Fox scooted back. “Woah, snatchy. I was only planning a nice pair of crocodile shoes or possibly a handbag.”
Wasn’t it foolish to banter about an incubus’ holy crocodile?
With a growl, Bask launched himself on Fox, who fell backward with a yelp. Bask pinned Fox with the skill of a predator: he didn’t touch him, but planted his knees either side of Fox’s head, pressing Nile’s mouth to Fox’s neck in a plushie savaging.
“Hmm, little help here?” Fox pleaded.
Sleipnir slipped onto the bed with a sexy indolence, resting against the headboard. He merely smiled, watching the show. Fox relaxed, when I perched next to him. He stiffened, however, when I tapped his nose.
“Apologize. My family shan’t hurt each other even in play,” I chided.
Fox reddened, before meeting Bask’s furious gaze. “I’m sorry. Look, I have this book that dad gave me. You must’ve seen it in my memory last night. It’s in the wardrobe with my things, and I feel about it, the same way as you do about Nile. I’ll show it to you sometime, okay?”
Bask nodded, mollified. Then he held up Nile to look Fox in the eye. “Apologize to Nile.”
Fox rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry for joking about the beautiful shoes that I could turn you into. Can I kiss your ugly…sweet…tooth and make it all better?”
Bask made Nile nod imperiously, and Fox grinned as he kissed Nile’s gleaming tooth. Then Bask sat back, hugging the crocodile.
“Nile’s the only thing ma ever gave me. Incubi aren’t meant to own anything, see, because they’re owned.” Bask didn’t look up. I edged as close as I dared to him on the bed. I craved to pull him onto my lap, and kiss his neck; his draw was mesmerizing. But Damelza’s spell kept us apart, and it was devastating. “Bright light hurts our eyes, but here’s the thing, I love the sun. I hated that my brothers and me weren’t allowed out unchaperoned and had to be educated at home. I didn’t wise up to the fact that ma was hiding me to try and stop the Duchess from discovering me because I was different to my brothers. I was broken long before I was bonded.” Bask ducked his head, and his voice shook. “Ma caught me in the sun…basking…and she said that should be my name. She told me that I needed to be like a crocodile. Then she promised to teach me the secrets to survive in a Succubi Court, just in case… Ma trained me like a daughter, rather than a son.” At last, his gaze met mine. “I’m this crocodile, and it’s ruined me.”
“Listen to me,” I gripped the sides of Nile as hard as I wished that I could grip Bask’s shoulders, “you’re not ruined or broken. You’re frighteningly strong, and to survive in Rebel Academy, we all need the skills that your mother taught you. Right now, do you remember the first time that I saw you lying on this bed?”
Bask’s breath hitched. “I’ll never forget.”
“You called for me, your Ghost Immortal. I’m here now, and we’re together.” I finally sat back. “Undo your shirt.” Bask’s eyes widened, before he clumsily pushed Nile to the side. Then he undid the buttons to reveal his chest. By his ragged breathing, I could tell that the orders were feeding his pleasure, as much as his pleasure was feeding me. “Push down your pants.” Bask slithered out of his pajama bottoms. He lay beneath me like a beautiful sacrifice. “Now touch yourself.”
Bask flushed, and his gaze darted to the other Immortals. His tongue swept his plush lips; their scent of coco and almond flooded me with warmth. I was desperate to taste them.
Bask pushed open his top to circle his pink nipples, before trailing his gloved hand down his chest. He splayed his legs wider. When he teased down his inner thighs, his prick pulsed. He ran a single finger along his prick to its head.
The first time that I’d seen him like this, I’d craved him, as much as his craving for me had burned. Now, the tendrils of his longing twined with my own, sparking magic through the connection that bound all four of us Immortals. Death, pleasure, or blood: these were the Rebels who’d resurrected me. Their spirits were woven with mine.
My magic vibrated like a thousand glowing snowflakes across the snowy peaks of Bask’s body.
“What do you wish?” Bask’s gaze didn’t leave mine.
I smiled. “The first time that you lay on this bed, imagining that you and I were lovers, what did you fantasize?” Pink crept into Bask’s cheeks. How kinky could it be? “You please me, and it’d please me to do as you wish.”
