Rebel Warlock's Wizard Mate: M/M Gay Fantasy Romance

by J B Black

  “I noticed you skipped lunch,” Ælfweard said, smiling. “The desks are big enough to share. If you want, I can grab food, and then we can study together.”

  Pride clawed at his chest, demanding he throw the man back. His stomach yearned for sustenance. None of the other wizards could see from their desks, so Ælfweard had no need to fear that another wizard might spy him the warlock. Even his voice — not even quiet when attempting to whisper — could be heard over the bubble of silence created by the wards at each desk.

  As William struggled to decide between the wants of his pride and stomach, Ælfweard wrapped an arm around the back of the warlock’s chair, reading the essay over William’s shoulder once more. “He’s really keen on items which have been proven to have dangerous aftereffects. There’s a reason nobody uses lead for gold transformation anymore.”

  Shoving his chair back, William grabbed all of his notes and dumped them into his satchel before grabbing the stack of library items. “Considering how standoffish all you wizards have been, you’d think you’d know when you weren’t wanted.”

  “Wait,” Ælfweard called, reaching out

  William dodged the wizard’s grasping hands with a dark glower. “Just because you’ve bullied me out of a desk doesn’t mean I’m letting you take these.”

  The blond wizard’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t -”

  “Not my fucking problem,” William hissed, storming off before the wizard could make whatever excuses he intended. If he had to levitate above the shelves, the warlock intended to be anywhere but near Ælfweard.

  As the warlock stormed off, Ælfweard deflated. His eyes caught on the plate of food — quickly and utterly ignored. Stomach lurching, he stood, faltering between following after when he clearly wasn’t wanted and letting the warlock leave hungry. After worrying about food for so long, the idea that someone would purposefully ignore their health set off alarm bells in his mind. Ælfweard recognized the thirst to prove himself, but William threw aside his own body. He hated to think what the warlock feared. Did he not have a home to return to? Was Aelion all or nothing?

  Running a hand through his hair, Ælfweard sagged back into the chair. William deserved better. The whispers in the hallway followed him, and Ælfweard emphasized, but his heart ached, yearning to protect the man from the way he cut himself up over and over. This couldn’t be just about three points. Three points never led to skipped meals, and second place meant celebration not self-flagellation.

  “Two plates and no books. Here I thought you had some sort of intelligent studying habits after hearing you got first place in your year,” Nicholas drawled, sauntering through the bookshelves to where Ælfweard sat.

  Frowning up at the third year, the blond wizard shook his head. “This wasn’t for me.”

  “No — it was for that warlock, wasn’t it?” Nicholas glanced around, smirking. “Where’d he run off to?”

  Ælfweard’s eyes narrowed. No matter how he tried, Nicholas’s face remained unreadable to him. “He prefers to study alone.”

  “Hm...guess he’s more wizard than you then, isn’t he?” the other wizard teased. His strawberry golden locks curled in a perfect coif, and when he turned his head, he smirked with the ease of a man who never heard no a day in his life. “He’s rather pretty, isn’t he?”

  Nicholas made no attempts to hide the trap. He laid it out in front of Ælfweard without any attempt to hide the judgment waiting no matter what conclusion the blond offered in return. Agreement might get a sharp reminder. In the rare occasions when he was younger and his mother’s family still spoke to them, they repeated how tarnished she became for marrying an Irish wizard — especially one who was so poor and untalented. Her parents pleaded for her to leave her husband — offering to even take in Ælfweard, mentioning that he might be saved. His name came from a desperate attempt to assuage their prejudice. A good strong, English wizarding name — old and covering more than one tombstone in the family cemetery. A place Ælfweard last went to when he was an only child all those years ago.

  “He’s my biggest competition,” Ælfweard offered, hoping it sounded cold enough.

  Nicholas sat on the edge of the desk, nodding. “Only three points away.”

  “Seventeen points from the next wizard,” the blond commented.

