Just like every time that I was forced to enter Professor Bacchus’ classroom.
My hair bristled to red, and the tattooed wolves on my arms growled warnings, as I steeled myself for a new term of lessons in SHP. As the son of Loki, Bacchus had hunted me, but she’d no idea what she’d caught. It sucked that she didn’t care.
At least she hadn’t arrived yet.
You weren’t late for Bacchus’ class unless you wished to be transformed into a chair that was pillowed with pink blossoms for her to sit on. Trust me, I still had the sensation of her ass on my lap.
Bor’s beard, that’d been enough to scare me into behaving for life.
Bacchus’ magic prickled across my skin; my own magic feathered in fear inside me. I willed it to still, as I glanced around the room that was set out like a lab, if science took place inside a tree. Roots burst out of the floor, curling up and around the walls that were thick with moss. It was kind of like Hecate was possessively cradling Bacchus, and it gave me a sick feeling that the goddess was as close to Bacchus as she was to my Magenta.
I wrinkled my nose at the earthy scent, tightening my hold on Magenta’s waist. I adored that our ritual had freed her, but not that she was now trapped as an Immortal. Weirdly, Magenta didn’t appear concerned. I imagined that it was because she both had some sort of plan and had awesome power herself. After all, she’d kicked my ass in the Warrior Dueling.
Valhalla! It’d been hot to go hand-to-hand with someone who wasn’t my family, and see such strength, as well as love reflected back in her eyes. Honestly, I’d had to fight the urge to tear off her clothes and thrust my achingly hard dick into her, until she’d screamed out her surrender because that’d would’ve been both a creative way to win and what she’d desired just as much as me. The way that she’d caressed my dick, every time that Ezekiel had turned his back, meant that she’d been the reason for my blue ball predicament now.
I stealthily adjusted myself in my pants.
Then I steered Magenta to the lab table next to the window, which looked out over the bailey. The bronze Hecate statues were dancing to themselves in the snow like they were at a rave.
Huh, that was freaky even for them.
Magenta dropped gracefully onto her stool. “My gracious, I love what Bacchus has done with the place.”
I chuckled. “Hey, she’s just living the American dream. Woodland retreat, university career, and even a cat…”
I pointed at Pocus, who was curled up in the far corner in the shadows. Of course, he’d transformed back into a Halfling because his punishment must’ve been completed, which is why Magenta gasped.
“Unless animals have changed since I died, I’m pretty certain that is not a cat.” She pointed at Pocus who raised his head to glare at us.
I closed my hand over Magenta’s because pissing off Pocus was more dangerous than magically rewriting the school motto to glow:
Rebel Academy — Screwing the Innocent Since 1870
Yeah, that’d been me.
Interesting that it’d taken the professors over a week to notice that it’d been changed.
“Pocus is Professor Bacchus’ familiar,” I explained.
Magenta cocked her head, studying the lithe Korean vampire who was naked apart from a pentacle collar. He had striking black eyes but soft features that made him look like he’d burst into a K-pop dance routine at any moment. I winced at the memory of pointing that out to him, and the way that his fangs had latched onto my ass.
“Don’t lie to me.” Magenta’s magic sparked across my skin, but it drew me closer, rather than repelling me like Bacchus’ did. “I spent over a lifetime in dreadfully close quarters with twin familiars. That creature has the ears and tail of a cat, but retains the cock, balls, and fangs of a Fallen.”
By the Norns, I’d forgotten just how strange it’d been to see Pocus for the first time with his cute black ears poking out of his mop of black hair and his swishing tail. Familiars in the Victorian age hadn’t been freed into this form. How hard was it for Magenta to wake into such a changed age?
“He’s different,” I said, gently, “because someone brave broke the rules and freed the familiars from total enslavement. He’s a Halfling now — half vampire and half familiar. Adorable, right?”
Pocus preened.
Magenta nodded. “Who’s the equally naked gentleman that he’s trying to hide?”
I stiffened, and Pocus hissed, winding closer around the vampire who was kneeling in the corner.
