Rebel Academy: Crave: A Paranormal Academy Romance Series (Wickedly Charmed Book 1)

by Rosemary A Johns

  Magenta’s fingers tightened hard enough to make me hiss. “I’ll never run from you.” She kissed me with a passion that shook me. I was lost in the aroma of yew trees, her ancient magic, and the twin points of her hands around my wrists and her lips on mine. When she finally drew back, I was panting. “Are you now clear on the I’m not running?”

  I grinned. “Hmm, I’m pretty dumb. You may need to teach me that lesson again.”

  “Ah, but I’m a good teacher.” When Magenta leaned closer to kiss me again, slamming my wrists once against the wall, I couldn’t hide the wince or the way that Mist squealed in sympathetic pain from my pocket.

  This sharing of emotion thing was kind of freaky.

  Magenta drew back, gently drawing my arms down and examining my hands in shock. “My word, who did you fight?”

  I tried for nonchalant, “A wall, and I kicked its ass.”

  Magenta chuckled, before raising my hand to her lips and kissing each bruised knuckle with the tenderness of a promise. She never took her burning gaze from mine, and I drew in my breath.

  On the World Tree, I was hers.

  She knelt crunching in the snow. “Let me make you feel how beautiful you are.”

  “How about we start calling it handsome…? Plus, you know that I’m more than willing, but you’ll freeze down there.”

  I grabbed her arm to pull her up, but she shook her head.

  My dick had already hardened at the sight of Magenta at my feet because I’d learned to move amongst humans to satisfy my urges, and so who could blame the Pavlovian response of a hopeful dick…? But Loki had also taught me to be a generous lover and never cruel to humans. How would he expect me to treat a witch lover?

  I was pretty certain that he wouldn’t expect her to kneel on snow to suck me off. Plus, we needed a rubber.

  “Trust me, I want this more than anything. I’ve been fantasizing about it since Bask put up your portrait. He’s not the only one who had dreams about you. But can we park this until tonight, when I have a rubber?” I wanted to bite my own tongue to stop the words, but hey, I’d played with orgasm denial before, and it’d be even more mind blowing when I eventually got to come.

  My blue balls didn’t believe me.

  Magenta blinked at me. “You wish to…erase me?”

  I would’ve laughed, if I didn’t now have to hold a sex education class with a Victorian witch.

  “Condom, raincoat, sheath, prophylactic…”

  At last, Magenta’s confusion cleared, but she pulled a face. “You wish to wear animal guts on your dick? It’s no matter anyway because I died once, and if I know one thing it’s that I don’t need to fear protection against procreation or natural diseases. I’m not human.” For a moment, sadness flickered across her face. Then she cocked her head. “And I’m a virgin. Aren’t you?”

  Valhalla give me strength to deal with Victorians.

  “We’ve kind of advanced past the animal guts variety of rubber.” I wet my lips. Did she expect me to be a virgin like Fox? Did she want us to be exploring all these sexual firsts together? “Look, I’m not as ancient as Bacchus but I’ve been alone and unloved for a long time. Sex was an easy and fun distraction.”

  Magenta studied me; her brow furrowed. “It wasn’t about love…?”

  I shook my head. “Pretty the Hel far from it.”

  Magenta ran her hands up my inner thighs, until I let them fall open with a shiver. “Then this will be. You’re a virgin in love, my god.”

  My breath stuttered, and our gazes met. When I noticed the insecurity and need for reassurance in hers, it calmed me. I smiled, and her lips curled into something devilish.

  “The snow will soak through your dress,” I whispered; the thudding beat in my temples felt like it was pulsing through my dick as well. “Don’t you mind the cold?”

  “I am the cold.” Magenta shoved back my coat, yanking open the buttons on my pants. I hissed, as her soft gloves slipped inside my pants and freed my dick and balls to the chilly air. My dick sprang hard against my stomach, as she gave it a couple of strokes. “You warm me.”

