Andro might’ve been a clone but he was his own fae.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lysander arched his brow. “I demand that you stop looking at me like you wish to eat me.”
“Since I’m not one of your subjects,” I scanned him from head-to-toe with a sexy leer that walked the line of insulting (okay, I might’ve fallen over the line), “you don’t get to demand. And that means an incubus may look at a prince.”
Lysander slunk closer. “And a prince may gouge out an incubus’ eyes.”
My wee break down over the Duchess might’ve made me forget just how dangerous the Princes were.
Oh, well…
I tilted my chin. “May both sides of your pillow be forever warm.”
Lysander blinked. “I tremble before you.”
Odd, but he didn’t appear to be frightened of my curse.
I still smiled smugly, patting his cheek. “Of course you do. I’m a mighty incubus.”
Lysander slapped away my hand. “Don’t touch my royal personage.”
I ached at his mention of touch. I yearned for Magenta with an urgent desperation. When I glanced at her, however, I wished that I hadn’t because Lysander then studied her with a contemptuous hatred.
“So, the witch is back,” he breathed, bitterly.
I flapped my hands, trying to claw his eyeballs off her. I didn’t mean that. Yuck.
At last, Lysander turned back to me. “Is your fit over?”
“Keep you bastard…everything…away from my Magenta.”
Lysander barked with dark laughter. “I assure you that I’ve never had less interest in having my anything near that woman. Not even if she begged me.”
“Less flirting, more fighting,” Ezekiel commanded. He stood with his hands smartly behind his back, eying both pairs warily.
Magenta grinned. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Sleipnir laughed, but dropped into a crouch. Magenta’s legs swirled in a black mist that coiled around him.
I spluttered, blushing. “This…us…not flirting.”
Ezekiel raised his eyebrow. “Hmm. Then concentrate. You all know now about the Rebel Cup…?” Next to me, Lysander stiffened. “The Punish and Reward Game is daily this term. In each lesson, either the Immortals or Princes will win and be allowed to choose either a punishment or reward for the other Wing.” My breath hitched, at the same time as I heard Sleipnir’s curse. They should’ve simply called it the Punish Game because the chances of the Princes rewarding us was the same as me climbing Hecate’s statue in the bailey and declaring my undying love for Lysander. Big fat zero. “The number of wins a day is added up, until Thursday. Then the overall winner becomes the Champion of the Rebel Cup. Of course, the student who’s behaved the worst must submit to the Memory Theater if a professor orders it.” There was something in the way that Ezekiel shifted from foot to foot and stared hard at the ground, which told me that would be less fun than fighting Lysander. “So, work hard.”
I stared at him. That was the pep talk?
Well, I was one motivated Immortal.
“I know that I’m new here,” Magenta sparkled with magic, which thrummed through me; she was more dangerous than any of us, even if she sounded as polite as if she was asking for directions, “but why are we training as warriors in the first place?”
Ezekiel finally looked up. “This isn’t simply an academy. You’re an army and you’re assassins. The supernatural world send their undesirables here, and we train them to take on the dirty missions that they can then deny all knowledge of. It’s how we’re funded and have such independence from witch law.”
Put like that, it sounded even worse than in my own head.
I glanced underneath my eyelashes at Magenta. She looked pale and stunned, as if she hadn’t known. But her family had established this entire operation with its Gateway to the missions. How hadn’t she known? And if she hadn’t, then that made her the most innocent, rather than the most wicked, witch in the academy’s history.
I couldn’t help the grin that she wasn’t truly like the other witches, and then realized how creepy it must look considering that she’d just been told that we were assassins.
When Lysander shot me a funny look; I shot him one back.
“I’m awfully sorry but I need to fight now.” Magenta’s eyes blazed. “I suddenly have a terrible amount of rage to express.”
Sleipnir nodded. “By the Valkyries, I’m right there with you.”
Ezekiel held up his hand. “We’re not here to simply beat each other up.”
“Pity,” Lysander muttered.