“The Princes’ whipping boy,” I muttered. “If they’d got here yet, then I’d tell Willoughby and Lysander just what I thought about making him kneel like that. Here’s hoping that they’re late, and we get to watch Bacchus transform them into a couch.” I arched my brow at Pocus. “We get that you’re a fierce warrior and bow down before you in fear.” Pocus smiled with a hint of fang, satisfied. “You don’t have to guard your friend from Magenta.”
I stared at the pale beauty of Midnight’s back. Midnight’s dark hair fell to his waist in waves. His ash wings were neatly folded. He held his hands behind his head and didn’t move, as if he was a statue.
He waited as he always did, like he was a not yet in use Bunsen burner, for his masters to need him.
I scowled. Had I promised to wreck the Princes? I was wrong: I’d doubly wreck them.
I glanced up as my own whipping boy bounced into the classroom in a ball of hyperactivity that was the opposite of Midnight. Did Fox have any idea how lucky he was not to have been assigned to the Princes? The first time that he’d been told to kneel still in a corner, he’d have been punished within five minutes…wait, two minutes…more like ten seconds…
Huh, at least Fox appeared to be distracting Bask from the no touching rule that I could already see was sending tremors through Bask. Since Bask had been sent…abandoned…here last term, I’d constantly had an incubus plushie swinging from my neck, grinding on my lap, or spooning me in bed. Now it felt like I’d lost a limb.
Dwarf’s breath, what did it feel like to him?
Now, Fox was trying to make Bask laugh with a scarily accurate impression of Damelza, at the same time as herding him (without touching him), to the table at the front. As they settled onto stools, Fox turned to wink at Magenta.
“What’s this I hear about you becoming our Prefect? I mean, of course I was Head Boy at Mage College and…” I watched, amused, as Fox lost himself in the lie. Yet there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, which made me wonder if like me, he’d never actually been to College. Was he excited because this was his first taste of education and freedom? “…you know, a good boy.”
“And if you were a bad boy, I’m certain that you took your thrashings with great courage,” Magenta smiled, encouragingly.
Fox blushed and made a choking sound. Bask patted him on the back.
I glanced between them. “I take it you’re aware that Magenta becoming a Prefect to rival Lysander makes us all a target?”
Fox paled. “Still… #TeamImmortal!”
Magenta blinked. “What is this hashtag? My Greek is not what it should be.”
Bask snickered. “It means love.”
“Ah,” Magenta smiled, and her icy eyes warmed, “then let me say what has been in my heart but unable to be on my lips: I most deeply and madly hashtag you, my Rebels.”
I smothered my laugh, but both Fox and Bask couldn’t hide theirs.
Magenta glanced at us uncertainly, until we chorused together, “We hashtag you too.”
I couldn’t hold back the laugh, and on all the omens, it was awesome to feel surrounded by joy, mischief, and love.
Loki would’ve been in his prankster element.
Magenta grinned. “I never heard laughter in this castle as a child. I hope that we shall laugh together often.”
Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Lysander barged in with a furious glower. He dragged Prince Willoughby after him by the arm, who managed as always to appear entirely unruffled. Hones
tly, I’d always thought that it was kind of weird the way that Lysander pulled the elf around like he was his guard or Willoughby was dangerous.
Prince Willoughby always looked dangerous, of course, even though he was smaller than Lysander. It was the way that his sky-blue eyes were predatory with the same struggle for control that I knew lurked in my own. Yet at other times, like now, he’d appear dazed, as if something was keeping him pressed deep inside, crushing him.
Did he even know that he was in the Rebel Academy, rather than free?
Willoughby’s hair was as sky-blue as his eyes; it was snatched back by ribbons that curled like snakes. A royal blue silk wound around him in a military style, binding him. In the light, it glimmered: it was both gossamer light and as constricting as whatever held him inside his mind.
I narrowed my eyes at how hard Lysander’s fingers were biting into Willoughby’s arm. Why was he manhandling the elf, and why did Willoughby not react?
As if he sensed Magenta (and hey, the elf had a dick, I could see the bulge outlined though the thin silk), Willoughby’s gaze sharpened like he was rising from sleep, before he glanced at her and then quickly away.
He’d have to be made from ice not to desire my witch.
