything. Perhaps, Midnight had found these scraps on the floor and hidden them.

Why?

I should put them back. They were secret. Willoughby's Crystal Diary had been private, and I'd been awfully strict with both Flair and Bask about reading it.

Yet, I hadn't received correspondence in...forever. Was it so terrible to wish to see who was writing to Midnight and whether they were love letters, his fang club, or hate mail...?

For all I knew, he was a train enthusiast or birdwatcher and had a penpal. Possibly, Fox knew. In Bacchus’ class, while they hung around together like bats, they were always whispering together.

Whipping boys stuck together.

I wished that there’d been another whipping boy who could’ve supported Robin. Yet how long had Midnight also been alone?

I sighed. Of course, I wouldn't read Midnight’s letters. I'd had my memories torn from me. I wouldn't read someone else's mail.

It might just take a little time to convince the nosy witch in me.

I wished that I'd known someone outside the academy who'd cared about me and my life enough to write. But I'd been the girl in the Bird Turret; nothing had mattered to anyone apart from my Blessedly Charmed magic.

Oh, and then I'd been dead.

That rather put a crimp on making friends, although I'd discovered, not necessarily lovers.

I started to shove the letters back into the blankets, when the words that were scrawled on top caught my eye:

To my king, Fox, and future queen, Magenta,

Your love makes my blood sing.

Please, let me serve you.

I froze.

These letters were written by Midnight to Fox and me.

And he loved us and wished to serve us…?

I swallowed. Hecate's tit, didn't that rather blow down my moral house of cards on why I shouldn't sneak a peek? Yet Midnight hadn't given these letters to us. So, did that mean he didn't want me to see them?

Yet his love screamed even from the single line that I'd accidentally read. How could I unsee it, along with the despair that threaded through his unrequited love?

Because it wasn't a crush. I loved him too.

Why had he hidden this?

My hands shook. I had to save the Princes, including Midnight, and it needed to be at the Enchanted Ball, before Titus wrecked us all. I'd been delivered here as Midnight's snack.

Surely, I had a right to discover what I could?

Titus or letter morals? I bit my lip. How about a single peek?

I forced Fox's disapproving expression out of my mind because he'd never looked at me with anything but love before, and my magic sparked with displeasure that even imaginary Fox would glare at me.

"I beg your pardon," I muttered to the empty room. "Whoops, look how the letter slipped open on my knee... I’ll just gather it up again, shall I?"

Midnight's handwriting was as beautiful as he was. Yet the words made my stomach cramp with guilt:

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

I winced at the sharp pain, as the thought lanced through me.

"Like I'm born to serve," I replied.

Lucifer's expression darkened, and he pressed his hand to my forehead. "Who made you think like that? Who caged your mind?"

I shoved the letters away from me, hurriedly wrapping them up in the blanket. I'd known...of course I'd known that I shouldn't have read it.

I reddened. Now I truly wished that Midnight had simply been a train enthusiast with an obsession for noisy steam trains.

Were non-magicals still obsessed with their mechanical means of travel? How sad for them not to be able to dematerialize or ride on monstrous horses.

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

Dark magic wove through that line, as much as Willoughby's cursed silk suit. It reminded me of an incantation or ancient Mind Curses, which Byron had once told me punished with mantras.

I shuddered at the thought of any of the mantras from the Principal's Book of Mottoes looping through my mind. If I wasn't crazy now, I would be after that. Yet what if the motto was negative...underserving of love...born to be a slave...cursed?

It was appalling, unconscionable, cruel...and invisible.

How could I free Midnight? Sweet Hecate, I swore that I’d find a way.

When Midnight slipped into the bedroom, I patted at my hair. Although I was no Bask, who made love to the bathroom mirror every time that he styled himself in front of it (I had the distinct impression that he was tempted to ask it who was the fairest of them all), my bonding with my Immortals had been special, and I intended to look my best for Midnight’s.

Even if I was curled in a dog bed.

Midnight ignored me, however, staggering to the curtains and pulling them across the windows, before smoothing down the sheets on Willoughby’s bed.

He made a beautiful naked butler for the Princes.

Yet his eyes were ringed by purple shadows, and his shoulders were tight with exhaustion. When he dragged himself to the counter, pulling open the drawer to select two pairs of pink silk pajamas, I glimpsed a flash of Lysander’s emerald panties.

I flushed hot and cold, crossing my legs against the mounting desire.

Surely, he’d notice me now at his feet?

Yet Midnight only turned and laid out Lysander’s pajamas on the gleaming black bed, caressing his hands along the arms tenderly. Then he shimmied into his own pair.

When he turned back to the counter, Midnight’s ash wings were gorgeous against the pink. How much more stunning would they look wrapped in my magic?

I longed for him, but a family of killer unicorns could’ve nested in Midnight’s basket, and he was so tired that he wouldn’t have noticed.

The Sleep Deprivation Hex was a dangerous thing.

What was the official etiquette for announcing your presence as a Blood Lover in someone’s bed without making them faint from shock?

I was new to modern courting, but even though stalking appeared popular, I still believed causing a heart attack wasn’t romantic.

Perhaps, a polite cough or an offer to mix a Bloody Mary…?

Then the door slammed open, and Lysander stalked into the bedroom, vibrating with repressed fury. “How long can my royal personage stand by and do nothing…?”

I stiffened with outrage at how Lysander manhandled Willoughby, dragging him after him by the neck.

Was he choking Willoughby?

Did I need to carve Nobody Hurts My Rebels next to the D on Lysander’s forehead?

Wait, was that a paradox?

My magic exploded over Lysander like a firework. He jumped, twisting to me.

Ah, not choking, rather loosening the choking silk. Also, not manhandling, rather helping to stand.

Had Darby punished Willoughby for hours?

Surely, mine was what they called an honest mistake? Fae prejudice was a difficult thing to shrug off in a day. I attempted Bask’s innocent look.

Lysander’s eyes twinkled with amusement, however, before he demanded, “Whipping boy, is there any reason why you’ve placed an Immortal in your bed? Is she your new plushie? Do we all get one?”

I didn’t miss the way that Lysander glanced at his own bed like he hoped to find Fox sprawled in his covers with his pale limbs gorgeously on display, before finding it empty and scowling.

Midnight dropped to his knees. He peeked at me from between the veil of his hair. His charcoal eyes were wide with exhausted shock.

“M-my apologies my princes and m-my queen.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Pull out my fangs, I didn’t p-place you in my b-bed, did I?”

My heart cracked for him. He couldn’t even remember?

Lysander lowered Willoughby to perch on the edge of his ice bed.

Willoughby winced (how tight was his suit now?), and caught my look. “The Sleep Deprivation Hex is affecting Midnight’s memory. By my ears, he could’ve bitten Juni and not know it.”

I pulled a face. “That’s dangerous and disgusting.”

Willoughby inclined his head.

“Why are you here like an unwanted puppy? As much as one enjoys discovering you in my room at night,” Lysander glanced significantly at the glowing Punishment and Privilege Board and then at the swirling roof of Willoughby’s bed, “one doesn’t.”

The way that his dick hardened in his pants called liar.

I understood. Titus was woven throughout the academy, especially in the Princes’ room, and Darby controlled the ice and Willoughby’s nightmares.

In here, the Princes had to mask their true feelings. I hated that he had to hide from me.

Luckily, I’d grown to love what Sleipnir would call Lysander’s fae assholeness.

Lysander pulled off his tie, throwing it to the floor. He didn’t break his gaze from mine, as he shrugged off his blazer. He undid his shirt deliberate button by deliberate button. My mouth was dry, as his chest was revealed.

It was perfect.

“I assure you that this is quite literally a punishment for me as well,” I forced out.

Oh yes, the sexy naked fae punishment. Quite the deterrent. Now, if only he’d take off those pants, I’d truly learn my lesson…

He took off his pants.

My breath caught, and not only at the emerald panties that he also shoved down.

I’d been right: fae were blessed. In fact, his prick was stunning.

A pretty pink spread up Lysander’s chest, but he tilted up his chin, boldly meeting my eye like a challenge, even though I knew that stripping like this went against everything he’d been taught as a Court Fae.

My heart thudded because he wasn’t hiding anymore. If he couldn’t use words to show me…he’d give me this.

I smiled softly, and all of a sudden, Lysander’s expression gentled. I’d only seen him look at Willoughby like that before.

Then the mask was firmly back in place, as he pulled on the pajamas that Midnight had laid out for him. He unwound the ribbon from Willoughby’s hair, which swung forward like a waterfall.

“You were sent to us by Damelza?” Willoughby asked.

I nodded.

Lysander twirled on the spot; his wings spread out in a dominant display. Oh yes, he had the predatory vibe.

He stalked to crouch over me. “So, you’re ours for the night?”

He stroked his finger along my jaw, and I leaned into the touch and his sweet scent.

“Tea would be delightful, thanks for asking,” I said. “After all, you do have seven different jars of it all to yourself.”

Did that sound too bitter?

Lysander sat back on his heels, crossing his arms. “Have you not seen anything else tonight that you desire more than damn tea?”

My brow furrowed. Had I been too harsh in my tea envy?

Willoughby’s lips quirked. “My favorite blend is delicious. Our guest is most welcome to it, as well as my Thunder cup.”

Lysander glanced around at him. “Are you sure, Will?”

Willoughby’s eyes became hazy like he’d become lost to the past, before he shook himself and nodded.

Lysander clicked his fingers at Midnight. “Serve tea.”

I spun my mists around Midnight, stroking along his sides and coaxing him towards me. Midnight’s grin was shy but also dangerous, as he crawled towards me, until he was sprawled on top of me.

“Sweet Hecate, this may be a dog bed, but Midnight’s not your dog,” I growled.

I carded my fingers through Midnight’s hair, and he wound his arms around my waist. He gazed up at me with an adoration that I’d only ever seen in Bask.

Midnight was silenced and ignored. Yet how had I missed his burning love?

Exhausted tremors ran through him.

Lysander gaped at me. “But he loves orders. He enjoys obeying.”

“I’m born to serve,” Midnight said tonelessly just like a mantra.

“Can’t you see how wrong this is?” I demanded.

“Of course we do.” Willoughby’s frosty gaze met mine. “What could be right about this academy?”

“Why don’t you take my bed?” Lysander offered. When I rolled my eyes, he huffed, “By yourself. You can take your tea with you.” Then he muttered, sullenly, “One hopes that it keeps you nice and warm.”

My arms tightened around Midnight. All things considered, the Princes were being more gentlemanly than I’d expected, but I still had to Blood Bond, and I couldn’t forget what I’d read in the letters.

Midnight didn’t love to obey or serve. Any opportunity that he’d had to stand up for himself, he’d shown that he was as naturally dominant as Lysander.

I had to tell them about my suspicions of a Mind Curse, and that meant admitting that I’d discovered the letters.

I traced my fingers along Midnight’s forehead, tucking his waves of hair behind his ear.

Then I took a deep breath. “I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.”

Midnight’s eyes widened, and his hand shot out to the corner of blanket that hid his letters. His shaking fingers clutched around them like he could still hide his secrets from me.

“There’s no need to be so harsh on yourself,” Lysander shuffled closer, stroking down my arm, “or so dramatic. Very well, if it means so much to you, my noble self will share your bed…”

“No, no, no…” Midnight wailed; his breathing was ragged. “Please, please, don’t tell. Don’t hate me.”

Willoughby blinked. “Did my brother strangle me so hard tonight that my mind’s scrambled?”

“Unfortunately, it’s Midnight’s who’s cursed,” I replied.

Midnight froze, becoming ashen. “Why, my queen? I know that I’m a Cursed One but… I thought… I hoped…”

When a tear trailed down his cheek, I knew that I didn’t have the right to brush it away, but Lysander did, winding his arms around Midnight and pulling him onto his lap. He caressed his shaking shoulders.

Lysander’s gaze was flinty; for the first time, I felt like an outsider…an Immortal…in the Princes’ bedroom. “What did you do?”

“You get a reputation for cursing an academy and people believe that you curse everything. It’s not my work. I found his letters in here and…”

“You read them?” The tips of Willoughby’s hair tinged to ice, and the room became chilly.

So, that was what he looked like just before he tipped you over his knee?

“Peeked at them,” I ventured. “Truly, I had no intention to invade Midnight’s privacy, but in my defense, the letter was addressed to me. Plus, I think he’s Mind Cursed.”

“That line you said…?” Willoughby dived across the room, dropping to cradle Midnight as well, before murmuring, “Why did you not tell us of your suffering?”

Midnight’s wings wrapped around both the Princes. “I didn’t want you to reject me, see?”

Lysander arched his brow. “Why would we reject one who’s been violated by a terrible curse, which takes your worst thought and turns it against you? If you don’t submit…obey…your own mind punishes you. The Seelie are creative in their punishment of Unseelie prisoners. One has heard tales of how they use Mind Curses to break Unseelie. My noble self was taught how to throw them off, in case I was captured but I don’t know if I can break the curse on another.”

Midnight raised his head; his eyes were lit with a burning hope. “I’m not a Cursed One?”

I reached out to clasp his hands. “A vile emasculated skunk of a fucking rascal, as Flair would say, cursed you. You’re not bad because of it. But we’ll free you.” I glanced at the Princes. “If we combined our magics together, then could it not work?”

“Or explode the academy…or bring down Titus on us,” Lysander grumbled.

At the same time, however, he laid his fingers delicately on Midnight’s head, and Willoughby covered Lysander’s hands with his. I surged my magic through their connection.

Lysander was powerful. His magic rushed to meet mine in a blinding flash.

Willoughby’s healing power had been cruelly taken from him, but his other magic was still strong: it ran through him like cold rivers down a mountain in winter. I shivered, as our powers danced around each other, before combining and encircling the wrong, wrong, wrong that screamed through Midnight’s mind.

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

The dark thought had been implanted in Midnight’s brain. But when? Had he been a child or had he even been cursed at birth?

Our magics spun around the toxic thought, squeezing it like Willoughby’s suit squeezed him.

The thought didn’t deserve air to live.

In our arms, Midnight shuddered.

Sweat dampened the back of my neck.

Witching heavens, let me be able to free him…

Lysander paled with concentration, and Willoughby looked like he’d stopped breathing.

Hecate above, he had.

Then Midnight convulsed, as the thought shattered and the curse broke.

Branching pink tore through the roof of the academy, and roots curled through the floor. The bedroom shook like an earthquake; I was ripping it up. I forced my magic away from the Princes’.

I was in control, in the name of Hecate, control...