  Magenta’s cool mouth enveloped my dick, as her hand wanked its base. My knees buckled at the intensity of the sensation. I pressed myself against the wall to keep myself standing, thudding my head rhythmically to hold myself back from thrusting my hips because this was Magenta’s first time, and I wanted her to be in charge. But it was the way that she looked up at me, as she licked and sucked, as if eager to taste every inch of me, that blew my mind because she was right: this was love wrapped up in each touch. I’d never experienced that with a woman before, and I was close to coming already.

  She sucked with greater intensity, until pain mixed with pleasure. I gasped, as her fingers tugged, exploring my balls. It struck me then that she’d never been so intimate with a guy before.

  How could she trust me enough to be her first? Did that mean she truly didn’t think I was monstrous, even when she knew the truth of my birth?

  Then Magenta pulled back, before her tongue darted across the head of my dick, and (Valhalla!), my mind blanked of all thoughts apart from the white-hot throbbing between my legs. My balls ached.

  Please, please, please…

  “Look at me,” Magenta murmured.

  I hadn’t even realized that I’d closed my eyes.

  When I opened them, I met Magenta’s ice-cold gaze. She licked her tongue in a circle over the head of my dick and then into the slit.

  I howled as I came, surprising myself by the pulsing rush. Magenta continued to suck, pulling my…everything…from me like a Claiming and a victory.

  At last, she sat back with a triumphant grin; I panted, as tremors ran through me. “Do you feel now that you’re beautiful? Is there no more need for lessons?”

  When Magenta reached for my oversensitive and bravely twitching cock, my eyes widened in alarm. “On the runes, I swear, I’ve learned my lesson.”

  Her grin widened. “Good boy. I shall enjoy repeating the lesson at a later date because I’m a firm believer in frequent reminders.”

  “Frequent sounds good.”

  When I heard the sound of footsteps in the snow, I glanced up in panic. Magenta’s nimble hands tucked my dick back into my pants, buttoning me up.

  Prince Ambrose marched around the corner, stopping to stare at us, before Magenta could stand.

  Ambrose shivered as always from the cold because Seelie Fae were never meant to live in snowy conditions. What in Hel’s name had he done to be sent to the academy? I’d have admired his strength on surviving to become a Professor, which he was so proud about, as well as his tight ass in those steam punk trousers, if he wasn’t oppressing shifters

  Ambrose’s emerald eyes studied us with a contempt that was reflected back in Magenta’s gaze.

  Huh, she truly hated fae.

  “Are you praying to Hecate that I’ll forget the escaped dragon?” Ambrose’s voice vibrated with a dominant rage that made the werewolf tattoos rise onto my own arms and growl.

  He knew that I’d just been sucked off. Why wasn’t he calling us out on it?

  Magenta rose gracefully to her feet, before brushing down her dress. “Why would I pray to a goddess who doesn’t answer my prayers about fae princes?”

  I’d never seen Ambrose taken aback before. It was awesome.

  Ambrose glanced away, before dropping his hand to the butt of his whip like it was a security blanket. Then his wings drooped, clanking.

  When I startled at the sound, Ambrose’s lips thinned. “You’ve clipped my wings, boy. You can’t mean to tell me that you didn’t know it’d be the consequence of me failing to guard the beasts?”

  “Do you see me smiling?” I snarled. “And how about you stop calling them beasts and me boy, Prince Ambrose.”

  Ambrose’s lips curled. “Aye, right. About the time that you remember to call me professor and bring back a dragon for Lysander’s missing one.”

  “That’ll be never then.”
/>   Ambrose huffed out a frustrated breath. “It’s time for training.”

  He snapped his boots together and turned on the spot, before marching around the stables.

  I cringed, however, when I finally saw the punishment to Ambrose’s wings because of my rescue effort. Iron chains had been looped from their delicate golden tips to the base of his shoulders. At their ends, they were clamped into the sensitive skin. At each step, the chains moved, searing his wings.

  I’d seen in the Conqueror Gym how even a small touch from iron hurt a fae. Why wasn’t Ambrose hollering in pain? Yet his shoulders were stiff with it; I guessed that his pride stopped him revealing the truth…or was he protecting me from it, after all?

  I stroked my thumb over Mist’s back, pushing him deeper into my pocket. “Stay down, Junior. This is familiar training as well, and I’d rather feed my dick to a troll than let you get pulled into that.”