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s about the discipline in the kill. Today’s lesson is to knock your opponent to the ground in two moves. Creativity is awarded extra points or…” He marched towards Lysander and me. “…disarm your opponent within two moves. But no drawing blood; there are enough others who’d hurt you. Rebels should stick together.”
Ezekiel should’ve been a camp counselor.
When Ezekiel stretched out his wing, it flamed so brightly that I covered my eyes. Lysander stepped forward eagerly, however, thrusting his hand into the flames.
My eyes widened. The fae was a bastard but he had balls (big ones as his trousers showed, snicker).
When Lysander pulled back his hand, he was holding a glowing scimitar with runes down one side. He looked different. What was it…? Then I realized: he was happy.
Lysander cradled the scimitar, kissing the metal. “Welcome back, baby.”
I looked away because his joy made me uncomfortable and I wasn’t even sure why. “Whatever gets you off.”
Ezekiel’s wing flamed again, and Ezekiel shook it at me encouragingly. I bounced up and down on my toes because the angel had never allowed me near a weapon before, saying something about me being at risk of cutting off your own fingers or something even more important (maybe he had a point).
I took a breath, before I thrust my hand into the flames and pulled out…
A wee fencing sword.
A wee blunt fencing sword.
The gym echoed with the grunts and hollers of Magenta and Sleipnir as they practiced moves on each other, but all I heard at that moment was Lysander’s mocking laugh.
“To be honest,” Lysander drawled, “I was expecting him to get a dagger.” He held up his long, curved scimitar next to my short, thin sword. My sword almost wilted. “He probably measured our dicks and—”
“Decided that I didn’t need to overcompensate,” I snarled.
“You’re fast, graceful, and cunning,” Ezekiel interjected, gently. “You haven’t the strength to swing a scimitar.” At Lysander’s smirk, he added, “And Crown hasn’t the speed for your sword. This lesson is about working out your strengths.” All of a sudden, Ezekiel swept closer to Lysander. He looked as ancient as I knew he was and a truly righteous angel. “Oh, and it’s tipped with iron. It’ll hurt like a bitch if it even grazes a fae.”
Lysander shrank back. “You can’t do that.”
Ezekiel’s lips curled into smile. “And yet look, I have. I’m only making things fair. Surely your royal personage isn’t frightened?”
Lysander’s face smoothed into a haughty mask, as he strolled closer to the windows and into fighting stance. “One is never frightened.”
I snorted. Royal liar.
I slunk after him, holding up the sword like a snake. What happened when you struck a fae with iron? I was hoping that he’d start singing and dancing the “Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep” song.
Lysander eyed me. “Don’t slow me down today. I’m aware that you Immortals don’t take training seriously but I do. It’s the only time that I’m allowed a sword in my hand and to feel like…” His face was strained as he looked down. “From the time that I was a boy, I was never parted from my weapon.”
I bit my tongue from the obvious joke because Lysander had never spoken so many words to me that weren’t insults, and I knew that it pained him now to s
peak to a lowly incubus. This must be important, so I didn’t want to be a dick.
I nodded.
Lysander finally let out a breath of relief. “I’m glad that we can work together on this. My guardian, Prince Titus, expects me to train hard and a prince doesn’t let down their elders.”
“I know, just everybody else.” My palms were sweaty on the hilt of the sword; I circled Lysander.
Lysander was so rigid that he could’ve been a puppet. “My uncle—”
“Got Hector killed.”
“My uncle got me locked up,” Lysander growled.
He lunged, and I dived to the side, escaping his blow, but then he twirled around cracking my back with his open palm. When I stumbled, he locked his arm around my throat, forcing me to drop my sword.
“In two moves.” Lysander shoved me away, grinning. “Pick up your weapon.”
Incubi had an old adage, and it went like this: owww…
I rubbed my sore back. Then I snatched up my sword and held onto it more tightly.
How was I supposed to beat somebody who’d been fighting like this since he was a kid?
“No need to be rough,” I grumbled.