The rumbling settled, and my magenta slithered back inside me, leaving in its wake a blanket of tiny pink violets. Midnight gasped in delight.

Lysander twisted to Willoughby, who slumped to the side.

We’d saved Midnight, but Willoughby’s breaths were shallow…barely there.

Midnight glowed; his exhaustion was forgotten in his excitement. He leaned over Willoughby, licking up his neck like he was testing his pulse.

When Midnight’s gaze caught mine, it was clearer and fiercer than I’d ever seen it. “I’ve crept through life, listening to a voice inside myself that told me I was unworthy of love or respect. On my oath, my life is yours for freeing me.”

“Your life is your own,” I answered with equal fierceness, “that’s what freedom means.”

"Then with that freedom, I shall always be your knight."

Lysander kissed Willoughby's forehead. “Stupid elf, he never knows his limits.” When he caught my concerned gaze, Lysander added, “He’ll recover, and we’ve just pulled off magical three-way connection. Hardly the Dunce, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say that a three-way sounds tempting.” I smirked. “But only after I feed Midnight because Damelza was most insistent."

"I shall never feed from the unwilling. I'm not that sort of Fallen." Midnight's voice was sharp, sending tingles through me in a decidedly pleasant way.

Midnight caged me beneath him with his ash wings. Had they always been this large? There was nothing submissive in him now.

"Bones and blood, a bond is sacred. It's only equal, if you also..." He bit his lip.

"Feed from him," Lysander finished, quietly.

"Drink blood...?" I spluttered. "I believe that I ordered tea."

Midnight dropped his gaze. "It was unworthy of me to ask."

"It was most certainly not," Lysander hissed. Instantly, I was covered by Lysander's wings as well; gold mixed with ash. I couldn't help turning my face into their softness and sneaking a quick lick; both Midnight and Lysander shivered like I'd licked their pricks. Interesting. "Do you believe yourself too good to bond in such a way with a vampire?"

"Of course not!" My eyes widened. I'd known that Lysander had fed Midnight, but I hadn't realized what it truly meant. Lysander was Midnight's Blood Lover: willingly in an equal bond with him. They loved each other. I brightened, kissing the end of Lysander's nose. "Please tell me that I'll be bonded to you as well if I do this."

Lysander paled. "It breaks every Court Dictate for a fae to bond more than once."

"Lucky you're a rebel then, isn't it?"

Lysander's answering smile was as wicked as my own. "Prince of Rebels."

I knew how dangerous it was for him to identify as a rebel, when an entire tribe of fae had been executed or sent to the Wicked Reform School for precisely that.

Midnight's wings beat. "Titus..."

"Titus, everything that he forbids, and his Court Dictates, can go screw themselves," Lysander snarled. Instantly, the walls glowed with a warning hum. Lysander glared at them. "Go and tell tales to my guardian. My royal personage is no longer intimidated." He met my gaze. "Instead, one will be bonded to my lovers."

When Midnight’s fangs elongated, he grazed them down my neck.

"May I...?" Midnight nibbled and licked around my choker. "Do you wish me to hide my marking?"

"Mark me. I want the world to know that I'm yours."

Midnight's groan vibrated against my skin, and he rocked his crotch against me like he'd come at my words alone.

You didn't have familiars who'd once been vampires without knowing their dark desires.

I felt more alive, than I ever had before. Every sensation was heightened. The brush of Lysander's fingers down the other side of my neck. The scent of cherry blossom. The soft bed of feathers.

The coiling warmth inside.

"Oh, they shall know who you belong to." Lysander's sharp teeth nipped the other side of my neck.

I was surrounded by my two lovers. It was overwhelming and perfect.

Their teeth pressed at the same time on each side of my neck.

Bite me, bite me, bite...

They bit.

I arched, howling in ecstasy. Pain and pleasure melded into one molten core of need, need, need. This was right, where I belonged. I shivered, as my nerves blazed on fire. Midnight was inside me, drinking from me.

This was a service. I'd believed that I'd never be able to offer anything but death to my lovers.

But I was life again.

Lysander licked over the impressive hickey on my neck, before sinking his teeth into Midnight's throat. Midnight moaned; his hard prick pressed into my hip, and I slipped my mists down his pants to stroke his prick firmly to give it the friction, for which he was desperate. Midnight stiffened, before rutting into the mists, and my own pleasure spiraled higher and higher.

At last, Lysander pulled back from Midnight.

Why were his lips cherry red?

When Lysander leaned over me, his eyes blazed with love. Then he pressed his lips to mine and tongued Midnight's blood into my mouth. It was sweet as cream. I moaned myself into Lysander's mouth, as Midnight’s blood passed between us, uniting us.

When I swallowed, my back bowed again. Pleasure crested through me at the same time as Midnight stiffened. Lysander eased his hands into Midnight's pants to work him through the last of his orgasm.

Adoration, joy, and desire.

Midnight and Lysander's emotions crashed through me. I could feel them, but it wasn't like being bound by a Mind Curse. Instead, it was a connection like I had with my Immortals. They'd resurrected me with blood, but the Princes had now bonded me with it.

How had I ever doubted Lysander's nobility or Midnight's love? They couldn't hide now because I could feel...all of it...through the bond. And they'd known that I would and had chosen it.

Lysander eyed me, warily. "You shan't reject me now? You're truly claiming me?"

How much did I wish to kick my own witchy ass for the times that I'd led Lysander to believe that I would.

"You're my breath, heart, and Soul. Us Immortals have claimed all you Princes and I'm afraid, there's no escape," I warned.

"Really, witch?" Lysander drawled, dropping to lie by my side but feathering kisses down my jaw. "You're in my bedroom. Perhaps, my royal personage has claimed—"

"Sleep," Midnight commanded.

Lysander's outraged expression was delicious. He opened his mouth, before snapping it shut.

Midnight cradled Willoughby in his wings, pulling him into our snuggle pile. Willoughby's eyes fluttered open sleepily, before he smiled as he met my gaze.

"It worked," he rasped.

I nodded.

It felt right to sleep together on the thick carpet, instead of the beds that were symbols of the Princes' kingdoms that'd deposed and punished them.

Yet Midnight wouldn’t be able to sleep…

“I’ll stay awake with you,” I whispered, fiercely.

Midnight shook his head. “You sleep, and I’ll watch over you.”

I hooked a leg over Lysander, and an arm around Willoughby. Midnight laid his wings over us all, as if they were a feathered blanket.

His happiness soared through the bond. Had the Princes ever slept together?

"Goodnight," Midnight breathed like a prayer.

I kissed him lightly. "Good night, my knight. Well, isn’t that the tongue twister?”

Yet it was worth it because Midnight's eyes gleamed, and he shivered with desperate joy.

These three powerful creatures in my arms were predators. We were all wicked. They weren't controlled or tamed.

And I'd never wish them to be.

Although I'd freed Midnight from the Mind Curse, tomorrow I had the wards to bring down, and they were bound intricately with my own magic.

Was I fighting myself?

Together, both Immortals and Princes had to plan an Enchanted Ball that’d trick both the professors and families, as well as destroy the Membership once and for all.

Lysander had rebelled against Titus. Juni had warned me how dangerous that’d be. For a Court Fae, it meant death.

Was that where I was leading these Rebels? If I lost both Princes and Immortals, I’d long for the days when I’d been trapped alone in Hecate’s Tree.

I'd learned with Robin that the more you loved someone, the more it hurt when they died for you.

Chapter Twenty-Two

BASK

Rebel Academy, Monday September 9th

Was it possible to be at supreme pettability level but at the same time suffer hair limpness because of stress?

No incubus of the ancient Night lineage had ever sacrificed so much hair product in the line of duty.

I deserved a medal but I wouldn’t demand one. I was just that much of a hero (snicker, of course).

I snuggled with Magenta on the couch in the Rebel Café, treating myself to a nuzzle of her sweet neck. My dick thickened, and my balls ached. Her wild woods scent coiled around the room, and her magic sparkled like dancing fairies along the roof.

Talking of fairies, it was a fine thing to watch Lysander sprawled on the floor, which had softened to carpet, as if he was no longer too proud to lie at the Immortals’ feet.

Adorable.

Willoughby clasped his arms casually around Lysander like their cuddling wasn’t as surprising as the way that it was their whipping boy who now curled on the couch with his beautiful ash wings wrapped around Fox.

Why was Fox so pale? He looked as tired as Midnight.

Note to self: Magenta’s slinky ass (or had it been her gorgeous tits?) was enough to overturn hierarchies.

Even my sexy little body hadn’t turned prince into pauper and pauper to prince.

I pouted, sending up an apology to my incubus forebears for failing them.

Perhaps, it’d increase my powers if I touched Magenta’s Talisman Tits…?

“Would it please you if I touched you…here?” I hovered my hand hopefully over Magenta’s MTT (which was what I was now calling them).

Magenta’s lips quirked. “Please do. Who knew that a Ball Committee could be both boring and deadly.” I stretched my fingers, before stroking them in circles over the MTT. Magenta sighed and arched. “Now that’s what was missing. All committee meetings should have an incubus in attendance.”

“My versatile arse would be in demand, obviously,” I smirked.

Magenta’s pleasure flooded through me in sparkling bubbles, and my eyelids fluttered. I bit my lip, struggling not to rub my dick against her.

This café was meant to be for relaxation, but Serenity (the magical AI who ran it), was kinky enough not to mind if I turned it into a Screw Café.

Except, she’d watch, and the thought of that was like ice down my pants.

Still, there was always time for a quick incubus pleasure feeding.

Through the pulse pounding in my ears, I could hear the drone of Lysander and Willoughby discussing decorations, music, food…oh, and not dying. Despite sitting on the floor, the Princes had taken the lead. Cute. Did they realize that we were letting them? It wasn’t just that the rest of us hadn’t even been to a ball. Away with you, it wasn’t that at all.

Their posh arses knew what bastard Titus wanted, unless Fox’s suggestions of a Hogwarts, Happily Ever After, or Alice in Wonderland ball won out.

I voted for Hogwarts, since Titus would make a brilliant Voldemort. Lysander simply sneered at me and vetoed all Fox’s plans.

Yet Immortals and Princes were finally united in the Committee. I felt odd. There had to be something against making peace with your rivals in the small print of the Incubi Night Code. Unless, achieving it through love was the exception to the rule?

Surely, the Membership was now broken?

Sleipnir slouched against the far wall. He’d tossed his blazer across the sofa, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing shimmering serpents that coiled up and down his arms. His hair fell in candy pink waves, and he strummed Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are a Changin’” on his guitar.

Guys should play more protest songs because I craved to lick every demonstrating inch of godliness.

I was so his groupie.

Mist danced at his feet, shaking his mane and tail and stamping his paws.

Lysander hissed, “What do you believe you’re doing? This isn’t the time to play…”

Sleipnir grinned, “Hey, I’m working. I’m the ball’s entertainment.”

Willoughby pushed a strand of hair behind Lysander’s ear, who startled like he hadn’t expected the public gesture. “It shall need to be a grand feast.”

Fox waved his hand, dismissively. “Pfft, details.”

Lysander’s jaw clenched. “Details that’ll lead to your whipping boy behind being punished if we don’t get this right.”

Midnight’s wings curled more firmly around Fox.

Fox sat up straighter, although I could tell that it cost him. “Just call me the Details Man.”

“What’s wrong?” I blurted, pulling my hand back from MTT. Magenta groaned in frustration. I must be worried about my foxy, if I’d missed how close I’d driven Magenta to her peak. I’d make it up to her later with my tongue, dick, and arse: together they were a talented team. “I love you, but your curls are lank, your skin is ashen, and you have circles under your eyes.”

“Wow, your compliments really need some work. You do know how to make a boy feel special.” Fox winked at me.

“Huh, he’s right.” Sleipnir narrowed his eyes. “Omens and runes, I swear that I won’t lose anyone else. So, no more lies. Just tell us what’s going on.”

“Don’t accuse my king.” Midnight’s eyes burned, as he shielded Fox.

It was both hot and terrifying, which was impressive from the only naked person in the room.

What’d happened to the vampire who’d once crawled behind the Princes?

Fox peered around Midnight. “Yeah, karma for the Boy Who Cried Wolf, right? I don’t know, okay? Flu, side effect of being used as magical guinea pig, exhaustion from my rather busy start to term, or I don’t know, being walled up alive. Could we concentrate on the ball? I’m not more tired than Midnight.”

I glanced at Midnight. “If I could take the hex from you and suffer it myself, I would.” I scrunched up my nose. “Nobody should lose their beauty sleep.”

“Why?” Midnight asked.

“For even skin tone without spots, brighter eyes and—”

Midnight laughed; it was a beautiful sound. “Bones and blood, I meant: why’d you suffer it for me?”

I blinked. “You’re an Immortal now, which means that you’re mine. I love those who belong to me.”

Midnight’s gaze was open and fragile. When he attempted to duck his head, Fox caught him by the chin.

“He means it. He’s obsessive like that,” Fox said.

“Obsessive romantic,” I corrected.

“I hadn’t realized that this was the Love Committee,” Lysander drawled. “One believed that we were the Ball Committee and oh yes, we have to put it on tonight for our professors, families, and patrons.”

Magenta clapped her hands. “There’s a Love Committee? How charming! Can we get swapped onto that?”

Lysander took a shuddering breath. “Titus would be happy if we honored him with a traditional fae style ball.”

Instantly, Magenta’s eyes darkened. “And I should be miserable.”

“Do you still hate all things fae?”

“Not all fae.”

Fox raised his hand. “Are we still talking about balls?”

Sleipnir chuckled.

Lysander’s blush deepened. “Fae balls are spectacular and not all bad. As a child, I was expected to attend. My noble self was bored and despised the formality but still, it was my Court. It was a gilded cage, I understand that now, truly.” He licked his dry lips. “But it was home.”

Willoughby rubbed his shoulder. “We shall allow you this.”

When Willoughby arched his brow at Magenta, she nodded.

“Tell me, what shall we expect from a fae ball?” Magenta asked, gently.

Surprised, Lysander caught her gaze. “Feasts, stars inside, fireworks, ice sculptures, dancing…”

“It is the Yule Ball at Hogwarts!” Fox spluttered, indignantly.

“Why do you keep talking about warty boars to me?” Lysander leaped up, beating his wings.

“He’s ill,” Magenta explained. “It’s probably the fever making him spout nonsense.”

“It’s times like this that I have to ask myself What Would Harry Do?” Fox shoved himself to his feet. “Then I ask myself again, What Would Hermione Do because I’m more likely to survive that way.”

“See,” Magenta sighed, “nonsense.”