  His cousin rolled his eyes, pushing away from the desk as he crossed his arms over his chest. “They’ll panic and study harder. If you give them an inch, you’ll be at the bottom of the pile and no way to climb before you know it.”

  For the first time, Ælfweard realized his cousin — unlike most of the students — wore clothes much more akin to what William wore. He had those same denim pants on — though a bit looser in the legs — and a fitted black sweater which had a high collar. Custom-made shoes separated the two, but William wore leather boots which weren’t terribly different. Though he had not spent time with Nicholas often, the clothes fit him well, and he stood without fidgeting or tugging at them as if he dressed like this often, but the few times he had seen him in passing, Nicholas had worn robes.

  Frowning, Ælfweard asked, “Are the third years going out?”

  “What?” Nicholas scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you pay attention? It’s the night after a testing day. Everyone who is going out is already three sheets to the wind.”

  Ælfweard gestured at the other wizard’s clothes. “But you’re dressed up.”

  “Dressed up? These old things,” Nicholas hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. “Hardly.”

  Despite his feigning an air of casualness, his eyes continued to search the library. Stone-cold sober, the man surveyed every inch like a hunter. Twiddling his signet ring with his thumb, the strawberry blond licked his bottom lip before smirking when he caught Ælfweard watching.

  “You’re here for -”

  A finger waggled as Nicholas clucked his tongue, silencing the blond wizard. “I’m being nice, Ælfweard. Don’t make me change my mind.” Patting the younger’s cheek, Nicholas laughed. “For your family’s sake, keep on task. You might just find a position with Workneh gets you more than just a fantastic education.”

  With one last cocky smirk, the older wizard swaggered off. His casual glances down each aisle undermined the endeavor, but with an empty library, only Ælfweard saw. Watching the other prowl about, looking for William awoke a vile acidic churning in the blond’s stomach. His knuckles paled, whitened by the tightness of his fists as his nails dug into his palm, but the pressure paled in comparison with the vitriol which threatened to fall from his lips.

  Whatever intentions Nicholas had, they weren’t pure. His kind pulled people in, lured them with promises of all they could do only to talk a person into turning themselves inside out to appeal to whatever strange appetites suited best that particular day. Those same people whispered in Ælfweard’s mother’s ear, painting the horror of what she would get if she married his father and then continued to warn that the rug would be pulled from her feet when she least expected it until she could take it no more. In a way, they had been wrong. His parents loved each other. They loved their children, and despite the panic whenever bills came due, they held their family before money, and if they handed the strain instead to their children, what did his parents care? They plodded along, rejoicing when they could be together. Every time, a child resulted, and they celebrated as if the already thin spread of what little they had could be stretched even further.

  Nicholas never worried about that. When the door closed on Ælfweard’s mother, her parents doted on him instead. They ignored their grandchildren, refusing to acknowledge the tainted blood in them as having connection to the Blythe family. With the split branch being pulled back into the main family, Nicholas had no need to fear poverty. His life came in a single clear path. Born with a silver spoon, he would die with one too. Without siblings or any other close relatives to inherit, what could they do if he decided to toy with a warlock? As long as he never intended to marry William, the
y wouldn’t care what Nicholas did or who he got pregnant. Bastard came into the world every minute, and none of them would get the Blythe name.

  Stomach sinking, Ælfweard sighed. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, and his appetite which roared for food just a half hour ago drained to frustrated disgust. There would never be enough food in the world to fill the hole in his chest. His cousin had talent. Privilege and education gave him what he needed, but Workneh selected his students for their abilities, and Nicholas had proved himself, entering the school at the right time and with the right skills. Nothing else mattered. Given half a reason, the older wizard could poison Ælfweard’s reputation in Workneh’s ear. No amount of firsts could undo that damage.

  So Ælfweard would hold his tongue. He would ignore the way his skin crawled when Nicholas scoured the library. Push down the bile his stomach and silence the fury in his chest until his body creaked with the exhaustion of swallowing it all down. William knew better. Nicholas didn’t have a chance. The warlock kept to himself, and the anger in his eyes at wizards grew with each passing day. No amount of kindness made it through, and if he had any skill at judging sincerity, William would see right through Nicholas to the rotten, spoiled spirit at his core.