“I thought that your kind liked it rough,” Lysander sneered, prowling around me in a way that made the hairs on my nape rise. “You only have yourself to blame for bringing out my bad side. Your stunt at Hecate’s Tree has risked my whipping boy in the Rebel Cup. Do you believe that I wish his wings to be broken?”
I’d once watched Lysander make Midnight, the Princes’ whipping boy, crawl at his heels for the length of the castle. It was a tough call on which way to answer. But there was something about the way that Lysander’s hand tightened, until his knuckles were white around his scimitar, which meant that he didn’t want Midnight to be hurt.
I pouted. “Aw, how sweet that you care.”
Lysander tilted up his snooty nose. “I don’t. Yet one such as me doesn’t have the time to care for a sniveling whipping boy who can no longer fly. Damaged goods are beneath royalty.” I flinched: he meant like me. “That’s why I intend to do anything necessary to win.”
“Do as you wish.” My gaze was steely “But I love my whipping boy, and no one’s killing him.”
Lysander studied me with a look of regret. “Love…? Then I’m sorry…”
He punched me in the nose with the hilt of his sword.
I hollered, falling backward onto my arse (and that’d bruise). I cradled my nose, dropping my sword, as my eyes watered.
“One,” Lysander said, quietly.
Why wasn’t he grinning this time?
“Enough,” Ezekiel bellowed; his wings pulsed a deeper violet in his fury. “And you two, don’t you dare move.”
“I rather thought that I’d punch a fae in the nose.” Magenta’s eyes were ice-cold.
“By Odin’s cock, make it two punches,” Sleipnir snarled, as his hair darkened to an ominous red.
Ezekiel stretched out his wings; his flaming gaze never left Lysander’s. “You were told not to draw blood. Do I need to write to Prince Titus and inform him that you no longer obey orders?”
Lysander flinched.
I stared at the blood, which had dripped from my nose onto my shirt. I didn’t know why I hadn’t expected Lysander to break Ezekiel’s rule. Except, Lysander was usually a suck up. He didn’t like to be in trouble, and by the look on Ezekiel’s face, there wasn’t enough sucking up in the world that Lysander could do to get out of it.
“Not the face,” I moaned. “Does it please you to pretend to be sorry and then disfigure me?”
Hurt an incubus but never damage their face. Punishments must never mar the visible beauty.
Lysander only chuckled, before reaching down to hold out his hand to help me up. Perhaps, he hoped that it’d get him out of punishment.
Rage surged through me. He thought that I was nothing but a weak incubus with the wee sword who could be knocked about by the regal fae, did he?
Never underestimate the power of a member of the Night Lineage when he’d been made to bleed.
Vibrating with adrenaline and fury, I snatched up my own sword and jabbed its blunt tip across Lysander’s cheek. I would’ve taken the time to carve a B, but the moment that the iron tip touched Lysander’s skin, it seared him. Lysander howled. I watched in horror, as he staggered, clutching his cheek.
I’d wanted to hurt him, just like he’d hurt my throbbing nose, but now I only wanted to take it back. I wasn’t a warrior. I hated making anyone, (even as big a bastard as Lysander), look at me with eyes that gleamed with tears, which he was struggling as hard as I ever did to not let fall.
“I-I d-didn’t know that it’d…” I chucked the sword as far from me as I could. It clattered against the wall. “I’m s-sorry…”
“You hate me.” Lysander’s agonized gaze darted between all of us Immortals, even Magenta. “But it’s not my fault who I am. And you’re not sorry yet but you will be.”
“I said enough.” Ezekiel grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet next to Lysander. Should I tell him that he’d officially lost control of this lesson? “The only way for you to survive is to put the past behind you but you can’t do that if you’re too busy fighting each other. Except, the Crows like to keep you distracted because they delight in your rivalries.” When he wrapped his wings around himself, I wished that I was safely snuggled in their tangy warmth again. “If you learn anything today, it should be that that there are enough enemies outside the academy. Don’t make them inside as well.”
His look at Lysander and me was so painfully hopeful that we both plastered on fake smiles.
The moment that the prince discovered me alone, I was officially dead.