A burst of sickening sweet lavender flooded the café. I choked, wrinkling my nose.

Then I gasped in shock as a spray of cold water rained from the ceiling. Princes and Immortals scattered, diving up in shock. Sleipnir broke off his song with a twang of wrong notes. Mist squealed, flaring his nostrils, as he shook his wet mane.

“My hair,” I wailed, “my already way below acceptable levels of shininess hair.”

I stared around at the other drowned rebels, shivering. Then I slipped my comb out of my pocket (because I never leave my bedroom without it, obviously), and brushed my hair frantically.

“Serenity,” Sleipnir growled, “what in Hel’s breath was that for?”

“Just calming the tension,” Serenity’s welsh voice crooned from the walls. “I’m your Stress Counselor, after all. How about you get out of those nasty, cold clothes and into these nice, hot soapy bubbles?”

The center of the room dipped, transforming into a vast marble bath with bubbles that you could get lost in.

It was tempting…

“Let me make this clear,” Sleipnir counted off on his fingers, as Mist snorted agreement on each word, “we’re not stressed, tense, anxious or in need of your relaxation, calm, or therapy.”

Serenity hesitated, before the bath disappeared and the walls changed to pictures of gushing rivers that made me desperately need to piss.

I crossed my legs, hoping that nobody noticed. I covered it by slipping my comb back into my pocket.

Bad dick, you haven’t embarrassed me by wetting yourself for…well, awhile now…in front of the Princes isn’t the time to take up the habit again.

“Carry on, you’re a little stressed,” Serenity sulked.

“Nope.” Sleipnir snatched up his blazer, using it to wipe dry his guitar.

“You’re always stressed.”

“Not this time.”

“Stressed enough to need chocolate…”

“Don’t answer her.” I dived up, slamming my hand over Sleipnir’s mouth. How long had it been since I’d eaten chocolate? I’d be able to give some to Magenta and Fox. I hated that they had to eat the slop, which they fed us Immortals at the academy. “If it pleases you, Serenity, my shoulders are feeling a wee bit tense. What’s this about chocolate?”

“Chocolate is high in magnesium to help you relax,” Serenity said, slyly. “It also raises your endorphin levels. Do you know what else raises your endorphins?”

My slinky self had scored full marks in the theory part of my sex education in the incubi harem. Both that and the practical side had been thorough.

Rule 42 of the Incubi Night Code stated: You can never have too much pride in your sexual knowledge or prowess.

“Screwing.” I preened.

Then I glanced around expectantly, crossing my arms.

Why wasn’t petting tribute coming my way as reward? In the incubi harem, I’d have received at least two strokes for getting the correct answer.

“That’s right: admit to your needs!” Serenity said, brightly. Oh, Lysander so didn’t just send me a judgey look. “And when you combine chocolate and screwing you get…chocolate body paint.”

Something dropped from the ceiling.

I yelped, stumbling into Lysander, before I caught the large bottle of chocolate paint.

“Come closer to me with that, incubus, and I shall cover your balls in it, before I bite them off,” Lysander hissed.

“Unfriendly.” I stroked along his cheek with my gloved hand, and his eyes widened. “Here’s the thing, I was going to lick it off your wings…” Lysander’s eyes became glassy, and he melted into my touch. “But since I value my balls, I’ll lick it off Midnight’s wings, instead, as long as he desires it.”

I glanced up to meet Midnight’s gaze, and by the way that his pupils dilated, his prick did a happy twitching dance, and his wings spread wide in welcome, he desired it.

I walked Midnight backward towards the couch, pressing him down onto it (and there was definitely increased incubi mesmerizing power in my MTT powered fingers). To be fair, Midnight threw himself excitedly onto the couch like a willing sacrifice. When I stroked through his outstretched feathers, he shuddered. I couldn’t help the wince, however, because I remembered his wail, as Damela had broken these stunning wings and how sensitive they were.

I unscrewed the jar, shuddering myself at the vanilla infused scent of chocolate.

Come to my licky licky tongue…

I crawled over Midnight with a slink of my hips. Midnight’s soft eyes widened.

Silly vampire, didn’t he think that he was looking at another predator?

I dipped my thumb into the gooey, warm body paint, before drawing it from Midnight’s wingtip to his shoulder, tracing the line of his feathers. The long line of his neck arched back like he was begging me to bite.

I wasn’t a cruel incubus. I didn’t make my lovers beg.

Much.

“Please,” Midnight breathed. “Bite me, please…”

I bit the juncture between Midnight’s neck and his shoulder.

Lysander made a choked sound. When I looked up, marking Midnight with a deep hickey (because an incubus had to mark his property), Magenta met my gaze with dark eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and she rubbed absentmindedly at her own throat.

Lysander coughed, before clasping his hands smartly behind his back and deliberately not watching Midnight and me. “Entertainment, that’s what…” He might not be watching, but the hard-on in his pants told a different story. “Fae balls always start with music, and most certainly not orgies.”

Magenta sighed. “Well, how thoroughly disappointing. That’s my Lady Godiva costume out then.”

Sleipnir chuckled.

My answer was to suck a path from Midnight’s neck to his chocolate treat of a wing.

The taste exploded through me: every rich taste that I’d been denied, all at once racing through my senses.

And drawing my balls up embarrassingly fast.

Hadn’t Serenity said that it created endorphins? Why didn’t they call it Cum Chocolate?

What a missed marketing opportunity.

Midnight writhed underneath me.

“I want in on this.” Fox stumbled to the couch, perching next to Midnight, before gripping his hand. “Chocolate Vampires have always been my favorite sweet.”

“That’s lucky, seeing as mages are mine.” Midnight drew Fox in for a lingering kiss, before Fox drew back to nibble at a feather.

Then his eyes shot wide and he covered his lap in the time honored hiding you’re about to cum in your pants move.

“Ehm, has anyone told you that you’re sex on wings?” Fox blushed adorably. “Or is it…?”

“Cum Chocolate,” I explained.

Lysander coughed again, and Willoughby patted him on the back. “The Committee business is music and not cum.”

“I can sing,” Willoughby offered.

“Nope, I have it covered.” Sleipnir swaggered to Magenta, strumming on his guitar.

When he serenaded Magenta with Tenacious D’s comedy rock “Fuck Her Gently”, she melted, mesmerized, as my Slippy unleashed his full godly talent on her.

“Ah, romance,” Magenta smiled.

Lysander, however, reddened and spluttered at each crude lyric of cock, ball, hump, which were all sung to the sweetest melody.

Sleipnir winked at me, as I attempted to smother my snickers in Midnight’s feathers.

Lysander pointed at Sleipnir in outrage. “Stop singing this instant! Are you serious? Is this what counts as courting to the non-fae? A love song about…?”

“Shagging,” Serenity supplied, dreamily.

“Do you take requests?” Fox called out. “How about “Barbie Girl”? “Who Let the Dogs Out”? “Livin’ La Vida Loca”?”

Willoughby’s eyes lit with hope. ““Let It Go”?”

Seipnir blinked. “A World Tree of no, but if you’re more of the rocking out kind…”

The serpents on Sleipnir’s arms coiled, and his eyes flashed. Sleipnir came alive like the café was his personal stage.

That was a fine sight.

He rocked us all to Skillet’s “Monster”. His voice became lower and gravelly. It did all sorts of funny things to me; my nerves were on fire from his voice.

I needed him to touch me, and yet, he was touching me with his music alone.

Sleipnir’s Soul was flayed by the song and each blistering word. Fox and I leaped up, dragging Midnight after us. I steadied them both, feeling their exhausted tremors. We headbanged, laughing as Magenta caught on and whipped her hair from side to side.

Near enough.

We chanted monster, monster, monster along with Sleipnir because if we said it, we were reclaiming it.

It was our word now. We’d changed it into something of our own.

Now it couldn’t hurt us again.

Willoughby caught Lysander by the waist, and the two Princes twirled around in what looked suspiciously like a waltz.

They looked beautiful together.

I cast them a cheeky glance through my long hair (for once, I only cared a little bit that my hair had the rocky bed hair look, rather than sleek perfection…carry on you, it’s true). Fox would have to teach them his moves.

Rebels knew how to rock.

Mist galloped around the room, neighing along and shaking his tail in time to the music.

“Take me, godling,” Serenity breathed, “just shag me silly.”

When Sleipnir stumbled over the words, I grinned.

Who could blame the AI for her crush?

Sleipnir hurriedly finished the song. “And no encore.”

“To what end is all we’re risking?” Lysander asked, unexpectedly. He was still caught in Willoughby’s arms. “You laugh still, despite the danger you face, dance even. But tell me…”

Magenta pushed her tangled hair behind her ears, before carefully approaching Lysander. He pulled back from Willoughby, folding his wings around himself. Magenta placed her hands on both his cheeks, and his startled gaze met hers.

“I’ve spent decades weeping. I’m with the men who I love, and what we face, we do so together. I wouldn’t spend a moment longer crying.” Her thumb swept along Lysander’s high cheekbone. “You understand, don’t you? How many years have you grieved?”

Lysander let out a shuddering breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Magenta’s. “Too many.”

“The feather on your pillow…?”

I had the sudden memory of the silk pillow with a black swan feather sewn on the front that’d been on Lysander’s bed, which I hadn’t been stealing to make a nest with (honest, snicker).

What did that have to do with grief?

Lysander’s eyes fluttered shut like he couldn’t voice the words with them open. “One warned you that there’s always something or someone else that my guardian can take. After I’d refused to execute the Rebel tribe, but they’d been massacred anyway in front of me, and I’d been sentenced here as punishment…” I clasped tighter onto Fox because he’d jolted like he’d been ready to dive to Lysander and cuddle him, and Lysander was lost in the past right now. He needed to get whatever was festering inside out. Hadn’t I buried the darkness of the Duchess’ training and my brokenness for too long? “…my noble self was foolish enough to believe that I’d lost everything. Then they brought in my best friend, a shifter.” Now it was Fox clinging tighter to me. “As a prince, I was granted a sacred swan shifter, who grew up alongside me. He was my best friend and he’d only recently become the man who I loved.”

Finally, Lysander opened his eyes, and Magenta’s gaze was crushingly understanding.

“Titus took away my lover and best friend in the same way,” Magenta whispered.

Lysander swallowed. “He ordered… One was forced to watch the swan shifter, who I should’ve protected, kneel and offer his neck to the ax. My royal personage is a killer because I failed him. Isn’t it my worst fault to never take responsibility?”

“What dreadful nonsense!” Magenta’s pink wound around the walls, until they glowed. “Blame rests on Titus alone. In this academy, it’s always rested on the Principal. And we stop it tonight. I believe that they call it rising up, united in revolution.”

Fox clapped his hands together. “One for all, yeah? But first, what’s our theme because I feel a wave of subversion coming on.”

He grinned at Lysander, who grinned back nervously. “Why are you…?”

“You’re a proper Rebel now.” I shrugged. “If you’re bonded to Magenta, then you’re bonded to me, Fox, and even Slippy. We’re all bonded. Just no poking me with swords from now on.”

Lysander’s elegant eyebrow arched. “I’ll try to resist poking you with my…sword.”

Result.

Fox hopped up and down on the spot.

Perhaps, he was also trying to resist wetting himself?

“Oh, oh, please let the theme be Wizard of Oz,” Fox pleaded.

Bad, bad foxy…

“Wicked witches and wizards.” I counted each off. “Plus, Damelza’s head exploding because she’s forced to pretend that everything’s perfect to her guests. We’re doing it, end of story.”

Magenta cocked her head. “Do you know, this little shiver runs down the back of my spine when you become commanding.”

Brilliant.

Sleipnir leaned against the wall. “Our Oz will need munchkins, right? We can bring in Snow, Emerick, Ambrose, and Ty, even the dragons…”

Wow, they’d be the biggest Munchkins ever.

“We can make sure that everybody is saved.” Fox’s fingers squeezed mine.

Why was Magenta’s gaze suddenly so guilty, as she ducked her head? “Sweet Hecate, but who will be left behind?”

I stiffened.

Andro.

All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe. My chest was too tight.

Please, no…

Andro was my clone of Lysandro, who was sweetly submissive, when the dominant side of my nature that craved to take pleasure, as well as give it, needed feeding. The café had created him for me, but the love he felt for me was his own, just like my own love for him was real.

How could I escape and leave him behind? I’d be murdering him…

“I can’t.” I shot a panicked glance at Willoughby who marched to me, gently easing me into his arms. Fox and Midnight collapsed together onto the couch, but I hardly noticed around the thunder of the pulse in my ears and the dangerous burning of tears in my eyes. “I can’t, please don’t make me, I can’t…”

Crying was ugly. Nobody loved an ugly incubus. Why had I encouraged Andro to love me?

Willoughby’s expression was as grief-stricken as my own. “It’d be dishonorable to abandon them. It must be their decision.”

Sleipnir straightened, “Hey, I don’t think so. Who said that clones had rights?”

Magenta glowered at him. “I do.”

Willoughby kept hold of my hands, and we sank to our knees.

In front of us, a green mist formed, bleeding into the golden wings and emerald hair of Andro, who was also on his knees facing me. Unlike Lysander, he was naked and his expression was soft and open. His gaze was so adoring that I flinched.

Andro’s brow furrowed with confusion, and he dipped his head.

I stroked along his back, between his wings, before pulling his head to rest against my chest, and his relieved breath gusted along my collarbone. He peeked up at me from underneath his long eyelashes, licking his lips in a way that would’ve looked innocent if I didn’t know him better.

Flirt.

Lysander watched, as pale as snow.

Ruby sparkles lit up in front of Willoughby. Here’s the thing, it was freaky to see my own naked clone, Bas, materialize from the sparkles to straddle Willoughby in an excitable tangle. He was gorgeous (startling discovery), and I fought to stop staring at his arse.

Now I knew why mine was so pettable.

Bas was also definitely not submissive, unlike my Andro.

Bas kissed Willoughby like he’d die without the taste of him, before breathing against his mouth. “Pet me. I ache for you; I’ve missed you so badly it hurts deep inside.”

Willoughby soothed his hands down Bas’ shoulders, but his anguished gaze met mine.

How could we tell Andro and Bas?

I tucked a strand of hair behind Andro’s ear. “You know that I love you…?”

Andro mouthed at my neck. “I love you too.”

Because that made this so much easier…

“It’s like this, see, if we had a chance to leave the academy, would you wish us to take it?”

Andro shot up, resting his shaking hands on my knees, while curling his wing under my chin to force me to look at him. “Y-you’re l-leaving m-me?”

