Root Rot Academy: Term 1

by Rhea Watson

  He responded by slithering his hand farther up my inner thigh, dangerously high and ridiculously inappropriate, his dark chuckles washing over my skin and unleashing a legion of all-too-telling goosebumps. With a burst of fae speed that made both the library and my head spin, we went from the stacks to the far back corner, to a door made of solid oak with a brassy knocker and handle. Gavriel barreled in without a word, kicking the oak shut behind him, then stalked across what I assumed was his office and dumped me unceremoniously on his desk.

  Skirt way up my thighs. My silk blouse untucked and rumpled. Panties bunched and annoyingly damp. Curls everywhere. Fuck him. Seething, I brushed my hair back, taking a few seconds to acclimate to the space. Unsurprisingly, it was huge and airy, just like the library itself, the furniture luxe leather and mahogany with gold touches, the massive window probably offering a spectacular view of the highlands in the daylight. Neat. Orderly. Twin chairs in front of his desk and a potbelly stove tucked in the corner for additional heat.

  No bookshelves.

  Which seemed… odd.

  No real clutter to speak of, either, his desk sparse with just a closed laptop and a few stacked notebooks to one side. It would take him all of two minutes to clear down and leave—like he had never been here in the first place.

  “Gavriel—”

  “Let me make the fucking apology,” he growled, stepping between my thighs and cupping my core. The first brush of his palm had my lips falling open and a breathy little moan tumbling out, pleasure sparking and skittering up my body like a swift and sudden lightning storm. He found my clit effortlessly, even through all the layers, just two tumbles in the dark enough to make him an expert in my body. Sucking down a shaky breath, I grabbed at his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded and on the verge of fluttering shut. While I meant to shove him off again, he was so fucking good with his hand, knowing just how to massage me, cup me, stroke me, squeeze my swollen lips through my stockings.

  My eyes snapped open.

  And that was the point, wasn’t it?

  As if sensing I saw right through him, Gavriel kissed me, swooping in and catching my parted lips with his, going soft and slow and languid like his hand. Glaring at his closed lids, I kissed him back, played along, tried not to get too wrapped up in what he was doing between my thighs…

  Because this was his game, his MO.

  Fuck a girl into forgetting why she was mad at him.

  Kiss her like that made it all better.

  Overwhelm her, pleasure her, make her howl through a climax that had her seeing stars—because who could be angry at him after all that?

  He knew he was good. Handsome. Alluring. Not massive and intimidating like some of the supers and shifters in this castle—just enough sin to make the innocent ones swoon and dangerous enough to attract those like me who enjoyed a rougher hand.

  Playboy.

  A fae who needed to be put in his place.

  The Alecto from ten years ago would have rolled with it, self-esteem questionable, self-worth laughable. Any distraction, any attention, was enough for her. Booze. Boys. Work up to her eyeballs as she got her degree. Anything to not think—about the past, about Grandpa’s suicide, about the unconditional affection I’d craved my whole life and never truly felt.

  But the Alecto of today had found her backbone—for the most part. I might not have felt worthy of the name I chose when I was thirteen lately, all my rage and retribution with Benedict Hammond more like a kitten’s meow than a lion’s roar, but I could handle Gavriel.

  He was the kitten.

  I was the lion.

  And while I might have relished him bending me over a table again, I wasn’t some godsdamn pushover totally oblivious to his games.

  His manipulations.

  So I kissed him like I was losing it—losing myself in him, peppering in some moans and writhing my hips to match his hand. If I had less self-restraint, I could really have fallen into this, the rhythm of our bodies, the ferocity of our mouths, his scent all-consuming and the guarantee of a heart-stopping climax beyond tempting.

  But fuck him.

  He stole from me and thought I was too smitten, too dumb, to realize what he was doing.

  Throwing an arm around his neck, I slid off his desk and kept him close. Lost in the kiss, my bite softened to what hopefully read as deep, desperate passion. Gavriel followed where I led, groaning when I grabbed his tie, and I navigated his simplistic but richly styled office in the dark, eyes shut, wandering along the desk until I hit a corner, then back until I found another one.

