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

by J B Black

  “Because we’re alike, Grey. You’re the firstborn of a fated pair — different and significantly more powerful than your parents. I’m the first and only of a fated pair — more powerful in a way,” Gilroy hummed, and while Ælfweard held his tongue, perhaps the other simply expected his disagreement. “What? You think me placing third makes me less? My alchemy is on par with my healing skills, Grey. I happen to have a talent for technomancy, but — well, as useful as that is in the modern day world, wizards don’t kindly to anything mortal-adjacent.”

  “Technomancy?” Ælfweard frowned.

  “Machines — engineering, basically an amalgamation of plasma manipulation and fine-tuned telekinetics,” Gilroy explained with a surprisingly friendly smile, but it quickly slipped from his lips as he shook his head. “My point is — you’re ridiculously defensive of someone who is almost guaranteed to not give a damn about you.”

  “And you’re awfully determined to bully another student,” Ælfweard retorted, refusing to back down on this point. He wouldn’t let a single conversation change his position when William hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Gilroy huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve got to direct their energy somewhere.”

  “Maybe they could direct it on their studies,” Ælfweard suggested, but even he could admit how unlikely that was.

  Perhaps in another course, it could have been easier; however, in alchemy, all the students came from rich, privileged families. Every day of their lives, the bulk of them had been told they deserved more because they were better than everyone else. Fed that over almost two decades, the chances of them being able to handle being in the same room as each other without focusing on cleaning ranks and backstabbing to get ahead slimmed to almost an impossibility. These were the always greedy, blood hungry monsters which his mother had recalled in the few times she shared anything to do with her life before meeting their father.

  Standing, Gilroy brushed off his shirt and straightened his high collar. “You’ll have to excuse me. I happen to have somewhere to go today, so enjoy your weekend as Belmont settles in, and think about what I’ve said.”

  Leaving Ælfweard to his thoughts, the copper-haired wizard let himself out. Where excitement brewed in the blond’s stomach before, his panic overtook him. He had no reason to believe Gilroy. The other offered only anecdotes. Their shared history had value. On its own, Ælfweard might have found it worth reconsidering, but Gilroy and his friends used whatever they could to wreck those around them. Anything the other said needed to be taken with a grain of salt. Coming alone, Gilroy didn’t risk anyone else noticing moments of weakness, and to claim he had been born from a fated match positioned him strangely.

  Rubbing his hands over his knees, Ælfweard stared at the spot where Gilroy had sat. He had rumpled the smooth sheets, leaving a mark there which remained in the blond’s mind even as he ran his hands over the sheet to brush them away.

  As his stomach sank, the wizard grabbed his books and left the room behind. It would be better if William had a chance to settle in without eyes on him. He would stay in the library, burying himself in his studies in the main library. There were more desks there, and while the texts specific to alchemy only made up a small percentage, enough were still strong enough to allow him to address the bulk of his coursework.

  By the time the chimes announced the library would close, Ælfweard’s eyes ached. He trudged back up the stairs of the tower, taking as much time as possible. Emptiness gnawed at his stomach. Outside his door, he paused. He ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before he knocked.

  Something crashed inside, and William’s voice — muffled though it was — came in curses before the door swung open. “Oh — it’s you,” the warlock huffed, jumping a bit as he righted himself. His hair fell in tangles about his head, but the bright white bandages around his leg drew Ælfweard’s eyes. “Don’t,” William hissed, gesturing for Ælfweard to get inside. “I’m fine. My leg is fine. You can aim your stupid worrying at someone else.”

  Ælfweard set his bag down on the desk on his side of the room as he did his best to keep his tone relaxed. “Why would I be worried? You’re walking on it. I’m sure you’re fine.”

  “Yeah — yeah, healers sealed up the bloody parts, so it’s just sore,” William grumbled, hopping onto his bed with a groan. “You’ve got three weeks with me. Sure you’re super happy about that.”