Bas’ shoulders slumped, and Willoughby held him even closer. “I’m an idiot. You called us to say goodbye, right?”

Willoughby shook his head, fiercely. “You have the choice.”

Bas laughed but it was actually a sob. “Wise up! That’s no choice. Of course, leave. If you love someone you always want them to be free, even if…”

So, that was what I looked like broken with tears. Except, Bas didn’t look ugly wrapped in Willoughby’s arms with tears chasing down his cheeks.

He looked beautiful.

It took clones to be the true heroes and show what love meant. The witches would never understand that.

“Where will we go without you? Will we fade away or cease to be?” Each of Andro’s desperate, whispered words branded my skin; I’d never be free of their mark.

It broke every incubus code to be honest. An old adage went that it was better to sooth with pretty lies, than hurt with ugly truths.

But then, I’d thought that crying was ugly and I’d been wrong.

“I don’t know.” I wrapped my fingers through Andro’s hair, gently pulling him back so that I could look into the glistening emerald pools of his eyes. I had to face him for this. “What do you desire me to do?”

Andro’s smile was the bravest thing that I’d ever seen; I wished that it never had to fade. “Live, be happy, and don’t forget me because if you remember me, then I’ll still exist, won’t I?”

Magenta rose from the ground, and her black mists whipped around her; she vibrated in full out wicked witch fury. “No more portraits of dead students on the walls, ghosts, or lost lovers,” she snarled. “After the Enchanted Ball, I’m ending Rebel Academy.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Monday September 10th

Outside Crow Hall, I rested my head against the stone. The arched wooden doors had been thrown open for the Enchanted Ball, and the hall was lit by stars, as if the night sky had fallen and laced itself over the academy.

Sweet Hecate, it was beautiful like Lysander had promised.

I’d learned that beauty could be dangerous, but that predators could be beautiful.

Also, that I loved my wicked Rebels, as they loved me.

They were already inside the hall; the buzz of laughter and roar of guitar music spilled out as brightly as the puddles of light. Yet I needed a moment longer in the shadows.

Over a hundred years ago, this had been the night that mother had tried to force me to marry a fae prince. But instead, I’d kissed an orphaned mage, sealing both our fates.

Perhaps, all of ours.

Now the evening of the Enchanted Ball was being repeated.

Although, I didn’t think that our imaginative committee had planned it quite the same. It was only a hunch, but Fox’s gleeful laughter every time that he’d suggested one more detail for his Wizard of Oz theme suggested that the evening wouldn’t be as elegant and refined as the professors hoped.

For the first time, I smiled.

How perfect.

On the way to the entrance, I’d passed the dragons who’d been wearing costumes with curved ears and long tails. They’d flapped their wings in protest like it was a party trick.

Were they meant to be…flying monkeys?

I’d shaken my head at myself.

Why, what an absurd thought. Of course, they must be Halflings of some sort.

Then I’d blinked at Ambrose, Ezekiel, and Ty who were guarding the shifters dressed in the same costumes. Ambrose had clutched his tail in his hand and glared at me like he’d been daring me to laugh.

Candles and bells, how could a witch resist, when her dominant Seelie professor looked cute enough to cuddle?

“Aye, laugh it up,” Ambrose had said, disgruntled.

Ezekiel had slipped a wink to Ty, who’d flapped his wings and hopped (almost like he was doing a monkey impression).

When Ambrose had swung Ty onto his back with a chuckle, it’d been startling.

Fox trusted Ezekiel after what he called their walled up alive bonding experience, and Sleipnir trusted Ambrose would do anything to save his son.

I’d protect any Rebel who’d only become a professor to survive. When I quested my magic through the roots of the academy, I sensed that only ghost traces of the wards remained: thin, brittle threads that were ready to snap.

Tonight, I’d break them.

Tonight, I’d destroy my curse.

Tonight, I’d free all Rebels.

But first, I had to face the past that haunted me.

Taking a deep breath, I adjusted the choker at my neck, smoothed down my dress, and strode towards the archway.

“Hold the fuck up, boss,” Flair called.

I glanced at the dark specters of Flair and Echo, who were circling above me. “I’m late to the ball, and so are you.”

“We were looking for the chicken costumes that your foxy fuck said we should wear, remember?” Flair’s beak snapped in a warning series of clicks.

“Ah, indeed.”

“But then we realized that we didn’t have any magic to make them, unlike the pretty Princes, and that we’re invisible anyway,” Flair’s voice became steely.

“Invisible, invisible, invisible,” Echo sang; I winced.

“You don’t fuck with the crow twins.” Flair flapped to the entrance. “You don’t mind if we neuter the cat, boss? It’s the chicken’s turn to hunt the fox!”

Ah, sweet revenge.

But I had to hide my smile because my familiars loved Fox now the same as me, and once they loved, they were loyal. Of course, that didn’t mean his balls were safe.

“I do mind,” I called out. “As will he. No neutering of anyone. Do I have to make that a rule?”

“When do I follow rules?” Flair waggled his tail feathers.

Echo glanced down at me, before following his brother. “I’ll kiss foxy, after my brother pecks him. Don’t forget us…?”

I didn’t miss the insecurity that I’d leave the academy without them one way or another. “Never.”

All of a sudden, a cold wind blew down my neck.

“Robin…?” I whispered.

Please, please, please…

Then the gust of breeze circled me, catching me in its whirlwind embrace. I gasped, as it held me with one step into the hall and one foot still in the shadows.

“Robin…?” I screamed into the darkness.

I blinked against the sharp slice of the wind. An outline formed, which was first no more than a smudge of charcoal, and then like painted sweeps of green and gold, the ghostly outline was filled in, until Robin stood before me.

Hecate above, Robin had been returned to me.

I froze. When I should’ve rushed into my lover’s arms, I was paralyzed at the shock of his resurrection.

Well, now I knew how the Immortals must’ve felt at Hecate’s Tree.

Robin’s smile was soft, however, as he took the step towards me, sweeping me into his arms.

He could touch me…?

His chest was muscled. He smelled of sweet blackberries.

He was alive.

On my magic, if this was a dream, never let me wake.

Joy thrilled through me; my magic spiraled up to dance around the stars.

Robin slipped one arm around my waist to rest his hand in the small of my back, while clasping his other hand in mine. Then he led me in a slow dance to Sleipnir’s beautiful fuzzy guitar, which mesmerized like a trance.

I couldn’t look away from the emerald of Robin’s eyes. How had I ever broken his gaze?

“Am I doing this right, wife?” He asked, biting his lip.

When he stepped on my toes, I hid the gasp with an over bright smile. “You’re an excellent dancer, husband. Have you been taking lessons?”

Robin snorted, but his eyes creased in the corners in the way that I loved. “Liar.” Yet he was still smiling. “It was my greatest wish to dance with you at the Enchanted Ball, no matter how hard I was beaten for it after. I planned to give you the Your Hearts Desire Book as an official courting gift. I’d loved you for so long, and I don’t think that I even realized how much, not truly. Dying for you was nothing.”

“Not nothing.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But letting you go tonight…that will be something.”

My joy died inside, becoming heavy in my guts. My magic fell like pink falling stars around us.

“How are you here tonight?” I demanded.

“Horn and hoof, just let me dance a little longer and then…” He rested his cheek against mine.

How was it warm?

I shook, clutching him like he’d vanish at any moment. Inside in the light, were my lovers, professors, patrons, and Titus.

Yet here I was, dancing in the arms of the man who’d been dead for decades.

Reluctantly, Robin drew back to look at me but he didn’t stop our slow dance. “Do you remember your papa’s peacock amulet?”

I blinked. “Well, aren’t you quite the Romeo. Do you wish to discuss mother’s hat collection as well?

Robin rubbed his nose against mine in a way that was so familiar it hurt. “Please don’t mention those appalling robin skin hats.” He shuddered. “Your papa was a good man. He cared for me when nobody else did and he taught me secrets of my mage heritage, including my god, Pan.”

I paled. “I remember, and he would’ve been whipped for such sacrilege. It appears that papa was quite the rebel, and braver than me.”

I loved the pride that swept across Robin’s expression because I knew that it was mirrored on my own. “The lie was that the peacock amulet was showy finery. In truth, it was a Blood Amulet to bind his magic.”

I stopped dancing, wrenching away from Robin.

My mouth was suddenly dry; I couldn’t swallow.

I didn’t believe it… I wouldn’t…

Mother had murdered my mage lover, while marrying her own?

“The hypocrite,” I howled.

Robin caught me, as my knees buckled. He soothed over my hair.

“Hush,” Robin kissed my hair in light pecks, “it’s done. Your mother and he were friends as children, and when he revealed his magic, she persuaded his family to give him to her, rather than to throw him to the wolves. Yet the deal was that he must hide his magic. Why not rejoice that he wasn’t killed?”

Hexes and curses, Robin was right but still, Bryon had hidden his magic from me. I knew that he’d loved me, but he hadn’t trusted me.

Why should he?

I took shaky breaths at the realization. He’d tried to show me that there was a different way to be with Robin. But what if I’d turned out like Henrietta, as soon as I’d become a woman, married a prince, and taken over the academy?

“Don’t blame him,” Robin urged. “Your papa helped me, even before you noticed me. I believe your mother turned a blind eye to it and his unusual views on equality because she knew how hard it was for him to suppress his magic. Plus, your papa loved you so much. You were his only joy in a miserably hard life. All he ever talked about was making your life brighter. Yet…pan’s balls…he was terrified that you’d end up despising him.”

I’d died without being able to reassure Byron that I loved, admired, and would never despise him.

Why hadn’t I told him?

As if he could read my thought, Robin reached for my shoulder and pulled me back against his chest. “He knew that you’d turn out different to your mother.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because he trusted you enough to reincarnate me.”

I remembered Byron pressing his hand against the wall, after Henrietta had sealed Robin up, and chanting like an invocation. For a moment, I’d hoped that Robin would burst free, but instead, Bryon had collapsed like he’d used up all his energy.

I’d been too caught in my grief to understand.

By the branches of the tree, save your children, blessed be…

“He resurrected you…?” Magenta flowers sprung to life like a bridal bed beneath our feet. Bryon had saved Robin, after all. “This is real?”

Why were Robin’s eyes suddenly so sad?

“Silly sweetheart, I’m only an echo. I’m not truly here.”

I grasped his arms tight in my horror, and he grimaced. “I beg strongly to disagree. You can feel…and I can touch…and you’re real…you have to be…”

I choked on a sob, before my eyes widened.

Hadn’t he said reincarnated, rather than resurrected?

“A shimage is viewed as the wickedest form of mage by Hecate, but as the most blessed by Pan. Imagine your mother’s fear at what would happen if both Hecate’s and Pan’s most powerful were united. She wouldn’t have been able to control us. Hate is at heart fear.” He hesitated. “It was your papa’s duty to make sure that my spirit was reincarnated, even if it took many decades to find…”

He broke off, gazing at me searchingly.

“Fox,” I breathed.

My magic surged through me, and it told me that it was true that Robin had been reincarnated as Fox, in the same way that I’d sensed how special Fox was to me the moment that he’d walked onto the Rebel Academy grounds.

He’d connected the Immortals; his blood had resurrected me.

I’d needed Fox and been desperate to protect him. We’d gifted each other our virginities.

Tears slipped down my cheeks because while I’d been grieving for Robin, I’d had my second chance with him all along.

“But he’s not you,” I whispered.

Robin smirked. “I’d hope not. I’m unique, and so’s he. A Soul reborn is its own.” Robin curled his arms around my lower back again, and we danced like this was our ball alone. “But he’s getting weaker because I’m here. It’s why you can touch me. Mama would know why; the dead feed from the living. But I’m the shade. A shadow.” His eyelashes were matted wet. Don’t let him say it…please…don’t. “I love you like a crushing ache. I’d haunt you always. But I have to grant Fox life. I had mine, and now it’s his chance. Yours…together. This moment is enough for me. It’s more joy than I ever thought that a mage could experience. I’ll die with your name in my heart and on my lips. Will you kiss me one last time, Magenta?”

“Not last…” I begged.

Robin only pressed his mouth to mine, and it was just as intoxicating as our first kiss in the glade had been. My lips fizzed with magenta magic, which bubbled along the seam of his lips. He opened them, and his tongue danced with mine.

Never let the music stop.

But then, as the dreamy vocal died away, Robin faded in my arms.

The tingling feel of his lips on mine lingered, along with the scent of blackberries like lost summers.

I was alone. And Robin was gone. Forever.

I should’ve fallen to the floor. Screamed. Sobbed.

But instead, the cold ball in my stomach made me tilt my head and straighten my shoulders. I craved to wreck, curse, and tear the academy apart. My magic wanted to rip from me.

After all, I’d been shattered. Why should I battle to control my Wickedly Charmed magic any longer?

I stared unseeingly at the archway into the ball.

Then I heard Fox’s laughter and I remembered why Robin had chosen to fade.

I’d see this through. There’d be no more death.

I marched into the ball, glancing down at the yellow brick road that led like a red carpet down the center of the room.

I wiped the back of my hand over my eyes. I wouldn’t let Titus think that my distress was over him.

A fae’s ego was such that they believed the universe revolved around them. Just look how they made the stars come down from the heavens for their balls.

On an ice pedestal in the corner, Sleipnir rocked out to a song about how bad he was, while looking like he was having sexy times with his guitar and any moment would need to go somewhere more private with it, which was a decidedly perfect entrance for me (and what Fox would’ve called subversion, I believe). Mist headbanged in Sleipnir’s trouser pocket with aquamarine mane to match Sleipnir’s hair.

Well, Titus had wanted entertainment, hadn’t he? Possibly, he’d imagined more Mozart and opera.

Damelza, along with the other professors and patrons, sat at a long obsidian table at the back of the hall. Damelza appeared caught between constipated and horrified at the choice of song.

She crossed into outrage at my grand wicked witch entrance.

If I hadn’t been shaking from the effort of not showing my anguish, I’d have delighted in the way that Titus’ elegant eyebrow arched.

For him, that was quite the reaction.

Snow and Emerick served the Head Table, passing out crow-shaped goblets of wine. They wore bizarre blue robes with pointy hats.

Frogs and toads, for once I was glad that I couldn’t change out of my dress. Who knows what Fox would’ve dressed me in for the ball?

Emerick shot me a sardonic look, before bending to refill Bacchus’ goblet.

One side of Crow Hall was entirely glass and looked out over the academy grounds and the weird flying monkey dragons. In front of it was a table groaning with a feast: sides of beef, pies, fruit, and chocolate cake.