  Magenta clasped my hand, pulling me after Ambrose. Her eyes twinkled. “Flair and Echo mysteriously developed headaches this morning, poor things. They needed nest rest. Such a shame that they’ll also have to miss this.”

  Dad would love Magenta.

  When Magenta and I strolled after Ambrose into the yard in front of the stables that curled with smoke, which stung my nostrils, my eyes narrowed at the Princes’ corner. On their side of the yard, bridles, saddles, spurs, and every other tool to dominate another creature lay spread out. Willoughby knelt crouched over them, carefully checking and polishing each one. Lysander stood watching him, tapping a leather riding crop against his thigh impatiently.

  Bask stood — alone — in the Immortals’ corner, which was opposite the Princes, below the stable block. I rushed to him because I knew now that it didn’t matter what I had inside me or how bad I felt. Bask was my friend and he loved me.

  Omens and runes, I swore that I wouldn’t hurt him.

  I swept my arms as close to Bask as I could without touching him, and he drew in such a deep breath that it was like he was trying to inhale me. He was pale, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. Magenta had been right: it looked like I’d been kicking him in the balls since SHP.

  I grinned, kissing the air over Bask’s cheeks and nose. “Have I told you that you please me, even when I’m acting like an asshole?”

  Instantly, the pained look cleared from Bask’s face.

  “Have I told you that you that to please me, you don’t have to stop being an asshole, you just have to not ignore me?”

  “Someone taught me a firm lesson.”

  Bask’s face lit up. “That must’ve been a fine sight.”

  “If you rascals are finished flirting on my time,” Ambrose snapped his whip on the ground between us, and we jumped apart, “let’s get started. Lessons will be ground based to start with, until I can work out—”

  “How we manage without my dragon?” Lysander drawled.

  Ambrose’s brow furrowed, as he stalked towards Lysander. I expected Lysander to back away, but instead, he haughtily stared down the professor. It was strange to see the two fae together. Golden hair mixed with emerald in a sparkling waterfall. Yet in other ways, they were so alike. The Seelie and Unseelie were enemies outside the academy, and the princes weren’t BFFs inside, either.

  “Something to say, boy? I’m giving you this one chance only, and then your Unseelie arse will show me the proper respect owed to my position.” Ambrose pressed the butt of the whip underneath Lysander’s chin, and Lysander’s jaw clenched. With the way that his hand tightened around the riding crop, I thought for a moment that he’d slash it across Ambrose’s cheek in retaliation. “We both know that I can punish creatively.”

  Willoughby had paused in his polishing. His hand clawed the saddle like he dared not let go.

  “One is more than aware of your creativity, just like all Seelie.” Lysander’s voice shook, but he held himself with the same poise as if he and Ambrose were dancing. “Are your wings sore? It must smart.”

  Next to me, Magenta stiffened, as Ambrose drew back his hand as if to slap Lysander but then, he stopped himself.

  “Aye, it smarts. We must all suffer if we fail.” Ambrose pushed away from Lysander, glancing between us. “You should remember that. This isn’t a game. Your decisions will lead to rewards or punishments.”

  “Your decision,” Lysander accused, “led to my personal dragon escaping.”

  Ambrose’s expression softened. “Ask yourself why he ran from you. If you’d treated him with even a wee bit of kindness—”

  “Are we talking about a dragon or my boyfriend?” Lysander arched his brow.

  Ambrose snorted. “I pity both. Now I have to get all of your daft arses ready for the Dragon Polo Tournament on Saturday, when the Rebel Cup will be presented. Have you even ridden on a dragon before, lass?”

  Magenta shook her head.

  Ambrose fluttered his wings in agitation, and then couldn’t hide the gasp of pain. When I glanced at Willoughby, he’d paled.

  Ambrose kicked a snowbank. “A non-rider and only four dragons, which is why the whipping boys aren’t riding. Drain the gold from my wings now, Damelza will have my hide.”

  “And my dragon…?” Lysander asked with fake sweetness.

  “You’ll have Hector’s dragon: Rayn.” Ambrose strode to the stall to unlatch it, but Bask darted to him, scrabbling at his hands.