  Blushing, Ælfweard ducked his head, avoiding glancing over at warlock though he wanted to know if the other saw the way his tan skin flushed red at the accusation. “I don’t like seeing you hurt, but I don’t mind the company.”

  “I was...man, I was joking,” William retorted, and when Ælfweard finally looked at him, the other man laughed. “You’re stupid honest. This is not going to go well for you.”

  Grabbing his pajamas, the wizard shrugged. “I have a lot of siblings. Lying doesn’t usually help much, and there isn’t much you could do that’d be worse than them.”

  “Or your siblings were just too nice. I have a whole plethora of modern movies that I could reenact if I wanted,” William teased, and the warmth of his smile reawoke the hope Gilroy had smothered in Ælfweard’s heart.

  Offering the warlock one last shrug, Ælfweard headed to the door. “I’m going to grab a bath and then head to bed. You can keep the light on. I can sleep through almost anything.”

  William nodded, returning to his studying without a world. Though he still looked pale, the shadows under his eyes had shrunk, and the hunger which seemed to haunt every line of his body couldn’t be found. Reassured, Ælfweard left to bathe, hoping the next three weeks would only see the warlock grow even healthier.

  ***

  Despite his claim, Ælfweard woke at the slightest noise even if he could sleep through bright lights. Before dawn, William rose, shuffling off to the bath and returning dressed for the day.

  “You’re up already?” Ælfweard groaned, stretching.

  William huffed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’m behind on work. Keep snoozing away the day, sleeping beauty. Some of us actually need to study.”

  “Wait,” Ælfweard said, jumping out of bed and quickly changing. “If you can teleport us to the kitchens, we can get food and eat before hitting the library.”

  Standing near the door, William barely heard his words. His eyes focused on the broad shoulders and narrow waist revealed as his new roommate peeled off his loose sleep clothes to grab a knit sweater and loose trousers. Even after months at the wizarding university, Ælfweard resembled an athlete more than he did the other wizards. Scottish gray skies failed to take away his warm tan skin or the freckles across the bridge of his nose and the tops of his shoulders which William desperately tried to ignore. The rippling biceps and broad back remained as well. Every inch of him seemed trained and honed. Ready to lift William off the ground and hold him against the nearest wall as his undoubtedly thick cock breached the warlock’s warm heat, reshaping him to remember his form perfectly.

  Want curled like a serpent in the warlock’s core, waiting to strike when he least wanted to acknowledge its existence. His pale cheeks colored pink, and he turned his grey eyes forcibly away as his cock twitched in interest. Luckily, his joggers were loose enough to hide the wave of arousal as he buried it deep inside before it could brew into anything too great to contain.

  “Yeah — yeah, sure. Food,” William nodded when sky blue eyes flicked to his face in expectation of an answer.

  Smiling as he tugged up his thick socks and pulled on leather boots, the wizard didn’t hesitate to step into the warlock’s personal space once he had his own bag in hand. “Let’s go!”

  “Yeah…”

  William settled for resting a hand on the wizard’s shoulder as he brought them through the castle in a single spell to one of the large halls outside the kitchens. Warm fresh bread fragranced the air. Spiced meat left Willam’s mouth watering, and the hunger he constantly suppressed growled loud
ly.

  “Come on,” Ælfweard beckoned. “They’d love to meet you.”

  But the warlock hung back. “I think this might be a you-mission.”

  Ælfweard frowned, tilting his head as his blue eyes scanned the dark-haired man’s face. “They aren’t as prejudiced as our classmates. Most people outside of the alchemy department don’t care that a warlock is here.”

  “Even if that were true, it would only be because I wasn’t in their faces every day. They aren’t going to go about doing favors for me,” William huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Ælfweard pouted, looking like a kicked puppy, so the black-haired magic user added, “Besides, my leg hurts.”

  Blue eyes widened. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It isn’t a -” before he could finish his sentence, Ælfweard swept William up into his arms, holding him like a bride ready to be brought over the threshold into her husband’s house. “What the hell, Grey!?”