The roof itself twinkled with stars, the dance floor was surrounded with tree ice sculptures that glittered like crushed diamonds, as if I’d wandered into a frozen forest.

When I crossed the dance floor, I skidded. It was covered in ice. Well, who wanted to make dancing easy, anyway?

Ah, everybody.

Fox bounced excitedly to greet me, twirling me around.

“Oww.” When something sharp poked me in the side, I batted him away. “I know that you’re pleased to see me, but Titus is just over there…”

Fox grinned. “I’m always pleased to see you, but it’s my straw.” He hefted the straw belly of his costume up and down.

“You’re a scarecrow,” I deadpanned.

“All the better to finally scare the witches of the House of Crows.”

I squinted at Bask. “And you’re a pretty alien…?”

Bask preened, running his hand down his metallic costume. “I’m the Tin Man.”

Willoughby raised his eyebrow. “I’m the Ice Prince. Elven princes don’t do dressing up.”

“Pfft, you just didn’t like my suggestion of Toto,” Fox sulked.

Willoughby’s lips twitched.

I studied Midnight, who was wearing a lion’s tail and mane; his eyes were still circled with shadows, but he was trying hard to mask his exhaustion. “And you make the fiercest king of the animals.”

Midnight smiled, puffing out his chest. “Thank you, my queen.”

“Way to miss the point,” Fox muttered.

When Lysander prowled over from checking on the feast, there was something…awkward…about his prowl. Confused, I glanced at his feet.

Well, I had no idea that he enjoyed wearing ruby women’s shoes as well as panties. What bravery to do so in front of his guardian.

Lysander, however, narrowed his eyes at Fox. “You told me that everybody at Oz balls wore ruby slippers.”

“Did I?” Fox asked with pretend innocence. Bask snickered. “Yeah, I did. But then, I lie for comic effect. And don’t tell me that you don’t look good in them. Have you ever tried a Tinker Bell costume?”

At Lysander’s growl, Fox dived behind Midnight. Midnight’s knightly protection surely wasn’t meant to be used for pranks. Although, as I spied Flair and Echo like gargoyles perched on the window ledges plotting their fox hunt, he needed it.

The breath caught in my throat.

Fox was Robin, and I loved both men.

I dived around Midnight, catching Fox in my arms. He let out a surprise oomph, before stroking up and down my neck.

“I’m not really scared,” he admitted softly against my hair. “The prince is noble, even if he’s a dick.”

“I’m right here,” Lysander protested. “I can literally hear you.”

“Of course, otherwise it wouldn’t be fun.”

I pulled back, pushing Fox away until I could study him. “How are you feeling?”

Fox bounced on the balls of his feet. “Pan’s cock, it’s brilliant. It must be Sleipnir’s epic singing or my even more epic dancing but I no longer feel half dead. It’s like coming alive again.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, but I couldn’t hide the tremor that ran through me.

In turn, Fox studied me, before he asked, “And how are you? Are you okay, our Rebel Prom Queen?”

“I will be.” My gaze became frosty. “As soon as we’re free.”

When I caught Willoughby’s gaze, he couldn’t hide his agony or the way that his lips pinched and his fingers stiffened.

Something was hurting him.

Somebody.

I twirled to the Head Table.

Darby slouched in his seat. The stars’ light glistened off the crystals in his hair, which should rightfully have been Willoughby’s. His magic stung mine. His dark gaze rested on his brother like a threat.

Darby’s fingers casually twirled round and round, twisting Willoughby’s suit tighter and choking him, slowly. Darby’s cruel lips were curled with delight at Willoughby’s attempt not to reveal each tiny tightening.

I hated how similar Darby looked to Willoughby, when he was nothing like his brother.

The brat believed that Willoughby was still alone, but now he was messing with Immortals, Princes, and their Rebel witch.

He had a broomstick up his behind situation coming his way…

Except, then Willoughby’s expression stopped me. His hand rested on his neck like he wanted to pull at the cursed silk but knew that it wouldn’t help.

Nothing would.

His brother could punish or kill him from any distance.

Willoughby couldn’t escape with us, while he wore his brother’s curse, and Willoughby had always known.

Yet he wouldn’t let himself be the reason that we remained.

Bas had said that if you love someone you always want them to be free, even if…you die, fade away, or are left behind.

My magic spun out, dragging Willoughby to me. His wide gaze met mine.

We were the Ice Royalty: the same.

I couldn’t live without Willoughby, and I wouldn’t lose anyone else.

If Darby was ruthless enough to hurt his own brother in such a way, then wouldn’t he also be ruthless enough to kill a father to steal the throne?

Unlike Willoughby, I wasn’t blinded by brotherly love, nor by the dark magic that’d forced his mind into a hazy fog. Perhaps, Darby had used such sorcery partly to make sure that his own treachery remained hidden and he could turn his brother into the scapegoat?

Now I’d met him, I could see that Darby was (as Flair had already announced to me loudly), a little traitorous prick who’s begging for a spanking.

I soothed my magic down Willoughby’s sides to ease his pain. “If you don’t wish to doubt your brother, then it’s your choice. But I won’t leave you behind.” Willoughby took a sharp intake of breath. “Together, we’ll fight this.”

Willoughby’s expression hardened, and he nodded.

My shoulders slumped with relief.

Witching heavens, how did I tell someone that their brother could’ve destroyed their life?

“Who sent the assassins to attack you?” I asked, carefully. “Surely, such a sacred pilgrimage to receive your Crystal Diary was secret? You’ve been kept so busy blaming yourself and paying penance. But what you did was an accidental loss of control. Who ordered the assassination?”

Willoughby’s eyes cleared for the first time, as if he was shaking off the bonds of Darby’s magic through fury alone. Yet as he did, the full realization of everything that’d been done and what he’d lost shook through him.

Even the loss of his innocent childhood.

He’d loved his brother. How much easier would it’ve been if he’d hated him?

I drew my magic back from Willoughby. He touched my cheek, as if in thanks, before turning to face Darby. When Willoughby stalked to the Head Table, Darby startled, sitting straighter in his chair like he was a schoolboy who’d been caught out for bullying.

Then he appeared to remember that he was king, and sneered at Willoughby, “Do you wish to kiss the crystals of your rightful king?”

Willoughby crossed his arms. “Who would that be, brother? The man who tried to kill father?”

Darby coughed, nervously. “Are you also crazy now? You didn’t try, you did kill him.”

“Not me,” Willoughby replied. “You.”

Titus rested his chin on his hand, watching the exchange thoughtfully. But there was something predatory in his gaze.

“Silence, monster,” Darby snarled.

Willoughby’s expression was icy. “So, you did send those assassins to kill father, but you let me believe…”

Darby burst out of his seat and pointed at Willoughby.

The silk of Willoughby’s suit wove around his neck.

Willoughby spluttered, desperately falling to his knees, as the silk choked him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

MAGENTA

Rebel Academy, Monday September 10th

When my three wickedly delicious Immortals freed me from Hecate's Tree, resurrecting me, I'd been granted a second chance at life.

I hadn’t guessed that Robin had already been blessed with his or that I’d be lucky enough to also have a shot at my second chance at love.

But even second chances required sacrifice.

Willoughby knelt before the head table this night of the Enchanted Ball, as his younger brother towered over him, strangling him with the cursed silk. Darby had bound Willoughby in the uniform to control his body, mind, and magic. But he hadn't been able to break his brother: the prince who should be king.

My magic billowed out of me in furious waves, rattling the windows. The Rebels, both Princes and Immortals, were only held back from throwing themselves forward to protect their lover by Lysander's restraining hand. Sleipnir broke off his song, looking ready to chuck his guitar at Darby's head, despite treating it almost as a lover only a moment before.

I couldn't help the shiver at the thought of his hot fingers playing down me with the same talent that he'd stroked sounds from that instrument.

I'd never seen such an enraged scarecrow as Fox made.

Lysander's gaze met mine, and he nodded at Titus, whose gaze hungrily devoured the scene in front of him.

Lysander knew Titus better than anyone. I had to trust my fae lover. He'd protected Willoughby for years. If he believed that Willoughby needed to face his own haunted past, then I had to let him.

After all, I'd faced mine.

Titus lazily tipped his goblet at Damelza. "Is an eleven execution the traditional start to a Rebel Academy ball? It makes an improvement on that atrocious so-called music."

"Hey," Sleipnir protested.

"Last time, I only had to endure being stood up at the altar and my total humiliation in front of my Fae Court and witch society alike, destroying all my dreams. I'd hoped this time would be an improvement.” Titus eyed Darby. “Sit down, would you, boy?"

Darby stared at him in shock. "I'm a king."

"You're a petty sadist who breaks his toys." Titus' lips pinched.

Willoughby gasped desperately for breath, clutching his neck.

"You're spoiling our enjoyment of the wine." Bacchus' eyes swirled amber, as she slammed down her goblet. Her wine spilled. I scrunched up my nose at the intoxicating spicy scent. Juni slipped her hand over Snow's, edging him further down the table away from Darby. "There's chaos and darkness, and then there's being a brat, darling. Guess which you're being?"

Bask whispered proudly, "She calls me a wild panther."

Darby opened and shut his mouth, all of a sudden looking stripped back to the teenager that he truly was, despite the sting of his powerful magic and the trappings of kinghood.

Damelza slipped out of her seat and stalked to him, closing her fist around his hand. "One of my favorite mottoes is: It never kills to be polite. But your rudeness is killing one of my students, and you've no idea the paperwork that an execution at a public event entails."

Sweet Hecate, was that the first time that I'd been pleased to hear one of the academy’s mottoes?

With a frustrated sneer, Darby let the silk drop away from Willoughby's neck, and Willoughby fell forward.

"Who sent the assassins, brother?" Willoughby demanded with a voice as rough as sandpaper.

Darby raised his chin. "Dark Elves...like you."

Willoughby's eyes were slits of ice through the frozen waterfall of his hair. "You're lying."

"How dare a monster speak to me like that."

The tips of Willoughby's hair tinged to ice, as he straightened his shoulders and raised his head; my heart sped up because I'd never seen anyone so regal on their knees before. "I wish that I'd realized I wasn't the only monster in our family. But I was too destroyed by grief and guilt. Now I can see clearly, however, and I know that I'm a killer. I shall always repent that. But you're a traitor—"

"Silence!" Darby reddened, leaping towards Willoughby.

To my shock, however, Damelza's eyes glittered pink, and she froze Darby with her magic. When he struggled against the paralysis (his eyes wide with alarm), she only patted his arm in the parody of reassurance.

Was paralyzing your guests a type of ball etiquette that I hadn't learned?

Willoughby pushed himself to his feet. In a sudden rush, us Rebels dove to his side, clasping him in a cuddle of lion ears, feathers, and ruby slippers.

"Don't scare me like that again," Bask commanded. "Pet me."

Willoughby tenderly stroked Bask's hair.

Damelza tapped her teeth, looking Darby up and down appraisingly, before glancing at Juni. "It appears that we will have a late night of paperwork, after all. Now there'll be two eleven princes in my academy."

Willoughby stiffened, before meeting his brother's gaze. Despite everything, Willoughby's expression was flooded with compassion.

I rather thought that mine expressed my thought of ha! Irony!

"Let me go." Darby's eyes were wide with fear; he'd have been struggling if he could. Instead, he'd been transformed into just another ice sculpture. His magic lashed around the room. At once, he looked achingly young and like he'd finally understood that he'd waded out of his depth. "I'm not one of your Rebels to be held against my will. Nothing has been proved. You can't do this without a contract..."

Parchment materialized out of the air, and Damelza caught it with a sharp smile. "A contract like this…? All I need is someone to sign it with Blood Magic, and then you're all mine. For something as serious as treason, attempted regicide and patricide, you'll be with me a long, long time."

Titus straightened a crease out on his trousers with supreme casualness and not in the least as if a fellow guest was about to be sentenced to the academy.

"It's only his word," Darby hissed. Then he turned a plaintive look on Willoughby. "Please...brother...tell them that you're making it up. I'll let you home. I see now that this place isn’t fit to reform you."

For a moment, Willoughby's expression softened, and Darby's look became more hopeful. "Am I now your brother?" Then his gaze became icy. "Your guilt doesn't absolve mine. Both are real."

Darby roared in fury.

Damelza turned to Fox. "It's charmingly simple to settle this. Confess, use your power. Is the elven king...I apologize for the slip...soon to be ex-king...guilty of sending the assassins?"

Fox cracked his knuckles with a satisfied smile. "It makes me all tingly when you ask me to use my powers. Yeah, it's the truth, traitorous little dick."

Damelza's smile was wickedly gleefully, as she placed the contract in front of Titus. "As you're our patron, could you be kind enough to sign for him?"

Titus’ smile was predatory, as he sliced his own nail across his palm and blotted the blood across the bottom of the parchment. Then he flapped his wings and swooped in front of Darby. He landed with an intimidating thump.

He grasped Darby by his hair. "You're one of my Princes now."

Lysander gripped Willoughby by the arm, and Midnight by the other, before dragging them both towards Titus.

I stiffened. What in the witching heavens was Lysander doing? Had this fae ball and his own uncle's dominance seeped back into him, so that he'd forgotten that he didn't hurt any of my Rebels?

Yet Lysander had been right about Willoughby. I had to trust him now.

"My noble self has failed you, bringing shame on my kingdom. One is worthless," Lysander said. "Yet as Prefect, I guarded this elf effectively, as well as my whipping boy." His gaze darted to Juni. "If you ask my Tutor, she'll give good report in that at least."

Titus arched his brow at Juni.

"The witch distracted Crown." Juni glared at me, careful not to meet Lysander's gaze. How hard was it love him and know that she'd never have him? "The Princes lost the trials and tournaments, but Lysander's a good Prefect when it comes to guiding his team. Who'll replace him now that he's been reduced to Dunce? It was useful in class to have a whipping boy too."

Damelza shot her daughter an outraged glare. "Let's not discuss all our private academy business..."

"As patron, I say let's." Titus' gaze darkened. "Reinstate Lysander as Prefect and remove the Sleep Deprivation Hex. I rather hate wasted resources."

Damelza gaped at him. "But those are punishments..."

Titus' sharp teeth glinted in the light. "Are you deliberately attempting to shame my kingdom?"

"Why, how absurd," Damelza muttered.

When Damelza lifted her hand, Lysander and Midnight slumped at the same time as both punishments were lifted.

Bask whooped, and Mist danced in a circle. My mouth ached with smiling.

Lysander shot me a cocky smile over his shoulder that flushed warmth through me.