Lysander yanked Willoughby after him to the table at the back, shoving him onto a seat hard enough to make me wince, even though Willoughby didn’t.
Fox spun on his stool to stare at Willoughby. “Why don’t you have to wear the uniform?”
“Why’s your whipping boy talking to me?” Willoughby’s voice was regal and ethereal, but it hadn’t sounded like an insult, rather honest curiosity.
Lucky for him, or I’d have been adding it to my Wreck the Princes Fund.
Fox pulled himself up with a shrug. “Because I’m actually the Light Elves’ High Emperor in a very good disguise and you, pointy ears, have just insulted me.”
“I beg your forgiveness.” Willoughby bowed his head. I gaped at him. Was he truly playing along with one of Fox’s lies? The Ice Prince had melted for my mage? “A High Emperor no less? Of course, calling a prince pointy ears is also a serious crime…”
I detected banter. Immortals and Princes fought: we didn’t tease. Maybe I needed to explain that to Fox?
Next to me, Magenta lent on her elbow, cradling her chin on her palm. “Oh, do tell. What’s the penalty?”
Now even our Prefect was in on it? Had they forgotten the Rebel Cup? The generations of rivalry? They hadn’t been here: they hadn’t lost Hector.
“Oi, traitor,” Fox grumbled.
Lysander slammed his fist onto the desk, but Willoughby only arched his perfect eyebrow at the bang. “Why are you conversing with a whipping boy? On my wings, don’t encourage him or them.”
Bask snorted. “Get on with you, he doesn’t need encouragement.” Then his tongue curled behind his teeth. “And you should know that I never do.”
Lysander threw his hands up in exasperation. “Now they all think that they can talk to our royal personages whenever they like.”
Willoughby’s lips twitched, at the same time as Magenta giggled. I didn’t miss the way that he sneaked another glance at her.
“Why are you wearing those bindings?” Magenta leaned across from our desk to point at the silk wrapped around Willoughby, and her stool wobbled. Willoughby drew back like she’d been about to launch an attack. “There’s no need to be bashful. I wear a corset; I know all about clothes that don’t let you breathe.” Then she mock whispered, “Plus, you don’t know how lucky you are not to have to worry about freeing your bosoms.”
Could any of us truly be blamed for the way that our gazes dropped to her gorgeous tits? When I raised my gaze again to meet hers, my dick gave an appreciative twitch, and she smirked like she knew.
“I shall call myself a lucky elf not to have bosoms.” Willoughby’s lips thinned. “But I need this special suit to control—”
“Silence your tongue. You have no need to explain anything to Immortals,” Lysander spat, before glaring at Midnight who’d turned to glance at Magenta over his shoulder. Midnight’s charcoal eyes were suffused with pain from kneeling for so long; his eyelashes were sinfully long. “And you’d better not be picking up bad habits from their whipping boy like moving out of position, as you are now. You’ve earned a punishment tonight.”
Instantly, Midnight turned back to the wall, but he couldn’t still the way that he vibrated with fear. Pocus shot a venomous look at the Princes, before rubbing his soft cat ear against Midnight’s shoulder.
Magenta’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I very much think that he has not.”
Lysander’s smile was sharp. “You have your whipping boy to treat as you wish, fellow Prefect, and I have mine. The other witches expect it to be this way, why are you different?”
“The other witches are bitches,” Magenta snarled, leaping up.
All of a sudden, the room shook, and the roots curled up into a bone-white throne. When I swallowed, and my pulse quickened at the sudden scent of mulled wine, I noticed that Fox looked close to a panic attack. The mage had crouched down as if he was only just stopping himself from transforming into his cat form and hiding underneath the desk.
Honestly, Bacchus made me want to join him.
Branches of purple ivy coiled like sinuous vipers over the edges of the root throne, tangling into the professor, who smoothed down her dress like she hadn’t just transformed out of the foliage.
Instantly, Lysander and Willoughby sat straighter like good little princes.
Bacchus adjusted her moth brooch, and met Magenta’s steady gaze. “An all-powerful immortal follower of Bacchus, actually. But you’re right, I’m just as much a bitch as the others. Please, take your seat.”