  And that would be enough.

  It had to be enough.

  Because what other reason did he have to chase after William? People able to make his life miserable discouraged it, and the warlock avoided him, so the pull to keep approaching him was a disastrous and self-destructive one. Breaking a habit took time, but Ælfweard managed before. Had trained himself more than once to do what he didn’t want to do in order to make the best out of a horrible situation. If he focused on his coursework, he’d stay ahead. Keep his first position and continue through the course to the end with the best chance of having Workneh bringing him under his tutelage. His urges — they were just left over impulses from caring for his siblings for long. William didn’t want them. Didn’t need them. Doting on him ended in disaster. The dark-haired magic user hissed spiteful phrases whenever Ælfweard offered his hand, so Ælfweard would give him space. Would let him make his own way. Because William wasn’t his brother. No bonds of friendship existed between them. Nothing tied them together.

  Chapter Seven

  One point. A single pathetic point separated him from the top position amongst the alchemy first years. He studied every waking hour. Half of the week, he never ate, and the few times he did were when he didn’t have time to do more than grab a meat pasty and run from his morning session to the afternoon coursework. Every duplication spell made to help him take items from the library proved short lived. The copies only lasted twenty-four hours, so William couldn’t entirely avoid the library whenever Ælfweard showed up.

  Although the wizard hadn’t pushed into his space again, he had taken to leaving apples or oranges on the corner of William’s desk as he walked by as if the warlock couldn’t take care of himself. He didn’t need a minder. A single point separated their scores, so if anyone in the course needed help it was one of the other eight who were more than fifteen points behind them.

  “That was a close one, wasn’t it?” Ælfweard offered, but his smile wasn’t as wide this time around.

  Before William could tell him off, Gilroy strolled over. “Don’t waste your time on the warlock, Ælfweard. He’s just upset he can’t sleep his way to the top here.”

  “Sleep my way to the…” William’s teeth clicked harshly as he clenched his jaw. His fingers curled into fists. “Must hurt to be a distant third, but just because you’d suck McCoy’s dick for some extra points doesn’t mean we all would.”

  Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. “Unlike you warlocks, we wizards have some decency.”

  “Oh, buzz off, sweetheart. I’ve got no interest in marrying into this bottlenecking disaster,” William retorted, and as she sputtered, he walked off, ignoring both as he headed toward the library.

  Gilroy shook his head. “Absolute disaster. They should have never let someone like that into Aelion.”

  “He’s so crude,” Natasha agreed, clucking her tongue.

  Timothy hummed in agreement, but his eyes stared after William, pinned to the warlock’s tight pants. Most of the wizards wore robes, but even those who dressed in trousers preferred looser ones. However, the man certainly had the ass for those dark-wash jeans. Though Ælfweard found his own eyes drawn to the same, the fact that Gilroy’s henchman didn’t bother to hide his interest caused a building sense of unease in the blond’s stomach.

  The wrong-footedness followed Ælfweard through the rest of the day, and when he made it to the library with two meals in hand in hopes of trying once more to bridge the divide he found it almost entirely empty. It was a testing night, so they had the weekend off, and more upperclassmen often spent the time off-campus, so it wasn’t entirely surprising, and he set down a plate of food and his bag on one before heading toward the secluded desk William preferred. At first, the man’s ducked head didn’t startle him, but when he drew closer — into the silencing spell — the warlock’s soft snores curled around the wizard’s ears. While not snoring, the soft breaths sat upon that unease brewing in his stomach. This man — for some reason — inspired a desire to protect and coddle.

  Setting down the plate of food, Ælfweard bit his lower lip, glancing around. He hated the idea of leaving him alone, but the warlock never seemed welcoming, and based on the way the others in their course treated him, Ælfweard couldn’t blame him. When William shivered, the wizard’s heart ached. A spell risked waking the dark-haired man, so retreating to his desk, he tugged off his sweater, using magic to undo the knit and redo it as a blanket. He placed the blanket around William’s shoulder, and when the man sniffed softly and pulled the knit around to nuzzle into the fabric with a contented sigh, Ælfweard’s chest swelled with pride.