Did it also break ball etiquette to suck your clever lover's feathers…or dick?

I sauntered to stand next to Lysander, sneaking in a lick to his wing that made him shiver.

"How about I take control of Willoughby's cursed uniform?" I suggested, innocently. "After all, it's a useful leash to be used throughout the day, but you can't leave it in the hands of that little ears."

Darby blushed, and Titus lifted his eyebrow at me.

Damelza huffed. "Clearly, you believe me as crazy as you, if you think that I'd place a Prince in the care of an Immortal. Crown will of course take the control."

I mock gasped. The horror. Lysander fought to suppress his smile.

"I shall never hand over the magic to a fae," Darby snarled.

Ah, so naive.

Damelza ripped the crystals out of Darby's hair.

The crystals rolled along the icy dance floor like frozen teardrops. I'd expected Willoughby to stoop to pick them up, but he ignored them. Perhaps, they were in his past now like his brother.

"That's not the academy spirit,” Damelza chided. “Cooperate or earn ten punishment points in front of everyone."

Darby's eyes gleamed with humiliation. "I'm the king," he pleaded, but this time it sounded more like a question.

Titus kicked one of the crystals. "It doesn't look that way to me, little boy."

Defeated, Darby closed his eyes.

I shuddered, as dark magic snaked out of him and wound around Lysander. Midnight caught Lysander in his arms, as Lysander and Willoughby were bound and yet freed at the same time.

Flair and Echo cawed raucously, flapping around the hall.

I wrapped my arms around myself to contain the joy because all my Princes were now able to escape. There'd be no more sacrifices and nobody would be left behind.

Then Titus' hard gaze settled on me, and my guts churned. Titus wasn't here for his ward or as patron of the academy.

He was here for me.

Just like Robin, he'd waited over a hundred years for his second chance, but his wasn't love...it was hate.

Titus swept across the hall towards me: a dark Prince Charming. His golden wings rose behind him like raised scimitars.

Why did he have to be so achingly handsome? If Byron hadn’t allowed me to become friends with Robin as a child, and Titus had courted me before our wedding day, would I’ve fallen in love with his charm?

I shuddered. Was there a hex to scour out your brain…and other parts?

Yet I had a feeling that Henrietta had been tricking Titus as much as me. After all, her Husband Management included whipping and spelling a man’s lips silent.

Titus looked the type to be holding the whip, and he loved the sound of his voice far too much to be silenced.

Titus held out his hand. When he bared his teeth at me, I realized with a jolt that it was meant to be a smile.

“Would you do me the honor of the first dance?” His hand shook.

I took a step back. “My apologies, but I have a strict policy against dancing with bastard fae princes.”

Titus’ smile dropped from his face like it’d never been there. “There’s the witch who wrecked me.” What did he mean? “Don’t you owe even this bastard fae prince a single dance, since I missed out last time? Where’s the harm? After all, you were brave enough to stand me up at our wedding, don’t you have the courage for a single dance?”

I narrowed my eyes. Nobody dared this witch.

Lysander flapped his wings. “Don’t…”

I snatched Titus’ hand, dragging him closer with my mists; he let out a startled oomph.

“If you wished to become more intimate,” Titus said, drily, “you only needed to ask.”

I clenched my jaw. “Shall we?”

“Play something romantic,” Titus called imperiously to Sleipnir. “But without the caterwauling.”

Mist sat on his rump and gestured with his hooves in a manner that looked decidedly like the one Flair had taught me for wanker.

Sleipnir smirked at me, before strumming the sweet melody for the song all about fucking that he’d serenaded me with in the Rebel Café.

I bit my lip to keep in the laughter. The private joke hidden within the music wound around me, even as Titus swept me out onto the ice dance floor. I slipped, but he kept his arm around my waist. He certainly was an excellent dancer. But then, he was a prince at a Fae Court.

I glanced at Fox, who stood in the forest of ice trees with Bask’s hand curled protectively around his neck. Fox watched me with a concerned gaze.

I’d take Fox, who’d never attended a ball before just like Robin, over the suave fae. Of course, Fox was himself a wonderful dancer, although I’d never seen moves like his before.

Didn’t he call it Fox Funk?

I’d hadn’t been the same as the other witches, who’d thrilled at the thought of the balls and the husbands who’d they’d meet. I’d wanted my own adventures.

Well, I’d certainly achieved that.

When Titus’ wings curled around me, I shuddered.

“Why do I feel like I don’t have your full attention?” Titus’ gaze was uncomfortably intense. “It’s rather rude when you cursed me as much as this academy.”

“Do you piss snow? Do you melt in the sun?” I lowered my voice, glancing significantly down at his crotch; the bulge in his trousers told me that being blessed down there truly was a fae thing. “Did I turn your prick to ice?”

When I edged my hand to check because I was awfully impressed with my magic to create ice pricks, he batted away my hand with a snarl.

“For a moment, I forgot who I was speaking to. Let me be clearer.” He gripped me tighter around the waist, spinning me. “I was the eldest son and heir who was set to inherit the Unseelie kingdom. You’d have been my queen.”

He paused as if expecting a big reaction from me.

When I simply gazed at him steadily, his shoulders slumped.

Wait, had that been the big reveal? I’d never dreamed of power. I never wished to be his queen.

I attempted to smile. “Well, lucky escape there then. Crown’s are heavy, I hear.”

Titus green eyes darkened. “Heavy but mine, until you humiliated me by standing me up at the altar. Mother couldn’t let such a public shame stand. Where were you, while I faced the scandal that followed alone?”

“Dead.”

His lips grazed across my cheek. “Excuses, excuses. But do you know how much it warmed me to know that you suffered for what you’d done to me?” My guts twisted. I tried to wrench out of his arms, but he held onto me. “I lost the throne. I was passed over for my younger sister. When she (along with her worthless husband) died, her brat became heir. There was no forgiveness because a fae who fails is never worthy again.”

“Lysander…?” I whispered.

Lysander stood frozen at the edge of the dance floor. His wings were wrapped around himself. His eyes gleamed, and his gaze was dark like he was one predatory inch from battling his own uncle over me, which was hot and dangerous.

How could I bring this dance of the enemies to an end?

It’d started with hate. What if I showed Titus who he should truly have been hating all this time?

Titus’ gaze hardened. “Instead of taking up my rightful place, I’m left as guardian of a boy who can’t even obey. I sought to train Lysander to repair my reputation. He was to rule with me at his side. But he ruined that by bringing me greater shame. You both owe me a debt.”

I snorted. “I don’t give a mage’s prick how things are done in fairy land, but a woman choosing not to marry or a ward deciding not to kill doesn’t make them indebted to you. Plus, this will come as a shock, but your mother sold you out to mine. You’d never have been king. The plan was for you to bring your magic, power, and money to the House of Crows. You’d have been ruled at the academy, living in my shadow.”

Titus staggered back from me. “You’re lying…”

“Do you imagine that my mother would’ve allowed the protected Blessedly Charmed daughter to ever leave these grounds? I am the academy. We were both set up. Just think how much more freedom you’ve enjoyed for the last hundred years, than if you’d become my controlled husband. Your mother must’ve always intended her daughter to become heir, and when the marriage with me fell through, she used your supposed shame as an excuse. How charmingly sneaky.”

“She w-wouldn’t…” Titus paced away, slipping on the ice. I raised my eyebrow. “Of course, she would. On my feathers, all these years, I thought…and I treated Lysander like…I blamed…”

Lysander prowled towards me (which was impressive in those ruby slippers), sweeping his wings around me; I nestled into their sweetness. “It would be my greatest honor to dance with you.”

I slow danced with Lysander to a song about fucking, and Titus allowed it.

As Lysander’s prick pressed against my hip, his feathers brushed against my cheeks, and his hot breath gusted over my ear, I tingled head to toe like I was making love to him right here in front of Rebels, professors, and Titus alike.

By the way that Titus reddened, perhaps it was obvious.

Excellent.

I’d been lost for over a hundred years, a lonely ghost. But now I was finally found, in the arms of my fae lover. Titus had thought that it should be him, but he’d been wrong. Sometimes love took its time to reveal itself, and sometimes, it was a hard and painful journey.

But it was always worth it.

I’d been born, died, and resurrected for this moment.

“Marry me, prince?” I breathed.

Lysander’s breath caught; his eyes lit up. “In a heartbeat.” Then his lips feathered across mine. “Will my fiancee permit me to kiss her? I’ve been desperate to break this rule for so long…”

“Only if I break it first.”

I pressed a light kiss to his lips, and they opened on a sigh. Then I pushed in again, but this time with a savage, desperate passion that was met with his own. He owned me with his kiss, but I was already his, and he was mine. Pink sizzled on my tongue, twining with his own magic.

Don’t ever stop. More, more, more…

Lysander curled his wings more tightly around me.

This was it. What I hadn’t known that I’d been missing.

I was complete.

The windows rattled. My magic shook the hall. The stars pulsated pink.

And the Membership with its wards snapped.

I jolted like I’d been struck by electricity, breaking the kiss. My eyes rolled back, and Lysander caught me. My magic burst from the floor in roots, covering the walls of the hall, before breaking off the roof.

It was finally happening… Sweet Hecate, this was it…

I pressed my hands against the floor, sensing my Wickedly Charmed magic burrowing through the academy and breaking every ward and spell that’d been imposed on its innocence because it had been innocent when I’d created it as a baby.

Henriette and each Principal after had added wards, spells, and charms onto my magic. They’d created the monstrosity of the academy. The Curse was mine, but the academy was all the House of the Crows.

I turned my head. Panicked voices crashed over me. Damelza screeched, casting spells at the roots, along with Bacchus. I noticed that Juni met my gaze with a determined nod, before nudging Emerick and Snow towards Sleipnir, who’d scooped up Mist into his pocket and joined the ring of Rebels.

Juni knew.

Why was she helping us?

Then I also noticed the longing gaze that she cast at Lysander, and I understood.

If she couldn’t be with him, then she’d save him. Truly self-sacrificing love was the noblest kind.

I nodded back at her.

Fox grinned, leaping over the feast and sending the chocolate cake splattering across the floor. When he banged on the vast glass window, Ambrose saluted him from the other side. Fox clacked a smart salute back, before diving under the table this time on his stomach and covering his head with his hands, which was the only warning before the dragons swiped their talons through the glass.

The shatter of breaking glass rang through the hall with startling loudness, followed by the roar of outraged monkey dragons.

The freezing breeze blew through the hall from the cold night.

Lysander covered me with his wings.

Then I struggled to my feet, and Lysander helped me to stroll to Rayn, who nuzzled me.

Bask slipped his arm around the small of my back, before stroking Rayn’s head. “Petting time.”

Lysander startled when his dragon willingly ducked down for him, so that he could jump on without the need for a saddle, spurs, or riding whip. Lysander flushed, patting the dragon in apology. Then he darted a final glance at me like even parting for a moment was painful, before swinging himself on, holding his hand out to Willoughby and then Midnight. They clung around each other’s middles, and their excitement wound through my magic.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Titus stared at the dragons and then Damelza. “This is your famed taming of supernatural bad boys and professors? They’re running the academy.”

Damelza’s dress ruffled to twice its size with rage. “You’re the one who insisted on this ball and the witch being here. She creates rebellion where ever she goes.”

I smiled. “Why, thank you.”

Sleipnir jumped off the stage, before urging Emerick and Snow toward the dragons.

Emerick and Snow climbed onto one dragon, and Ambrose helped Ty and Ezekiel onto another, before mounting himself.

Flair and Echo dived off their perch, flapping through the broken windows.

“Don’t forget us, boss,” Flair called.

“She’d never forget us,” Echo said with such certainty that I glowed.

Bacchus’ hand twitched like she was holding herself back from hexing us.

“Take me with you,” Darby pleaded. “I’m a Rebel too.”

I glanced at Willoughby, but he turned away his head.

“I’ve learned that you have to earn the title of Rebel,” Willoughby replied. “You’re not ready.”

Damelza stalked forward in a flurry of crows’ feathers. “Did you forget that I can just click my fingers and kill you all?”

“Huh, why don’t you try that?” Sleipnir helped Fox onto Rayn. “You already look like an asshole, so why not add jackass as well?”

Damelza’s eyes glittered…and she clicked her fingers.

Nothing happened.

At least, until Fox bent over, grasping the brand on his hand with a grimace. “Ah, ah, ah…the agonizing pain…”

My pulse thundered in my ears.

Juni smiled, smugly.

No, no, no…

I reached up to grasp Fox, but he straightened with a wink.

The bad, soon to be spanked (the moment that we escaped), foxy.

“Pathological liar here,” Fox explained with a wave of his pain free hand.

“You, you, you…” Damelza spluttered.

“Wicked witch and her Rebels…?” I supplied, helpfully. “This is my Rebel Academy, which shall never be used to trap students again. As soon as I leave the grounds, the magic to hold other supernaturals comes with me. Blessedly Charmed witches are only born every five hundred years, aren’t they…? Don’t waste time waiting for the next one; your coven’s power is gone. The House of Crows is broken. I’m certain that by the time the next Blessedly Charmed witch comes along, all witches shall be rebels. At least, that’s the plan.”

I swung onto Rayn with Bask in front of me, while Fox held onto my waist behind.

Damelza roared, but before she could throw a hex, my roots burst from the floor in an impenetrable wall, and the dragons pulled out into the night. Behind us, the walls of Crow Hall crashed down. Dust rose into the air like hundreds of ghosts around us.

Sleipnir dashed after Rayn. “Valhalla! We’ve seized it,” he called, vibrating with delight. “The chaos moment. It’s beautiful. The world…worlds…are open to us now. All the veils, the Eternal Forest, lie before us.”

In a spray of blue glitter, Sleipnir transformed into his gorgeous giant horse form, pawing his eight hooves impatiently in the snow and swinging his aquamarine tail from side to side. His coat glittered under the moon like crushed gems.

Sleipnir raised his head and whinnied, before flapping his wings and taking off into the air. Flair and Echo rose beside him at either shoulder.

What if my familiars faded along with the curse? My heart clenched at the thought that they wouldn’t be able to leave the academy with me.

They weren’t the past; they were part of my future.

Sleipnir led the dragons towards freedom. I shivered, as the breeze cut my cheeks. I wrapped my magic more firmly around all the Rebels and professors on their dragons to make sure that they didn’t fall. Ty laughed; high and free. I clutched Bask, and he wiggled his behind against me.

Fox rested his chin on my shoulder; his curls tickled my cheek. The smell of sweet raspberries wound around me, reminding me of the taste of wild blackberries.