  Ælfweard laughed, carrying him toward the kitchen. “Now, you don’t have to walk.”

  “You idiot,” William hissed. Smacking the other on the upper arm, he demanded, “Put me down.”

  “But your leg hurts,” Ælfweard protested.

  “So?”

  The blond wizard paused, and his solemn blue eyes pierced William to the core. “If I can do something to stop you from being in pain, I’m going to do it. You don’t weigh much. Let me carry you.”

  Though he spoke softly, his voice struck straight to the warlock’s core. Alone and lonely, William yearned to relax into the offered embrace. To allow himself to be carried. To take comfort in the hold of another’s arms around his body and the warmth which radiated off the blond’s muscular form, but at the same time, his fear curdled the longing, tainting it with hesitation. Before he took the chance to make friends, the wizards in the alchemy course shut him out. They judged him — demonized him. To them, he had no purpose but the seductive excuse he might offer. Their elitism — the bloody expectations like royals lined up to just fall down — kept him at arm’s length, and even those like Nicholas — like Ælfweard himself — reached out with expectations on their end.

  How could he trust those arms wouldn’t drop him? If he placed himself in a position of vulnerability, no one else would be found at fault if they tore him down another time. William expected so little — and still he was disappointed. Time and time again — insulted and belittled and treated as delicate for the want of the pleasure they believed they deserved — the heat between his thighs.

  But no amount of fighting pushed Ælfweard away. Again and again, the wizard came back. He offered food. Showed weakness when he requested help with druidic law. If he sided with Gilroy more than once — and not always under the pressure of his peers’ gazes, did that undo his efforts?

  Cold crept in. It hung about William, holding him back from the offered hand, and meeting the bright sky blue eyes, the warlock shook his head. “I’m good waiting here.”

  Ælfweard bit his lip, but with a nod, he headed into the kitchen. A sense of loss tugged down like a weight in William’s stomach, but relief came as well. Washing over him, the absence of judging eyes left him on steadier feet. Alone, he was safe. If he never let anyone close, they could never hurt him. They couldn’t distract him. Play upon his caring to drag him down and toss him aside.

  None of this was what he wanted. Dreaming of warm common rooms with roaring fires, William imagined a warm world of magic where every exciting story unfolded. Other minds — minds desperate to learn and eager to study the way the chaos of magic rippled out — weren’t wizards supposed to be methodical? Hadn’t everyone warned him that they were bookworms more interested in the mechanics of magic than the drunken revelry he would find on a mortal college campus? Where was that?

  Sure, the wizards in his course acted methodically. They demoralized him. Bit by bit, studying what struck him deepest, Gilroy honed his attacks. Day by day, even Timothy who wasn’t all that bright compared to the rest of those in the course, they found different ways to push him away. To label him outside their own. From Natasha and Elizabeth utterly ignoring him when he spoke to Timothy’s hungry gaze, William existed not as another person to them but an object. A barrier between Elizabeth and her continued education. Something to covet — to rut into late at night when the clench of a fist didn’t properly scratch the itch — even if William had no intention of ever giving himself over to any of them — not Timothy, not Nicholas — he wanted to study. Wanted to stumble across true love. A fated mate — just like his parents — a soulmate. Someone who clicked from the beginning. A person who drew him in, a black hole whose horizon he ached to throw himself beyond.

  “Don’t tell me your roommate abandoned you already,” a familiar voice drawled as Nicholas walked up beside him.

  William frowned. “He’s getting food.”

  “Hmm — I guess it is probably best you don’t go into the kitchen. The wizards there would likely be furious a warlock managed to get a place. None of their children would ever have the talent to get into the alchemy course,” Nicholas informed him with an approving nod.

  Of course. Just another time being a barrier. Why bother trying harder? The damn warlock should just get out of the way. Barely sleeping — barely eating — nothing but work, tiring himself to the bone, yet his peers continued to coddle themselves and expect the world to alter itself to suit their needs. Pathetic privileged pricks.