Magenta’s mouth hung open. Stunned was a good look on Magenta. Perhaps, I could use my talents to make her look like that in much more fun ways?
I entwined my fingers with hers, gently pulling her back onto her stool.
Bacchus studied the way that our hands were joined. “So, the new witch that I’ve heard so much about has already tamed the monster.”
“He’s not a monster: he’s the mighty son of Loki.” Bask announced, proudly, whilst shooting me a see, I can learn grin.
Bacchus ignored him, tapping her thigh instead. Pocus looked up at her signal, kissing the hollow of Midnight’s back, before crawling with a sexy wiggle of his hips to Bacchus. Her expression softened, as she carded her fingers though his hair, scratching the back of his ear. Pocus purred, nuzzling against her hand.
It didn’t take Heimdall’s sight to see that they loved each other in the same way that I loved the other Immortals. Yet how long had Pocus been her familiar? Had they loved each other for centuries?
If Bacchus could love a Halfling, why did she hate dad and me? Why had she destroyed my brothers’ childhoods along with my own?
“So, what’s the lesson today?” I growled. “One hundred ways to hex a god? Potions that force someone to play air guitar? Castration Spells?”
Fox winced. “Okay, you’re kidding right? I mean, tell me that Castration Spells aren’t a thing.”
When I simply arched my brow, he paled.
Playing with mages was so much fun. I ignored Bask’s censorious tutting. For once, the no touching rule worked in my favor.
“Well,” Fox sighed, “I guess that I now know my least favorite lesson plan.”
Bacchus rapped the root throne with her nails in a way that was too casual to mean anything good. “What an inventive imagination you have, monster, it’s only transfiguration.”
My magic feathered inside me, and I gritted my teeth.
Magenta didn’t see me like a monster, nor did the other Rebels. They didn’t need to know the truth. It’d dirty them. Perhaps, I’d been stupid to relax and think that I could have friends as well as allies.
Don’t let Bacchus spoil it. Not again, not again, not again…
Lysander stood up like he was on army parade. “Pick me. I�
�m certain that I shall excel at—”
“Sit down. Not you,” Bacchus snapped.
Lysander’s wings drooped, and he sat down as if his strings had been cut. Willoughby patted his shoulder in comfort, but it was awkward like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. Lysander didn’t even acknowledge him.
Bacchus pointed her long finger at me. “You.”
I rolled my eyes. Consider my ass surprised. Not the rest of me. Just my ass.
I hated this class because as Bacchus’ hostage, she always used it to humiliate me. But as long as she did that, she wouldn’t focus on the whipping boys…I hoped.
Yet when Magenta’s hand tightened around mine, I realized that suddenly I wasn’t alone. I had a witch by my side for the first time, and it didn’t feel forbidden but right.
Bacchus might be the most powerful witch in America, but Magenta had told me this morning that she was the only Blessedly…or Wickedly…Charmed witch in existence. Even with her powers dampened or controlled, Bacchus had better watch her ass. This academy couldn’t hold us forever.
Bacchus raised her arm, and a short iron spear appeared in her hand that was covered in ivy and topped with a pine cone.
Magenta clapped her hands in delight. “How perfectly delightful! I’ve never seen a real wand before.”
When Bask snickered, Bacchus’ knuckles tightened around the wand.
Bacchus cocked a haughty eyebrow. “This is my bacchal thyrsus, and more dangerous than a mere girl can understand.”
Magenta huffed. “My mother was fond of fancy words for things as well. Your wand’s pretty, but I remember a time when the ritual of tea meant something,” huh, she was passionate about that, “and you’re not old enough to call me girl.”
Bacchus smile was beautiful but so deadly that my balls attempted an escape back into my body. “I’m so much older than any of you. Mine is true immortality, darlings. The ancient kind.” When her gaze flickered to mine, I froze. “Loki and I are like snakes biting each other’s tails. I’m chaos as well: neither good nor bad but that which delights in the storm and the fire.”
Rebel Academy: Crave: A Paranormal Academy Romance Series (Wickedly Charmed Book 1) Page 19
