“Bad,” I muttered, clasping my hand around the bar of the cage. I promised myself there and then that I’d never use it. “This whole…witchy thing…very bad.”
“Quite. At least you’re self-aware enough to understand why I shall kill you.” A voice as silky as Okami wound from the gloom behind me, followed by a flurry of feathers.
Then I howled, as my hair was snatched, and I was tossed to the floor. I rolled onto my back to stare up at the winged creature above me…winged man. I drew in my breath because it was like facing off with a furious fae who also happened to be prettier than I was (and I couldn’t help the pout at that). His long silver hair cascaded over his gleaming violet eyes that matched his wings, which beat fiercely, gusting hot air across my cheeks.
Was wing envy a thing…? Because I definitely had that.
He wore silver leather trousers and tunic, which hung open over his pale chest, and he spun silver disks with deadly intent between his elegant hands. I scented his popcorn magic bubbling up and it reminded me of the Omega’s. He was no wolf, however, so how was that possible?
“Why does everybody want to kill me?” I hissed. “I don’t even hex people who wear animal costumes or mascots and those scary freaks have got it coming.”
The violet-winged man tilted his head. “Oh, well in that case, why don’t we just sit down and have a glass of wine together? Or how about an evening of fun games? I’m Mischief, by the way.”
When I nodded, holding out my hand for him to help me up, he rolled his eyes and didn’t take it.
“Why, how gullible do you consider I am, witch? I desire nothing but your death. I shan’t become your pet.” Mischief’s gaze flicked to the punishment equipment and then back to me; his expression was troubled. “I fought for my people’s freedom before, and I shan’t be enslaved again to anyone. Our idea of play is clearly incompatible.”
I spluttered. “Hello, universe that seems to hate me, this isn’t mine.”
Mischief shot his disks at me, and I hollered, scrabbling backwards. Yet just as I thought that I’d be incinerated, my crimson burst out, shadowing around me like vines, until the silver bled over the top but didn’t touch me. I pressed my fingers against the tingling red in wonder, and it shifted — alive.
I laughed. “Take that, Tinker Bell.”
The silver dropped away, although the crimson didn’t recede. I might be new to this but if I had nothing else, I had common sense —sometimes.
“That would only be a viable insult, if I happened to be a fairy,” the obviously not fairy drawled. “I’m sorry, do you believe yourself safe in your cocoon? I shall simply have to find a new way to break through to you.”
I stiffened, biting my lip and clutching my hand protectively over the pocket of my jeans and Okami.
Breathe, just breathe…
I peeked through a crack in the crimson up at the violet shadow, which suddenly in a sizzling spray of sparkles changed into a tiny silver unicorn that tumbled out of the sky and bounced off me and onto the floor.
“Ow,” Mischief’s voice groaned out of the unicorn’s cute mouth. The unicorn rubbed his hoof over his sore fluffy head. “Of all the intolerable, deplorable, fiendish—”
“Such language from such a sweet unicorn.” As the crimson slithered back inside, I snatched Mischief’s horn and yanked him up to eye level. He squeaked. “As a battle move, I have to tell you, that wasn’t epic.”
The unicorn pouted. If he became any cuter, I’d forget that he’d tried to kill me.
And I wasn’t forgetting that.
Steeling myself to break the promise that I’d only just made, I swung open the cage and slung Mischief inside, although more gently than I’d intended. He still landed on his rump with an offended mewl, staring up at me with large eyes.
I slammed shut the cage, locking it. Then I stood with my hands on my hips, whilst the unicorn studied me warily.
“I assure you that this version of my unicorn self was not deliberate.” Mischief tossed his head, sulkily. “Perhaps you may perceive that my magic is not functioning at its optimum. And I blame you, witch.”
“Hey,” I banged on the top of the cage — clang — and the unicorn sneered, “my patience isn’t functioning at its optimum, and I blame you. Plus, I do have a name. Crimson sounds better than you hissing witch like you’re about to burn me at the stake.”
Mischief turned around, wriggling his fluffy tail at me in disdain.
“Turn back into whatever you truly are,” I commanded.