Rayn roared. His yellow magic fluttered out to meet his brothers’ in their joy.

They were going home, while I was leaving home for the first time.

I didn’t know what I’d find, but I’d meet it with my Immortal and Prince lovers at my side.

I left behind my ghosts and past. Yet I’d said my goodbyes.

When I glanced down at the academy beneath me, I gasped.

The snow was melting. The lake was no longer frozen. Spring had at last come to the academy.

My curse was broken. The grounds sprang to life: rich greens that’d been shrouded in white. Barn owls and bats swooped beside us in the starry skies.

My magic coiled up from the grounds in pulsing trails, winding into me. I thrilled at the new powers.

Would we truly be able to break the wards and go past the boundaries that Robin and I had walked so many times?

Just a little more…

As Sleipnir and the dragons flew past the Dead Wood towards the shadow of Oxford’s spires and then finally…finally…to the boundary of the academy, I knew that after over a hundred years, death, resurrection, and a second chance, I’d be free.

My Rebel lovers and I could explore the Eternal Forest, across the veils to the realms of gods, demons, and spirits, or the magical kingdoms. As long as we were together.

This was my adventure. Love. Life.

It was the chaos moment.

At last, Sleipnir, my crow familiars, and the dragons broke the boundary, flying into the warm night beyond the academy, and all of us were free.

The End…For Now

Continue the adventures of Sleipnir’s dad, Loki, and Bacchus’ sister in BAD LOKI in book One of the REBEL GODS series HERE NOW.

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Author Note

Rebel Academy with its story of second chances even after death in a secret Oxford academy is a series that I’ve loved writing and is still in my heart. I’m thrilled that you’ve shared this journey with me!

The idea of twisting mythology just like in Rebel Academy but adding in gods, demons, and monsters has been playing in my mind for a couple of years. Rebel Gods is a rewriting of the Hades, Loki, and Ra myths like you’ve never seen before! Plus, it includes fox spirits and shifters. Who knows the secrets hidden in the darkness of the Eternal Forest…? And what would happen if your shifter soul was bound to your enemy? Loki and Bacchus’ reaper sister are about to find out in BAD LOKI!

You’re total stars for your recommendations, word of mouth, and reviews because it’s how my books reach new readers. I’m truly grateful to you. Even a single line review raises the series’ visibility.

Thanks, you’re awesome - my Rebel family :)

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Rosemary A Johns

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What To Read Next: Bad Loki!

Do you want to discover what happens to Sleipnir’s dad, Loki? Click here to escape into the hunt of the witch Bacchus Cult and the shadows of the Eternal Forest….

When the gods turn bad…

…reapers come out to play.

My name’s Autumn, and I was raised by a fanatical witch cult. I made a deal to be possessed by a god. I was tempted by forbidden whispers of eternal pleasure. Then a lethal but sexy-as-hell god broke me, stealing my magic.

Loki, God of Mischief.

Now, I’m the Infernal: a witch who reaps both gods and demons. I guard the World Tree in the shadows of an ancient forest, which is stalked by scorching-hot but dangerous monsters.

When a curse binds my greatest enemy, Loki, to me as mate by his shifter soul, it’s my turn to break a god. I’m seduced, however, by his beautiful mayhem. Then he spins a wild tale, and it turns out that everything I’ve known could be a lie.

Can I trust Loki and my other gorgeous rebel gods and demons?

Hades — My brooding Hellhound God of the Underworld who’s a giant of muscles, midnight black hair, and shadows

Ra — My Phoenix Sun God who’s tall, blond, and my loyal friend and lover

Kit — My Kitsune Fox Spirit with powerful magic and mesmerizing eyes, which I could lose myself in forever

Oni — My roguishly handsome Demon with a lady-killing smile who’s my first love and Soulmate

They’re the enemy, royalty, friend, virgin, and second chance. They’re also my obsession...and secret protectors.

When the gods are rebels, the demons are wicked, and the shifters are savage, it’s lucky that I love bad boys…

READ REBEL GODS: BAD LOKI HERE!

Read The Rebel Werewolves: Complete Wolf Shifters Collection!

Read the complete REBEL WEREWOLVES for FREE in Kindle Unlimited and discover what happens to Fox’s cousin, Aquilo, as well as learning the truth of the Wolf and Witch War!

Behind the moonshine speared alcove that divided guests from guards, prowled beasts with beautiful faces.

Only Protector Alphas, promised the neon sign.

If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought that I was shifting on my knees on a satin cushion at a midnight feast in a barracks, except for the fact that it was an all-female army of werewolves, and as a witch, I was the enemy.

Plus, boy did I know better.

My nose wrinkled against the earthy scent, even as I turned my face up to catch the breeze from the open roof of the Crescent Base. The moon shone down on the crescent-shaped table with its bank of computers that monitored the Omegas, mountain of ice-cream and sprinkles, and war plans that had become mixed together, as the Alphas partied.

How in the witching heavens had it only been a day since I’d been trapped underground in the Kingdom of the Gods? When shifters fed from moonlight, how did they bear to be buried in the kingdom below?

The Alpha warriors gleamed; the moonbeams danced across their skin. The light lit up the ivory walls like bared fangs and the glass wall that showed out to the murk of the River Thames.

My red shadows twitched, caressing each other in comfort, but they’d been subdued since Princess Vala had Wolf Bitten me. She’d threatened that a crimson tide of blood was coming, then she’d started the slaughter with my throat.

My parents had been devoured by werewolves. Was being bitten and allowed to live even worse?

I reached up to the bite, wincing as I traced it because becoming a wolf had been one of my greatest fears since Aquilo’s bullying twin sister, Lux, had pretended to transform me into one as a kid.

But that had only been a trick, right?

First, an Alpha had bitten me, and then I’d been left kneeling in the Crescent Base in the corner (the one that Vala had told me was reserved for badly behaved Omegas), whilst the Crescent gang of assholes danced and screwed.

Although, the Alphas had also petted and cooed over me like I was on my Honeymoon. My shadows quivered in distress that I’d been separated from my pack of wolves, angels, and gods.

Then I groaned, as a rubber hit me between the eyes, bouncing into my lap.

Hey, now I was even being attacked by falling condoms.

Unless, you know, it was a divine sign that I’d get sexy times today…?

I eeped, as all of a sudden, the rubber jumped off my lap, spinning into the air with the grace of a ballet dancer, before hopping with a cheeky wriggle of its latex tail into the hand of a cute man with a mop of dark hair, a scarred eyebrow, and soft eyes.

He was a mage?

Rubber Mage shot me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Omega Witch. My magic becomes volatile when I’m…” He gestured at the hard length tenting his pearly white pants.

I flushed. “Firstly, I’m not an Omega Witch, whatever on a mage’s blue balls that truly is, and secondly, that’s overshare.”

Rubber Mage chuckled. “Whatever you say, Omega Witch, and I won’t have blue balls for long.”

I gritted my teeth, as my shadows thrashed. Then Rubber Mage wandered back to his Alpha, who sprawled on an armchair in front of the table. He straddled her lap, dipping to kiss at her neck. He didn’t look like a prisoner, even though as a mage he must’ve been thrown to the wolves by his own witch family for being a male with magic. Yet as the Alpha quivered underneath him, there was no doubt that he was seriously taking charge…and willing.

Then gentle hands clasped around my waist, pulling me around tentatively, as if expecting to be rejected.

Aquilo’s cool gaze met mine. “What if I tell you that my magic becomes volatile, when you stare at some other mage’s—”

“Monster dick?” I smirked, curling closer to Aquilo and sniffing his reassuring scent of fresh linen.

Aquilo was pale and beautiful beneath the moonlight. His black shirt hung open, and I was desperate to touch the dip of his collarbones, but I hadn’t saved him from his family and Vala to use him as well.

I loved him but I’d never rush him.

Aquilo appeared to catch my thought, and his gaze became steely. “Do you believe me to be breakable?”

His hold firmed on my waist, as he rested his forehead against mine. He’d been left in the corner with me, since we both belonged to the princess now.

And how much did that thought freak me out?

Aquilo’s eyes froze to crushed ice, and heat shot through me at the danger. His magic wound around me in a whirlwind that whipped my red-and-black ballgown into waves. When my fingertips pressed over the hollow of his throat, where the blood pendant had once rested and seared his skin to bind his magic, his gaze became fragile.

“I asked you to marry me,” I whispered; my lips touched his on each word. “I seriously don’t want any other mage.”

“As a male within a witch’s household, I learned to play broken, until I could show my teeth.” I startled. “Hide your fangs now, so that when you bare them, you may savage kingdoms.”

My pulse pounded, as my shadows rose up, shadowing the room into a crimson sea.

Mischief — Archduke, Seraphim god, and mage — would love Aquilo. Were all mages snarky, snooty, and wickedly hot when they got with the whole savaging kingdom talk?

“Someone put on their godly pants today.” I smiled. “Mischief is a royal prick but his glittery ass said the same thing. Trust me, you’ll like him.”

“Do you wish to talk of royal pricks, or allow me to kiss you now?” Aquilo drawled.

My skin was suddenly too hot. I wet my lips. “Honestly, that’s not even a choice. Willing and seriously enthusiastic for all kissing action.”

Aquilo’s white-blond hair fell across my eyes, as he feathered a kiss to my lips, jaw, and then down my neck. He glanced up at me questioningly, and I nodded. Then he licked across Vala’s bite.

Finally those happy tingles showed up.

I grasped Aquilo’s wrist with the blood bracelet that connected us, licking across its throbbing edges to match his licks across my own bite. Aquilo keened; his dick in his jeans hardened against my leg.

I rested my teeth against his wrist.

I craved to bite…

Aquilo’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Then he swallowed, before pressing his wrist harder against my teeth like he could break his own skin in sacrifice.

“Savage, remember?” He met my gaze like it was a challenge. “Or do you wish to sever our engagement, as my mother claimed when she held me apart from you, but merely fear causing my death…?”

I bit through the blood bracelet like I could take away its control and instead, protect Aquilo and all my pack. I marked him to erase his mom’s hateful words that made him feel like nothing but unwanted property.

I wanted him, and he was mine.

I’d never thought myself a possessive dickhead before I’d returned to England, but becoming a Wolf Charmer and Wolf Witch turned you into one, who knew?

The tangy blood thrummed through me.

Hey, it looked like I did have a biting kink.

Aquilo howled and arched. His eyelashes fluttered, while his fingers straightened, before curling into fists. Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed as he came in his pants.

I blushed, and the Alphas cheered. Rubber Mage winked like I’d passed the initiation into their pack.

Why were there so many mages here with the Crescents? Had they all been thrown to the wolves? Yet they weren’t cowering in terror. Unless, you know, scoffing ice-cream, transforming cups by magic into dancing unicorns for kicks, and cuddling Alphas were signs of fear that I’d never been taught by my non-magical uncle.

The mages appeared to be more like lovers than prisoners or slaves.

I brushed the hair off Aquilo’s forehead; he’d always been a pretty, elitist asshole but now he was my pretty, elitist asshole. He was also a virgin. Vala had attempted to steal his first experiences, but I’d create new ones for him.

All I craved was my art gallery back in America, along with a honey lavender latte (like drinking summer), and a glazed donut. But failing that, I’d take a blissed out Aquilo. I sighed, chasing after the last taste of him on my tongue.

Brain, stop the naughty images about how that sounded.

Aquilo blinked awake. His pale blue eyes were unusually soft and fuzzy, as he stared up at me like I was the moon.

“Hey, Mr Just Had the Best Orgasm of His Life.” I stroked down his cheek.

“Hey, Miss Bighead…although not entirely inaccurate. Did you have to make me sticky?”

“Dude, ungrateful,” I pouted.

Aquilo raised his wrist, and I couldn’t find it in me to even wince at the imprints of my teeth marking the blood bracelet. When I turned my head and caught the bite with a gentle kiss, he gasped. “Perhaps, I should say: Miss Bitey.”

I snorted. “Mrs Bitey.” My heart thudded hard in my chest, as I leaned in to catch his lush lips with mine.

Then my stomach growled, and I pinked.

How could I be romantic when I hadn’t eaten since… How long had it been now?

Aquilo shot me a haughty grin. Then his stomach rumbled even louder than mine had. He cringed, and my shadows burst out at my snicker, tickling Aquilo’s ribs. He spluttered with laugher, wriggling away from me towards the edge of the alcove like a squirming kitten.

“Mrs Bitey,” he hissed between giggles, “I said savage, not tickle.”

“Aw, do you want me to kiss it better?” I dived over him, kissing down his neck, as my shadows wrapped around him in tickling waves.

I’d never seen Aquilo like this before: free and unreserved.

Was he like this with anyone else?

Aquilo and I had both been raised as magical kids, who’d had to hide who we truly were.

Had Aquilo been what I’d spent my life missing, as much as my Charms?

I squeaked, as Aquilo sent a ripple of wind in retaliation across my skin. I shivered. His magic caressed me, blowing my hair into the air behind me, which should’ve made me want to kick his ass for frizzing my curls, yet the touch was intimate and loving like he was sharing his true self and magic with me.

It was freaking beautiful.

Was this the first time that he’d ever dared play with his magic like this?

Aquilo’s smile was gentle, as his breeze curled around my shadows, hugging me closer.

“I’d say that I was sorry to interrupt your sexy times, but as the Prince of the Alphas, I hold to this quaint tradition of not lying.” Emperor leaned over the alcove, peering at Aquilo and me with an amused twitch of his lips.

I startled, gazing up at the third of my Charms, who rested with casual elegance scrutinizing me, as if he didn’t belong in my Omega naughty corner.

In his golden suit and robes, Emperor was a gorgeous butterfly in the midst of this Alpha party. Even though he was from a rival wolf kingdom, he’d never looked so regal or undaunted.

“Screw tradition.” I launched myself up, snatching Emperor by his silky collar and hauling him into the alcove.

When I pulled him down amongst the cushions, hugging him as tightly as I would’ve done Moon who was the King of Cuddles, Emperor held onto me with equal desperation.

I hated being separated from my Charms, who I’d Claimed and Wolf Bitten. They were mine, just as I was theirs. I hadn’t understood pack before, but now I knew that it meant to protect. Not knowing what’d happened to them was a torture worse than radio show banter or some asshole scrolling through your phone’s photos without asking.

I stroked over Emperor’s muscled back; his strength was reassuring. “How’s my good wolf?”

Emperor shuddered. “Damning you on hide and fangs for making me hard in these tight pants again.”

I snickered. “You’re lucky that I’m only making you hard.”