  “If it pleases you, no, no, no…” Bask begged.

  Ambrose froze, staring at Bask in shock. His voice was softer than I’d expected, “Enough of that. Hector’s gone, lad, and that’s just the way of it in this place. You can’t hold onto his ghost, and I can’t keep Rayn in retirement any longer like a memorial to him. Do you know how many I lost? All of my friends. But I’m still here, right? You have to become stronger; I know you can.”

  Huh, that’d almost been inspiring. Plus, fae needed touch and love like incubi. If Ambrose was alone, how did he cope? I’d never considered how hard it must be for Lysander before. Weirdly, I was glad that he had Willoughby, however twisted the Princes were.

  “My royal personage doesn’t need Rayn.” Wait, why was Lysander studying me like that? “One is inclined to saddle up a far more interesting beast.”

  And I’d just been feeling sorry for the bastard.

  “You’d better not complete that sentence, twinkle wings,” I growled.

  Lysander swaggered towards me, swinging the crop loosely in his hand. “You son of a bitch…”

  I blinked at him. He hadn’t even sounded like he’d meant that.

  Ambrose was watching us in confusion. “Apologize, so your daft selves can start this lesson.”

  Lysander swept me a mocking bow. “My deepest apologies. Of course, what I should’ve said was: You son of a mare.”

  Silence.

  I froze, reddening with humiliation. My hands curled into fists. My heart beat too rapidly in my chest. Lightheaded, it was only Magenta’s hand on my shoulder that brought everything back into focus.

  Then my hair spiked to red, before I roared out my fury and launched myself on top of Lysander. I knocked him into the snowbank, tumbling him over. I vibrated with hate, but I didn’t know if it was for Lysander or myself. Weirdly, Lysander wasn’t fighting back, but I was way past the point of caring. When I raised my fist to punch him in the nose as he had Bask, however, a whip curled around my wrist, yanking me off him.

  I yelped at the whip’s burning snap, tumbling onto my ass. Then both Lysander and me jumped as the whip snapped with a sharp crack like a furious snake three times between us.

  Ambrose towered above us, thrumming with rage. I tensed, waiting for the next strike to be laid across my shoulders.

  All of a sudden, however, a young Scottish voice called from the top window of the stables above us, “Da, I drew the p-picture of you and me, but then, I heard bad s-sounds and I got s-scared… Are they fighting m-monsters?”

  In shock, I stared up at the tiny fae boy who was hanging precariously out of the window
, waving his drawing at Ambrose. He wore a plain green tunic and leggings. His golden hair curled behind his ears, and his eyes were startlingly jade. There was no doubt that he was Ambrose’s son: he was like a kid Prince Charming if he’d been dipped in sparkling fairy dust. Except, unlike a full fae, the boy didn’t have wings.

  I paled.

  They were admitting kids to the academy? And Ambrose had a son who was only part fae? In his culture, that meant his kid was seen as a ‘mongrel’ and as much a monster as me.

  I shuddered. I bet Ambrose was a hardass as a dad.

  Ambrose’s eyes widened. “Ty, get inside now. You know that you’re not allowed out.”

  “But the m-monsters…” Ty’s lip trembled.

  Lysander smiled maliciously as he looked between Ambrose and Ty. “Do tell your son, father, about those wicked monsters.”

  Ty leaned further out of the window to stare with terrified eyes at Lysander. “You’re a bad Dark Fae. Da says…”

  All of a sudden, Ty overbalanced with a shriek, tipping out of the window. My heart raced, as I threw myself under him.

  By the Valkyries, no…

  I couldn’t reach him, and nor could Bask, even though we both leaped to catch him. The Immortals were on the opposite side of the yard.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ambrose’s wings attempt to beat and take flight, but the chains only clanked. He moaned in agony.

  In shock, I watched as Magenta materialized in the air out of a cloud of mist, catching the falling boy, before he could hit the ground. Calmly, she hovered down to the snow bank, cradling Ty to her chest. She stroked his hair, murmuring to him in comfort as he trembled, before passing him with a final stroke to his dad, who was trembling more than his son.