  That chair belonged in the headmaster’s office, not here, the leather plush and pliant to the touch. Fingers gritting into the armrest, I broke the kiss to breathlessly shove the chair back just enough to maneuver him. Frantic, frenzied, I led him onto his throne by his tie…

  And Gavriel watched it all unfold with wild eyes and a crooked grin, like he loved every fucking second of my surrender—like he actually thought he was in control here.

  He flopped into his chair, then beckoned me onto his lap, his hands curving around my thighs and smoothing up to my ass. While a tight fit with my knees on either side of him, we managed, and as I twined his tie around my fist again, heaving breasts to his chest, he chuckled and slipped his hand under my skirt.

  “Oh, fury,” he whispered roughly, “there you are.”

  I kissed him hard in response—furious and fast so he wouldn’t see the flash of anger in my eyes. Anger at myself, of course, beyond annoyed that despite everything, he still turned me on. Plan or no plan, my body responded to his caress like a lock to a key, opening for him, unfurling on his lap like he had all the power.

  Not tonight, playboy, and if I had my way, never again.

  While we both kissed to conquer, me with the new height advantage and Gavriel with unbridled fae strength, our hands trekked in opposite directions. Both firm. Both cupping and caressing and pinching and grabbing—but his went north, up my neck, over my face, into my hair, and mine went south, down the rugged planes of his chest, the taut peaks and valleys of his abdomen.

  Right to his belt.

  Which I unbuckled frantically, adding some purposeful fumbling to really drive the act home. He groaned when I yanked open his trousers, ripped down the zipper, and I swallowed the sound greedily, latching onto his tongue and sucking hard just as my hand delved under his briefs. I’d felt his cock straining between my thighs, eager and wanting and big enough to make me never want to give him a blowjob. That thing would choke me—fact.

  Especially with the hold Gavriel had on my hair, tight and domineering, ready to set a pace whether I wanted it or not.

  And… I would want it.

  The thought of him fucking my face… did things to me.

  Even if this fae pissed me off, he had still taught me about myself in the last few months, and, hey, a little sexual liberation never hurt anyone. I liked to submit. Who knew?

  But not tonight.

  What had once been a soft, subtle groan turned into a full-blown snarl as I cupped the silky head of his cock, then delved lower, stroking him—gently, teasingly, slowly caressing his velvet steel, rocking my hips in time with the rise and fall of my fist, our kiss tapering from a hurricane to a misting of rain. Eyes locked, we watched each other as I set the pace, previewed how I would rock on top of him in this very chair, occasionally even brushing my clit along his shaft.

  Because fuck it, I deserved something here, too.

  “Isn’t this supposed to be my apology?” Gavriel asked hoarsely, all the frantic, furious energy muted, his office quiet except for our heated whispers. I nibbled my lower lip, easing back just enough for him to see me all disheveled and rumpled, my gaze hooded.

  “Yes.” I removed my hand, a little too satisfied with his sharp, bristly exhale of—what, disappointment? Then, stepping way out of my comfort zone, I shoved my palm at his face. “Now lick.”

  Darkness glittered in his silvery gaze, and, briefly, my fantasies took
over. I saw him refusing to humor me anymore—standing abruptly and tossing me onto the desk. Flipping me over and wrenching my stockings down. Ripping my panties clean off.

  Maybe even stuffing them in my mouth before he—

  “Curious creature,” Gavriel murmured before dragging his tongue the full length of my hand, base to fingertips. He took his time, eyes still locked on mine, tongue hot and dangerous, slick with sinful words that would put me out of commission if only I hadn’t seen the herbs. But I had. No taking it back. No changing who this fae was at his core.

  The thought made my chest tight, but I pushed through, setting my wet hand back to work, stroking him faster now. When his lips parted, more purrs on the tip of his tongue, I pounced, kissing him fiercely enough that I’d be swollen all day tomorrow.

  Worth it.

  As he clutched at my curls, I worked him up. Kissed and moaned and writhed on his lap. Stroked him. Fisted his cock and stroked my thumb over the sensitive head just to make him squirm. I pushed him to the brink, until I felt a cock that was already impossibly hard stiffen even further in my palm.