Lysander rubbed at his tender cheek. “I understand that I’m pushing my luck, but who won the lesson?”
Ezekiel huffed. “After that display…? None of you. It was a draw. I should punish you all.”
I stilled, glancing at Magenta. Sleipnir’s arms were slipped protectively around Magenta’s waist, and I wished that I could be in their arms, instead of on the other side of the gym with a sullen fae.
Ezekiel rubbed his wing across my nose and to my shock, the pain vanished. “Now stop looking like a kicked puppy.” He glanced at Lysander, before repeating the trick across his cheek as well. I was so relieved when the burn vanished that I even grinned at the prince. Weird, I felt dirty. Maybe I had a fae kink. “Both of you stop looking like kicked puppies. As you drew, I get to choose the outcome of the Punish and Reward Game.”
My grin faded. The only consolation to my sexy self was that Lysander looked about as stricken as me.
When Ezekiel burst into laughter, I startled. “You’d think I was about to send you to the firing squad.”
“Aren’t you?” Sleipnir queried.
“I’m rewarding you by canceling today’s session in the Memory Theater. No other professor can order it, even if they wish to punish you.” Ezekiel’s expression darkened, as he scrutinized Magenta. “The original spell was cast by your mother, and even Damelza can’t break it. We all have our secrets that we wish to keep buried.” Beg me to let you burn yourself… When I swayed, struggling to breathe, it was Lysander who steadied me. Just for a moment, as our gazes met, it was if he understood. Then he shoved me away from him like he feared that he’d catch fleas. “Tonight at least, you’ll remain in the present. Both Immortals and Princes shall share an evening in the Rebel Café and live for once.”
“Living it up with the Princes… Hey, are you certain that this isn’t a punishment?” Sleipnir demanded.
Lysander marched to the door; his shoulders were tight. “If you wish to discuss punishment, then set your godly imagination to what I have awaiting you. Because Professor Bacchus is not renowned for her mercy, and I shall win the next lesson.”
“Bring it on, Oberon.” Sleipnir stalked after him.
“I’m a prince,” Lysander replied stiffly, “and not—”
“King of the fair
ies, yeah, yeah.” Sleipnir winked at me over his shoulder.
I tried to smile, but the crawling sensation was back under my skin, and I struggled not to scratch. Once I started, I’d draw my own blood and that was forbidden. I tucked my treacherous hands underneath my armpits, and stared at Magenta, who drifted as close to me as she dared, skimming her hand through the air over my nose, as if to check that it truly was fixed.
I fought not to lean into her touch (because electro shocking your lover was not sexy unless negotiated beforehand).
“We shall get through this together,” she murmured. “You’re mine, and even though they think to keep us apart, there’s nothing they can do that shall ever separate us again.”
My guts squirmed with guilt because she was wrong. Even if the Principal had told her about the Duchess’ visit, she didn’t know about the Duchess. Ma had thought that she could keep me from her and look where those intentions had got me: bonded to a psychopath who loved to burn rebellious incubi.
I forced those thoughts away because I already had to face another psychopath in my Spells, Hexes, and Potions class. This morning, Fox had sounded like a cute robin when he’d repeated SHP, which meant that I’d innocently pretended I couldn’t hear him, just so that he’d had to say it again a couple of times. Adorable. Bacchus was Sleipnir’s most feared teacher, however, and I might not be able to protect my own pettable arse, but I’d sworn that I’d protect Fox’s pretty one.
Yet Lysander had shown just how far he’d go to win the Rebel Cup. What was he planning? I had a feeling that Ezekiel hadn’t taught the lesson that he’d been intending.
After today, Lysander would be even more dangerous.
Chapter Fourteen
Rebel Academy, Monday September 2nd
Sleipnir
My connection to my brothers was the one thing that the witches hadn’t been able to strip away from me. They were my heart. But they were also dicks because sometimes, when I needed to feel most in control of myself, they surged to the surface to defend me.
Rebel Academy: Crave: A Paranormal Academy Romance Series (Wickedly Charmed Book 1) Page 18