Nothing.
“I can’t interrogate a…plushie.”
Did Mischief just snicker?
Then there was another sizzle of sparkles, and Mischief was back to haughty aristocrat, even caged in the gloom. I studied him. “You’re a guy but you have magic…”
Mischief sniffed. “My, you’re a quick one.”
“But that makes you a mage.” I met his serious gaze, noticing how his jaw clenched. “Okay, I know that means you’re my enemy but I’m truly not into all that witches hating mages stuff. I’ve never even met a mage before today.”
“Oh, but you assuredly have; you simply haven’t been aware.”
The second thing that you learned in the House of Silver was that mages were real and the witches’ enemy. Like the werewolves, we’ve been locked in a war with them for centuries. As far as I could tell, supernaturals have mostly taken sides in a tangled web of wars, allegiances, and alliances. If you found yourself on the losing side, then you suffered.
Like the werewolves.
Mischief drew up his knees, encircling them with his delicate hands. “I’m not the fool you appear to take me for.”
I blinked. “Huh…?”
“And you shan’t brand me.” His breathing became ragged, and his nails bit into the leather of his trousers.
“Thanks for the heads up. Are there any more reds on your kinks list, whilst we’re not even negotiating that you want to scream out?”
Mischief pinked, before he looked away. “You witches brand to bind a mage’s magic.” My shadows twitched at the shock of that thought. My magic was part of me and to restrain or steal it would be…a violation…like being blinded. I was shaking and I didn’t even know why, until Mischief’s knowing gaze met mine. “Do you feel it…the sacrilege?”
I scowled. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I’d done that.”
Mischief twisted, lifting up his hair to show me the base of his neck: M marked him in a faded branding. His expression gentled, as he dropped his hair again, hiding the evidence of what witches had done to him. Was that guilt making my insides squirm? Yet why should I care what had been done to a mage? “The magic that bound me was broken, but I won’t ever forget what it was like to be so shattered.”
“I won’t hurt you or anyone like that,” I whispered.
“Pretty promises are almost as sweet as pretty lies.” Mischief rushed the cage door, slamming his fist against it, and I tumbled backwards onto my ass. “I know that you’ve already damaged my powers. I can’t access the Gateways in my mind.”
“And I know that you’ve threatened to kill me, as well as having attacked me in my own home. I seriously think that I get to be the one doing the bad cop impression,” I snarled.
“I didn’t choose to be in this dank cellar with a goth red-head who doesn’t even know how to be a witch.” Mischief’s eyes narrowed. “So, release me and send me back.”
I rubbed my smarting ass as I crawled closer to the cage. “Where?”
Mischief sighed, smoothing down his hair. “I assure you that it’s beyond your astoundingly vague knowledge of the supernatural, but it’s named the Realm of the Seraphim, and I was torn out of my home, away from my family.” His look became pleading and painfully hopeful, even as his lip trembled. “And I would very much like to be returned please.”
His fingers reached through the bars to me, and I couldn’t help stroking their softness, as I’d pet Okami when he was anxious or I wa
s. Mischief’s silver sparked against my red.
I shook my head, withdrawing my fingers. “I only arrived here today, and you’re right, I don’t know a damn thing about being a witch. But that’s the point: I don’t know how to send you anywhere, unless it’s on a day trip around the sights of Oxford.”
Mischief roared, slamming his side against the cage, and I winced on his behalf, as his shoulder swelled purple. He hugged his arms around himself. “Look, you insufferable, broomstick flying, familiar loving, frog kissing—”
“I can’t fly,” I interrupted his rant, checking off each point on my fingers, “I don’t have a familiar, and I’m even less likely to kiss a frog than I am to kiss you.”
For the first time, Mischief grinned. “Lucky me because otherwise my lover in the Realm of the Seraphim would most certainly burn us both to ash.”
I paled, fiddling with the buckles on my boot. “She sounds like a bitch.”
“Oh,” Mischief smiled with a dreamy expression, whilst his eyes closed, “she most certainly is the most glorious bitch. She has no problem with me loving any number of others in our family…but a witch….?” Then his eyes snapped open, and his gaze met mine. “Now return me to her.”
I raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Do all mages act like alpha dicks?”
Mischief scrutinized me unblinkingly. “Only the archdukes. Oh, and the angels.”
Huh, so he was an angel. Plus, the son of an emperor. I guess that explained the wings, prettiness, and the ego. Although, who knew that angels were actually shifters and mages. At least, this one was, but maybe he was different to the others…?
I sighed, shuffling closer to the cage and working to open the lock. The unease in Mischief’s eyes was a good thing, right? So, why did I hate it so much?
I scrambled back, pushing myself against the wall, as Mischief stepped out of the cage, folding his hands smartly behind his back.
“I should kill you,” I murmured. “My aunt would’ve killed you.”
Mischief’s shoulders tensed, but his lips quirked. “Then I’m doubly lucky that you’re not your aunt and don’t know a damn thing about being a witch. I fear that I know little about being the typical mage either. Why don’t we strive to keep it that way and work together to get me home?”
When I nodded, he took a step towards me.
Okami poked his head out of my pocket, sniffing the air, before flying out to circle around Mischief’s head.
Mischief tried to hide his smile. “Would you mind telling me why your handkerchief is checking me out?”
Okami squeaked in outrage, before flattening over Mischief’s face. Mischief choked on the silk that was smothering him, staggering and clasping at his own face like a Man in the Silver Mask remake.
“Bad wolfie,” I chastised, catching the giggle in my cupped hand. “Play nice with the royal prick angel.”
Okami peeled himself off Mischief’s reddened face, reshaping into a wolf. Mischief snatched at him, but he darted to the side, diving back into the safety of my pocket like a kid hiding behind his mom.
Mischief wiped his hand over his face, as his wings hugged around himself. “Any more surprises that you’ve neglected to tell me about? An army of mountain dwarfs secreted in your pants perhaps? Deadly imp assassins in your bra, or—”
“A werewolf in my wardrobe?”
“Quite.” Then Mischief’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you truly meant that you have…?” His eyebrow arched. “For only having been here one day, let me congratulate you on the collection of pets that you’ve acquired.”
I flushed, scuffing my boot against the floor. “You’re not pets, and this used to be my home: The House of Silver. Then the wolves killed my parents, and I was sent to live with relatives in America. It’s dumb, but I hardly remember it now, and there’s something off about the house, like, it’s been changed or brought to life. Plus, my aunt wants me to become this all-powerful witch…thing…that I can’t be, not like she wants. But I’ll let down my parents and legacy if I don’t…”
Why was I telling this mage my buried fears? Yet I couldn’t stop the tears that had earlier threatened to fall as I’d sat on the stairs, looking out over my estate. I’d only been back one day in Oxford, and the past already weighed me down. It was too heavy. How would I ever bear it alone?
I slipped my hand into my pocket, rubbing Okami between my finger and thumb, as I always had when I needed comfort.
Kind of need to stop crying here…
Then warm feathers cocooned me, and Mischief dragged me close to his chest. The thud of his heartbeat soothed me, as his cheek rested against mine. I nestled further into his feathers.
Trust me, I could get used to being held in the wings of an angel.
“I was never what my mother wished,” Mischief murmured, and I understood that because I’d always been the kid with paint on my fingers and dirt on my dress, whose hair never lay quite right for the grownups. “I was never what anybody wished. For a long time, I was a disappointment because my silver magic was viewed as feminine, when mages should only have gold magic, and I suffered for my difference. But I learned none of that matters. All that does, is protecting those you love, your family, and your people.” When his gaze met mine, it was hard and assessing. “Do not become the witch who meets their expectations, but the one who meets your own. I believe we can help each other.” He brushed his finger under my eyes, wiping away the tears, before stilling. “Is it me, or are the walls moving?”
I twisted around, peering at the walls, which were blurry like wet paint that had bled…and were closing in.
I gripped Mischief, as I yelled up at the ceiling, “That’s it, Spooks, enough with the cheap tricks.”
The walls only wavered closer, as a joyful pop ballad burst from the floor.