  And then I stopped.

  Enjoy your blue balls, dick.

  At first, he watched me hungrily, mouth twisted into a toothy, predatory grin—one that faltered as soon as I climbed off his lap. With a sniff, I fixed my skirt, unwedgied my panties, and righted my stockings so they sat comfortably again. Even though I was also primed for a very thorough ravishing, something I knew Gavriel could deliver in spades, I could also just walk it off.

  Or, you know, quickly and silently see to myself in the bathroom while Bjorn set up the TV.

  Whatever.

  For now, I planted my hand on his shoulder and leaned down, any whiff of wanton abandonment gone.

  “Now we’re even,” I told him, eyebrows up. “Don’t ever fucking steal from me again.”

  After giving his muscular shoulder a little squeeze, I stood and turned on my heel, strutting for the door with my shoulders back, head held high.

  “Fury.” Gavriel exhaled the word in a sharp chuckle. “You righteous bitch.” The chair legs whooshed over the hardwood behind me. “Get back here.”

  He sounded like he was saying it with a smile—a dangerous one that promised pain and pleasure. Goosebumps skittered down my arms and desire throbbed low in my belly, but I kept going, eyes on the door, until his reflection in the huge window stalked into my peripheral view. Hunting me, was he? Clamping down on the insides of my cheeks, I whirled around and flicked my right arm, dislodging my wand from its forearm holster. As soon as it plunged into my hand, I leveled it at his handsome face, stopping the fae dead in his tracks.

  Gavriel shut that smiling mouth, the humor giving way to a sneer, and his jaw rippled through a clench. His eyes briefly dipped to the tip of my wand, to the cherrywood that had served me from the moment I picked it up at the wandmaker’s shop in Toronto seventeen years ago. Cock out and still hard as a rock, the fae slowly raised his hands, fingers splayed wide and weaponless.

  “Noted,” he growled. “I’ll replenish my stock elsewhere.”

  Good. Hopefully the threat stuck. I lowered my wand, but only to his chest, and flashed a syrupy smile that I hoped grated on his nerves. “Great, and make sure those books get back to the right student, will you?”

  Just as he started to lower his hands, probably to fix his pants, I poked him with my wand. Risky—he could just snatch it away, but it wasn’t like I needed a conduit to cast: the wand just kept things from getting messy, magic a wild and unpredictable mistress. The fae raised his hands again, trousers halfway up his toned thighs. “Of course, I’ll see to it personally.”

  Gods, a bit of power felt good. I gave him a quick, dismissive once-over, then tipped my head to the side. “Excellent. Good night, Gavriel.”

  He waited until I was halfway out his office door to growl back, “Good night, fury.”

  I carried on without missing a beat, headed for the kitchens with victory in my veins and confidence in my step, more than ready to shift my focus to Bjorn and his troubles, hoping, as I left Gavriel’s kingdom behind, tonight’s plan might cure whatever ailed him.

  17

  Gavriel

  I rather liked this time of year, each day shorter than the last. All the encroaching darkness and shitty, unpredictable weather reminded me of home in the Ash Court—which put things in perspective. Reminded me why I was here, slumming it in the mortal realm while my court carried on without me. In time—ninety-eight students left to serve up to Darkwell Academy—I’d return. Waltz through the diamond-encrusted halls of the king’s court and present myself as a fae of means and wealth and status beyond measure.

  Make them pay for what they had done to me.

  All that and more Lucifer had promised so long as I met the terms of our deal.

  The pleasant days of spring and summer were just too much, all sunny and bright and wildflowers blossoming as far as the eye could see. As the first week of October crept along, I much preferred the rain and the muck and the damp, the black skies and the promise of chaos. Come winter, frigid sleet would chase the masses inside, but I’d be out there, in the thick of it—because it reminded me of ash storms.

  Reminded me of a home I risked forgetting if I let things drag on as I had. Autumn and winter’s frosty kiss brought focus, clarity. It also meant there were fewer souls wandering the castle courtyard after dinner, chatting and laughing and interrupting my evening smoke. I much preferred this: an empty yard and a full pipe. Seated on the bench beneath the gnarled old oak, I dragged in my first hit of the evening.