  Laughing, Nicholas ruffled William’s dark hair. “Careful, William. Anybody could read that expressive face of yours.”

  “Everyone already hates me. Why should I pretend I’m not judging them?” the warlock grumbled, slapping the other’s hand away.

  If the touch had felt good, he was just touch-starved. He didn’t like Nicholas. Didn’t feel good when the other man drew closer and looked at him as if he were the only bit of the world worth having. People who looked at others like that rarely actually saw them as people. If Timothy had a higher position in their class hierarchy, he could likely get away with the same, and it would mean just as little as his hungry stare. Nobody actually loved a diamond. No matter how much they wanted it, did what they could to get it — it was still a bobble. Something to be kept.

  “You might find it easier to get along with some of them if you empathized a bit more,” Nicholas informed him. “They’re weak. No matter what they do, they can’t keep up with you, and if they claim Grey as one of their own, they can pretend that they’re superior to you in some way. One wizard beating you in a test by one pathetic point means nothing. Odds are McCoy just graded you more harshly.”

  Jaw clenching, William bit back the scream of vindication. McCoy targeted him. Focused on every small error, marking it off more than was reasonable but not so far that he could reasonably complain. With their ranked tests being cumulative between courses for the semester, McCoy would continue grading, being the fate that controlled his life until the next semester when the cumulative grader shifted, but it wasn’t like any of the other professors weren’t just the same. The students took notes where they could. Almost as fast as Gilroy, the lecturers set a target upon his back, but William gained nothing by agreeing with Nicholas now. Hearing the words validated his inner thoughts, but acknowledgement changed nothing.

  “Doesn’t matter,” William decided to say instead. “I’ll get first next time.”

  Tilting his head, Nicholas smiled in that strange way. Not disbelieving perhaps but considering — as if he weighed and measured every inch of the warlock right down to his soul. “Wizard Jameson grades starting next semester for you first years. She’s not much better than McCoy.”

  “I haven’t had a class with him yet.”

  When Nicholas stepped forward, William shifted back, but he kept coming. A small shifting dance acknowledged only in the spark of mischief in the other’s pale eyes. “She’s married to a sorcerer, so you’d think she’d be better, but after the pair had their first two — both sorcerers, r
umors have been circulating they’ll be divorcing soon.”

  “It really is all about lineages to you guys, isn’t it?” William huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as Nicholas once more leaned against the wall, blocking him in with his body.

  The older wizard smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “As long as the children are wizards, any magic user is fine, but wizardry...well, it’s proven to be a rather recessive trait.”

  “Why does it matter? Magic is magic,” the warlock insisted.

  Shaking his head, Nicholas stepped back. “Warlocks and sorcerers blend more easily with mortals. Chaos thins the more magic dilutes with mortal blood, and with Faerie closed to the majority to the majority, any child not trapped in this mess has a higher chance of thinning the blood.”

  “That’s ridiculous and completely wrong! Magic is chaos. Druids proved time and time again that magic can happen spontaneously and the power of an individual’s magic has little correlation to the power of the parents!” William exclaimed, breaching the distance between them to state his case. “Sure, a child of at least one magical parent has a significantly higher chance of magic than two mortals, but there have been cases of two magical parents producing a child without magic, and low level psychics producing a high level sorcerer. It’s all how the individual accesses magic, and the more people shut themselves into communities and force that understanding on their children, the higher the chance that child won’t reach their full magical potential because they were forced to learn to approach magic in a way which wasn’t innate!”

  “That’s...interesting.”

  Flushed, William huffed, swiveling away from the wizard. “It’s always annoyed me.”

  “Most children share their parents' affinity. We have so little connecting us anymore, I — I understand why parents would be reluctant to allow their child to learn under someone whose magic style they didn’t understand,” Nicholas informed him. His eyes warmed as he set his hands upon the warlock’s shoulders, ducking as if the level of their gaze mattered. “I mean — if you were a through and through warlock, you wouldn’t be doing so well here, would you?”