  Which only left him more confused. Retreating to his desk, he tried to study, but Ælfweard’s mind jumped around, unable to focus, so with one last glance to the sleeping warlock, he left the library. If a warmth settled the anxiety which plagued Ælfweard since he arrived at Aelion, he could keep it to himself. So what if caring for the other man brought him pleasure? No one needed to know. Not even William.

  ***

  When the bell chimed, announcing the library would shortly lose, William woke surrounded by warmth and a scent which calmed the constantly guarded edge which grew stronger and stronger in his chest every single day at Aelion Academy. His fingers tangled into a deep green knit blanket.

  Blinking, he frowned, glaring about the library, but nobody was there. His body ached. A desperate, fiendish desire brewed low in his belly, demanding he hold tight to the warmth and bury his face in the blanket to breath the scent of whoever had left it behind. Ridiculous. He wasn’t an animal. All the wizards stared after him — whispering as if he were some sort of broodmare, some wild creature who would descend into the frenzy of heat and beg to be bred. He wasn’t. His control remained absolute. They needed outside measures to control their reproduction, but witches and warlocks used the force of their will to select when and if they would sire or carry a child. Their bodies radiated magic in a way wizards obviously failed to understand, and no amount of kindness could buy his grace.

  Throwing aside the blanket, he gathered his things and left the library with a scowl on his pale face. If they wanted to treat him like something delicate to be coddled and hidden away when it wasn’t mocked for its extraordinary abilities, then he would ignore their idiocy and assume any limitations they placed upon him as ridiculous as the rest of their treatment. So what if none of the other students had the courage to create a laboratory in their rooms in a side dimension? He could do it. Even if William blew something up, he could collapse the dimension on itself and contain the explosion. Nobody in this whole castle could prove it was him. Once the dimension collapsed, there would be no sign it had ever existed. None that these wizards would be able to find. Not with their strict formulas
and ridiculous rules.

  Tossing his books on the bed, William slammed the door to his bedroom shut, locking it as he tugged his clothes out of the wardrobe. With a laboratory, he would catch up. He’d have the time to study the reactions himself — to describe them better than any of those insipid wizards ever could, and when he claimed the first position, the rest of his peers could bite their damn tongues.

  “This is a great idea,” William reassured himself as he wove the spell into the wood. “No one will know.”

  Warlocks held secrets. Spells woven into the fabric of the air rather than directly onto the surface. A hovering tie as delicate as a spider’s web. Brushed away and left to the wind, it left no marks behind. Perhaps the rest of the academy fell into line. All those wizards walked the same way. Talked the same way. Every single one repeated the same trite phrases as if they could hold onto the past. This was why wizards were dying out. They failed. Holding to some sort of glory days, they let the world move on without them, and magic wasn’t that simple. The world had never been simple. No matter how the wizards wanted it to be. If the whole mess of them wanted to pretend, then they had nobody to blame but themselves when the whole mess came crashing down.

  A knock sounded at the door, and panicking, William threw the doors of the wardrobe closed. All at once, his anger dissipated to fear. Wards. They had the whole castle warded, so they probably knew exactly what spells were being cast everywhere. He assumed too much. Now, he had to explain what he had done and why without giving away his real intent.

  Which was fine. He could do it.

  Straightening up, he adjusted his shirt, pulling the hem down and running his hands through his hair as he approached the door. When he opened it, a wizard he didn’t recognize stood outside. He leaned against the wall, holding the green-knit blanket in his hand. Taller than William, the man smiled in a practiced way. His pale eyes and rose gold hair irked the warlock. He was too perfect. Like his face couldn’t be real. The sort of handsome people used magic to weave themselves into being. And all those damn wizards thought he paraded around like a demon. Incubi primped too.