  Nothing salacious tonight—nothing stolen from the greenhouses, anyway. Just flavored tobacco to accompany the roast they served for dinner, rich in flavor and faintly aromatic. One of my favorite after-supper blends, in fact, with a strong dose of latakia tobacco mixed with the sweet and spicy hit of a Louisiana perique. Delicious.

  Arms crossed, I settled back into the bench and held the pipe to my lips, exhaling a whoosh of light grey smoke from my nostrils. Above, the crinkly oak canopy whispered in the evening breeze, a soothing accompaniment to the pipe—

  A beautiful quiet shattered moments later by an explosion of voices. Huffing, I homed in on the group in question: the Samhain brigade. Stalking down the corridors just beyond the central courtyard, Bjorn and Alecto led their recently appointed party planning committee with broad, beaming smiles on their faces, no doubt tickled by their enthusiasm.

  And why wouldn’t they be? These little urchins were seldom excited about anything at Root Rot, but Samhain was an event in the supernatural world that simply couldn’t be ignored. At regular academies, it was the party of the year. From what I’d heard, they blocked off the whole day for feasting and games, partying and dancing. Even a few of the upper years were permitted to drink, while the postsecondary academies just went wild, reminiscent of fae courts in their depravity.

  Before Jack, Root Rot Reform School indulged in none of the feasting, partying, and dancing. Sabbats and equinoxes were acknowledged formally with a slightly better meal than usual, but otherwise it was just a regular day. Then Jack Clemonte came along and obliterated the status quo, and while I’d always assumed our Samhain tidings had a more subdued flavor than those at other academies, they stood out amongst the student body as a night to remember.

  In fact, student behavior improved drastically the week leading up to the big day, all our little delinquents perfectly capable of pretending so they wouldn’t miss out on the festivities.

  While it was still only the first week of preparations and the students had just nailed down the theme, Bjorn and Alecto’s group were quite the talk of all the staff meetings. And why shouldn’t they be? Staff of every sort looked forward to the night just as much as the students, and if they fucked it up, we’d never let them forget.

  Just like a certain little witch would never let me forget that she had caught me stealing red-handed. Through a grey tobacco haze, I tracked her figur
e as she breezed down the corridor, dwarfed next to her vampire flatmate and chatting animatedly with some third years at the head of the herd. They passed from archway to archway just beyond the courtyard, all bundled up in their layers against the October night chill and headed down to Bjorn’s classroom for their meeting. From here on out, this bunch of upstart misfits would convene nightly before his evening classes to prepare for Samhain.

  Quite the commitment from all of them, staff and students, given the countdown to term’s end, all the coursework really starting to stack high.

  Thank the stars I didn’t have to deal with any of that nonsense. There might have been a flurry of activity in the library around all the big due dates, but I had underlings to manage that. I fell more toward the archival side of things, all the behind the scenes business that everyone thought just happened mysteriously on its own.

  My next exhale produced a ramrod-straight cloud of light grey, shaped like the witch’s wand—which I had become uncomfortably familiar with a few nights back, its tip thrust in my face. Dangerous to shove a wand so close to your attacker; just a sleight of hand and I could have taken it from her. Alecto was quick—I was quickest.

  Still, I’d let her win the day.

  She deserved it after that stunt, her brilliant display of fire. As she had stalked out of my office, head high and shoulders back and ass swishing under that little skirt, Alecto Clarke felt worthy of her namesake.

  Such a delectable surprise, her little show. It came out of nowhere; I’d expected a halfhearted fight, but they always gave in no matter how cross they were with me. She had stood her ground. Put me in my place.

  Someday soon, I intended to repay her in kind.

  I peered around the oak as the Samhain crew’s racket dampened, the whole lot descending underground through one of the corner stairwells.

  Begrudgingly, I also intended to keep my word: no more stealing from the greenhouses. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t push her buttons, test her limits, stoke the embers brewing inside. Nothing too serious, but Alecto had proven she possessed a lovely temper…