Emperor raised his eyebrow. Pink spread down Aquilo’s cheeks and neck. I didn’t miss how Emperor clasped Aquilo’s hand, and Aquilo squeezed his fingers.

“She tried the same trick on me, but I had to consider that my suit is dry clean only.” His gaze swept over Aquilo’s pants. “It appears that you have no such worries.”

I rapped his shoulder. “I take it that you didn’t drop by just to comment on how practical our clothes are to launder…?”

“Vala’s charming gang, the Crescents, decided that I would be of use to them as an entertainer.” Emperor tossed his golden hair, before sighing. “It appears that my reputation precedes me.”

I couldn’t stop the growl. “No one’s using you like a party favor again. You have a choice now, and I thought that I’d kind of made it clear that I’m big on consent.” My gaze swung to Aquilo, who cringed. “That means you too, Gandalf the early years.”

“You’re not much of an Oxford witch, Sabrina,” Aquilo drawled. “Where’s the putting us in our place? Why would you give up your control?”

Suddenly, both their gazes were too intense and searching; I shifted.

“Because I love you,” I replied, softly.

Aquilo’s gasp was worth it. Emperor simply smirked.

Then Emperor pressed his lips to the top of my head. I closed my eyes, losing myself in his scent of honey dripping over liquorice. Yet the sharpness of the liquorice was much stronger than it’d been before.

Was he losing control of his Alpha side? What would happen if the truth of Emperor’s nature was discovered in this Kingdom of Gods? Would he be executed?

My eyes snapped open in alarm.

“The Alphas merely wish me to play the piano for them,” Emperor’s mouth curved against my head on each laughing word.

Thank Hecate…

I already knew that my second Charm, Amadeus, was being punished in the Isolation Room. But what about my first Charm, the Prince of the Wilds?

“Moon’s with you, right?” I struggled to stand, but Emperor yanked me down.

“He’s in the Pleasure Pool.” Emperor grimaced. “I don’t imagine that it refers to Jacuzzis and fun water slides. I wish that I could rescue him from the appalling name alone.”

Okay, so it was a name plucked out of an incubus’ dream, but I still desired the pleasure of Moon’s angelic eyes and sinful body. I couldn’t imagine a better named pool for him, unless it was the Lake of Defiant Rebels or The Snuggling Tree.

Emperor’s eyes narrowed like he’d caught my thought. In turn, I widened my own eyes in pretend innocence.

“I don’t trust the Alphas here,” Emperor explained. Hey, I never said that I could pull off the innocent act. “The danger is greater than I’d imagined. Some of the Alphas in my own kingdom, who I grew up with, at least strive to treat Omegas as more than objects to hide in shrines. These ones, however, are broken.”

I glanced out at the shimmering sea of Alphas with their mage lovers. “Huh, so you truly can screw too much…?”

Emperor traced over the bite on my neck, and I winced. “How sweet that you believe them safe. They train to protect their Omegas but they never can because of witches—”

“Like me…?” My voice hardened. “Harsh.”

Emperor arched his brow. “But entirely fair. Training but failing to protect the Omegas…for decades…has damaged these Alphas.” He glanced between Aquilo and me. “Can’t you see that this room is set up for war?”

I scanned the computer screens and table, which although it was littered with ice-cream and chocolate sauce, also had what looked like one badass chess game going on. Yet it could just as easily be…a war plan.

Emperor had been trained as a diplomat, and my aunt had called wolves princes in diplomacy. I needed Emperor for his skills now.

Aquilo settled back into the cushions, unraveling an ivory thread. “Who do they believe that they’re fighting and how could they win?”

Emperor studied Aquilo with such tenderness that it made my heart ache.

“War with fanatics is rarely about winning as you or I would consider it. They believe themselves already to be dead. What would someone be prepared to do who believed themselves no longer alive?” When I shuddered, Emperor rubbed his nose against mine. “A trick that I learned in my days as my mother’s entertainer: everybody talks in front of you. The Alphas bringing me here spoke of a delegation from all three kingdoms in two days to discuss the events in the covens and you…”

Two days…?

My shadows rose and fell in uneasy waves. How was I meant to stop what’d been planned maybe since the end of the Wolf War itself a hundred years ago…?

I wet my dry lips. “Don’t I feel special.”

Emperor’s teeth lengthened, as his claws bit into my shoulders. “As special as a reason to start a war. If we don’t discover what’s awaiting my kingdom and Moon’s within two days—"

“Enough gossiping, Omega.” Rubber Mage gazed down at me, raising his scarred eyebrow, and I stiffened. He crooked his finger at Emperor, and Emperor stiffly rose to his feet, brushing off his suit and straightening his robes. “We want a sing-along.”

Emperor ducked his head, but winked at me. Then he strode to the piano in the far corner of the room. He sat on the stool with a flourish, before pounding on the keys in a wild rendition of “Sweet Transvestite” from the Rocky Horror Show.

I blinked. Okay, I hadn’t been expecting that.

Aquilo chuckled as he crawled closer. “Hidden depths in that wolf, I believe.”

“Trust me, he’s not hiding.” I studied Emperor; he was a ray of sunlight in the night.

The Alphas laughed and joked, jostling around Emperor like he was already their favorite Omega. When they joined in the chorus, Emperor was as comfortable with them as old friends. Perhaps, he truly had spent time around Alphas in his own kingdom, and not ones who’d wanted to step on him like the Alphas in Moon’s Kingdom of the Wilds.

I’d imagined that the Kingdom of the Alphas would be filled with psychopathic elitists like Stella had told me, but maybe they also dressed up in top hats and suspenders, while dancing to “The Time Warp”.

Seizing the distraction, I nudged Aquilo’s shoulder, before edging out of the alcove on my hands and knees. Aquilo followed at my heels.

Who’d notice the two bad Omegas, when they had the star of the show performing?

If I only had two days to discover Vala’s plans for war, then I needed the power of my Charms united.

I had to rescue Moon.

I crawled towards the door because if the Alphas were in here and entertained, then I had the best chance to reach the Pleasure Pool.

Crack — I yelped as my head smacked into something bony.

I reached out to slide my hands up the surprisingly smooth column, which was blocking my escape.

“Look up,” Aquilo hissed.

When did anything good come of following that order?

When I raised my gaze, I met Vala’s stormy eyes. Her hair was twisted in two coils on her head like twin moons, and her thick eyeliner was surrounded by glitter: an asshole playing at siren. My hands were clamped around her thighs through the slit in her dress.

Huh, so it was possible to feel embarrassed, even after being forcibly Wolf Bitten.

I stared at my hands, and so did Vala. I pulled them away like a retreating army. Then I gasped, as the bite on my neck seared at her displeasure.

I doubled over, clasping my fingers over it, as if I could pretend that I wasn’t kneeling at the feet of my enemy, whilst she burned her hatred through her bite.

I was at the mercy of the first werewolf princess to dare transform a Wolf Charmer into a Bitten.

It took strength to submit, as much as to conquer.

Yet what if Vala didn’t crave submission? Instead, she sought to spark my powers and the crimson tide of blood.

Other Books By Rosemary To Read

REBEL ANGELS

READ THE COMPLETE SERIES NOW HERE!

Escape into a dark world with Lucifer, Fallen Angels, vampires, gods and monsters…

Lucifer’s fire wings beat, blowing warm air across my cheeks. “When you stop hiding from me, maybe you’ll earn my secrets, and they’re a cartload of fun.”

My eyes narrowed. “We may have different definitions of fun.” Rizzz — Lucifer pulled down a zipper in the front of his armor, exposing his chest. I recoiled. “Different definitions, bastard Fang. And there’s going to be no teaching if this is your fun.”

Lucifer clutched his chest like a violated maiden. “Yikes, you didn’t think…? Those kinky angels have poisoned your mind, missy.” He wagged his finger at me, and I blushed. Then he slipped his hand under the tight leather and drew out a toy, proffering it to me like it was a relic. “This is your inheritance.”

I stared at the doll’s house fork, while the vampire court stared at me. Was this whole thing a windup?

“You missed the playing with dolls stage by about fifteen years,” I hissed. “Plus, if you knew me at all, then you’d get that I was the geek you’d impress with a comic, computer game, or…”

Lucifer flicked his wrist. The fork grew in the instant. Living bone twisted outward, becoming long, thin shimmering bone with three forked prongs at one end and at the other, a point as sharp as a spear.

I wanted it.

“Your Devil’s Trident,” Lucifer breathed. “Take him.”

“Yours, always, touch me…” The Devil’s Trident whispered, insidious and yearning.

I raised my shaking hand towards the shaft.

“Stop with the Percy Jackson action: it’s death.” My vampire lover, Ash’s, bellow from behind me, sliced through the silence, which hummed with only the honeyed murmurs from the bone trident.

Shocked out of my haze, I spun around.

In the shadows at the back of the Crypt, both my vampire and angel lover, Rebel, were chained side by side to a column. I didn’t miss the way that their hands were linked.

“Ash’s not fibbing,” Rebel pleaded, torturing his lower lip with his teeth. “On all that’s holy, don’t touch Devil. He’s death…”

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REBEL: HOUSE OF FAE

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As Rebel Fae, we’d been treated as prisoners all our lives.

The succubus was the first female who I’d risked loving. I couldn’t stop loving, even if was only a fantasy. The bond was real. I’d just have to prove it to her.

If she thought that she could play with our emotions and walk away, then she didn’t know the Fae Lord’s obsessive love.

She was ours now. She simply didn’t know it yet…

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Appendix One: The Membership

RANDOMS

Confess — Whipping Boy

Curse — Whipping Boy

IMMORTALS

Crow — Prefect

Crave

Sleipnir

Crown

Crush

PRINCES

Appendix Two: Rebels

Randoms

Fox, mage and shifter, Immortals’ whipping boy (Confess)

Midnight, vampire/Fallen angel and Princes’ whipping boy (Curse)

Robin, mage, Princes’ whipping boy

Immortals

Magenta, ghost witch of the House of Crows, Immortals Prefect (Crow)

Bask, incubus of the Night lineage (Crave)

Sleipnir, Norse god, son of Loki

Princes

Prince Lysander, Dark Unseelie Fae, Princes Prefect (Crown)

Prince Willoughby, Light Elf (Crush)

Appendix Three: Professors In Rebel Academy

WITCHES

Damelza Crow, Head of the House of Crows, Principal

Juni Crow, Damelza’s daughter, Tutor of the East Wing and the Princes, Professor of Divination and Hunting

Amber Bacchus, Tutor of the West Wing and the Immortals, Professor of SHP (Spells, Hexes, and Potions).

Henrietta Crow, original Head of the House of Crows and Magenta’s mother, Principal

REBELS WHO SURVIVED AND BECAME PROFESSORS

Ezekiel, Addict Angel, Professor of Warrior Training and Dueling

Prince Ambrose, Seelie Fae, Professor of Shifter and Familiar Training

Appendix Four: Characters

SUPERNATURALS

Loki, God of Mischief, Sleipnir’s father

Andro, clone of Lysander

Bas, clone of Bask

Serenity, magical Rebel Café

Mist, created eight-legged horse that reflects Sleipnir’s emotions.

FAMILIARS

Echo and Flair, Magenta’s twin crow familiars

Pet 9, Pocus, Bacchus’ cat Halfling familiar

SHIFTERS

Glow, Omega werewolf, Fox’s friend

Snow, Omega werewolf in the academy, owned by Juni Crow.

Marcus, Archduke and dragon shifter

Rayn, dragon shifter, Marcus’ brother

Lash, dragon shifter, Marcus’ cousin

Appendix Five: Witch Covens And Courts

HOUSE OF CROWS

Magenta Crow, Blessedly/Wickedly Charmed

Henrietta Crow, Magenta’s mother and Head of Rebel Academy

Bryon Crow, Magenta’s father

Damelza Crow, Principal, Magenta’s descendant

Juni Crow, Damela’s daughter

Emerick Crow, Damelza’s adopted son and Groundskeeper

HOUSE OF JEWELS

Fox, mage and shifter

Hartley, Fox’s sister

HOUSE OF BLOOD

Lux, Head of the Oxford Covens

Aquilo, mage, Lux’s twin

SUCCUBI COURT

The Duchess, Bask’s first bond.

FAE COURTS

Prince Titus, Guardian and uncle of Prince Lysander

Prince Lysander, deposed prince

Prince Ambrose, Seelie deposed prince

Prince Ty, Ambrose’s ‘mongrel’ son

LIGHT ELF COURT

Prince Willoughby, deposed prince

King Darby, Willoughby’s younger brother

About the Author

ROSEMARY A JOHNS is a USA Today bestselling and award-winning romance and fantasy author, music fanatic, and paranormal anti-hero addict. She writes sexy shifters, fae, and angels, savage vampires, and epic battles.

Winner of the Silver Award in the National Wishing Shelf Book Awards. Finalist in the IAN Book of the Year Awards. Runner-up in the Best Fantasy Book of the Year, Reality Bites Book Awards. Honorable Mention in the Readers’ Favorite Book Awards.

Shortlisted in the International Rubery Book Awards.

Rosemary is also a traditionally published short story writer. She studied history at Oxford University and ran her own theater company. She’s always been a rebel…

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REBEL ACADEMY CURSE: WICKEDLY CHARMED BOOK THREE © copyright 2020 Rosemary A Johns

www.rosemaryajohns.com

Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Fantasy Rebel Limited

Content

Rosemary A Johns
Rebel Academy: Curse

Books in the Rebel Verse

Chapter One MIDNIGHT

Chapter Two MAGENTA

Chapter Three FOX

Chapter Four SLEIPNIR

Chapter Five MAGENTA

Chapter Six FOX

Chapter Seven MAGENTA

Chapter Eight SLEIPNIR

Chapter Nine SLEIPNIR

Chapter Ten SLEIPNIR

Chapter Eleven BASK

Chapter Twelve MAGENTA

Chapter Thirteen MAGENTA

Chapter Fourteen BASK

Chapter Fifteen FOX

Chapter Sixteen FOX

Chapter Seventeen MAGENTA

Chapter Eighteen FOX

Chapter Nineteen FOX

Chapter Twenty MAGENTA

Chapter Twenty-One MAGENTA

Chapter Twenty-Two BASK

Chapter Twenty-Three MAGENTA

Chapter Twenty-Four MAGENTA

Author Note

Other Books By Rosemary To Read

Appendix One: The Membership

Appendix Two: Rebels

Appendix Three: Professors In Rebel Academy

Appendix Four: Characters

Appendix Five: Witch Covens And Courts

About the Author