Mischief jumped, and his nose scrunched in disdain. “On my wings, are we to be driven to insanity by—”
“Robbie Williams serenading us with “Angels”?” My ears ached at the loudness. Mischief attempted to muffle the song by wrapping his wings more closely around my head. “Who knew that this house had such a sadistic sense of humor?”
“Desist, malevolent spirit!” Mischief howled.
When the music died away, I sighed with relief, until the walls rushed us in a sudden blur that made my guts give a sickening lurch and twisted us around in a metallic whirlwind. I shrieked, clutching Mischief tighter, refusing to allow him to be dragged away from me in the chaos — protecting him, even if he was a mage because I was determined that nobody else would die in the House of Silver.
Then the whirlwind snatched us both up and out of the cellar, and I quivered at the thought of where it’d drop me next. I’d known that it wouldn’t be safe to return to Oxford, but I’d hoped that I was home.
Yet was I less safe in a witches’ house, than if I’d been thrown to the wolves?
CHAPTER THREE
I stared up at the giant violet door, which had a gold knocker shaped like wings in its center. Mischief’s feathers brushed against my shoulder; I didn’t know whether the fact that he was standing so close to me was reassuring or not.
The whirlwind had dropped Mischief and me on our asses in the only other part of the mansion that I’d been forbidden to play in as a kid: The attic.
The dying evening sun bled through the dusty windows, and onto the sheets that were draped like ghosts over the secret heirlooms, forgotten toys, and broken treasures of generations of my family who’d lived here before me.
Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. My throat felt scratchy and dry. When I glanced at Mischief, I realized that he looked just as worn, panting in the heat.
Holy hell, how long had the angel been trapped in the basement?
Huh, thoughts like that were starting to sound…almost…normal.
What made Stella or this freakishly alive house think that I could look after anyone? Honestly, my last houseplant had survived less time than it’d taken for me to fly out from America, c
hoose my Charm, and end up standing here in an attic with an angelic archduke.
Mischief nudged my shoulder, and I nudged him back.
“Well, aren’t you going to knock?” Mischief glanced at the intricately wrought wings on the door.
“I don’t think so. How about we pretend that they’re not in and try for that glass of wine you suggested earlier?” I swallowed. “Angels do chill out, don’t they?”
Mischief’s gaze was frosty. “My mistake, I hadn’t realized you were frightened of angels because they’re what lies behind this door.” He snatched me by the waist, smashing me against the wall. I yelped, as the door knocker bit into my back, before pushing at his chest. I couldn’t move him. How powerful was he? “Perhaps, I played all that downstairs quite wrong because I was blinded by my own fear. If I’d only known the intimidation of a single door…”
I squirmed; his lips were too hot against my ear. “Dude, personal space.”
Mischief gave an arrogant smirk. “I don’t think so, witch. Do you wish to hazard a guess at which of us is now caged?”
Yep, not falling for that trick question.
Suddenly, the phone in my pocket vibrated and my ringtone gasped in a breathy voice: Harder, big boy.
Mischief raised a cool eyebrow. “If you insist…”
He crushed me harder against the wall, boxing me in with his arms. His hair swept across my face; I shook it out of my eyes with an outraged snarl, even as I flushed, shuddering as the vibrations from my phone made me tingle.
And hexes and curses, I wished that Mischief couldn’t tell.
“That’s just—” I blinked.
“Big boy?”
I ducked under Mischief’s arm, and this time he let me dodge away. “Okami dicks around with my ringtones. It’s a text, not an invitation.” I pulled out my phone, before squeezing my pocket just hard enough for Okami to yip. He didn’t fly out though, probably planning his next prank attack.
Whilst scanning the text, I rubbed my finger over the garnet ring on my right hand. Stella had presented it to me as soon as she’d picked me up from the airport. I’d almost dropped the ring because I’d recognized it as one that’d belonged to my mom; she’d smoothed the hair from my forehead every night as she’d tucked me in, whilst wearing that ring. It’d been amazing to own something of hers, which connected us.
Only Perfect Omegas: A Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance Series (Rebel Werewolves Book 1) Page 3