Bask shuddered, as both his ability to please me, and the offer of control, fed the two sides of his nature.
His eyes flared, before they dimmed again. “But you can’t touch me.”
Sleipnir crawled like a colorful big cat to Fox, wrenching back his head by the curls to lick a stripe down his neck. “What’s the problem when you have us? We’re all connected, so command away.”
Bask’s eyes glittered with a wicked light that made the hairs on my arms stand up at the same time as my skin tingled. My incubus might be cuddly, but he was all predator. He sprawled onto his back, as he clutched his prick more firmly.
“You wore less clothes.” Bask boldly met my eye.
Challenge accepted.
I clicked my fingers (purely for the theatrics), and my clothes melted: first my outer dress and petticoats, then my corset and drawers. I appreciated the collective gasps of admiration, as did my bosoms.
“Huh, impressive skill,” Sleipnir bit his lip, “and other things.”
“And useful…also to the other things.” Fox grinned.
“Why are you still dressed?” Bask demanded.
Sleipnir snorted. “Sorry, Your Highness.”
He tore off his pajamas with such savagery that I shivered, wishing that I’d allowed him to rip my drawers off at least, although I had a sense that it would’ve been rather painful for my intimates.
Fox fiddled with the buttons of his top, however, and it struck me that he’d never undressed for a lover before. Gently, Sleipnir took his hands between his, before pulling them to his sides, and undoing Fox’s buttons for him. I knee walked on the bed, until I caged Fox in front of Sleipnir, kissing him as I pushed the top from his shoulders.
Fox’s eyes shone, and his chest rapidly rose and fell, as Sleipnir liberated Fox’s legs from his pants.
“Didn’t you speak yesterday about the desire to gift your virginities? Lie down.” Bask’s head was twisted to watch us, as his hand sped up on his prick, and his back arched.
My pulse fluttered in my neck, as I lay amongst the satin pillows. Softness cocooned me below, whilst Sleipnir and Fox’s hardness cocooned me above. I turned my head to meet Bask’s gaze: this was for him. My magic lit the room, and tangled like roots through each of the Immortals, drawing us together.
I was part of the academy, and they were part of me.
“Kiss her,” Bask murmured.
Fox’s lips were sweet raspberries and love. They were every year that I’d yearned, and every tear that I’d cried. They were life beyond death. My second chance.
I bit hard on his bottom lip and suckled, feasting on his sweet blood. He gasped, panting.
My mage…mine, mine, mine…
Fox’s curls swept my cheeks, but I didn’t look away from the darkness of Bask’s gaze. Sleipnir caressed his finger across my nub until it peaked, before he licked.
What was spiraling inside me like a whirlwind? Was it another moment of destruction? The chaos moment?
“Trust me, cherry pie.” Sleipnir slipped his hands between Fox’s spread legs, stroking his prick to throbbing hardness. Then he lay behind Fox, kissing between his shoulder blades, as he guided Fox’s prick between my thighs. I winced but then pulled Fox closer, urging him not to stop.
Fox clasped my hands. His smile was radiant, as he thrust. Sleipnir grasped Fox’s hips, rubbing his own prick between Fox’s thighs in a glorious rhythm that swelled like a sea inside me.
“I love you,” Bask whispered. “Just like this.”
The room became as light as a magenta sun with my magic. The rays burst through my lovers a
t the moment that the crest of the wave hit, and I screamed; my lovers and I came together in ecstasy.
Love, pleasure, and life. At last, I’d tasted what I’d craved for so long, but it was only a glimpse that could be burned to nothing if I lost today. What would I need to unleash to protect my family, and how wicked would I become?
I’d already learned how fragile family could be. I wouldn’t allow it be stolen once more by death.
Chapter Twenty
Rebel Academy, Wednesday September 4th
Magenta
I knelt on my knees in the Bird Turret in a circle with both Immortals and Princes, before the class in Strategy. Sleipnir had told me that this class was an attempt to brainwash us Rebels into assassins (although I had no idea how a mind could be cleaned with soap). I shivered, as I glanced around at the room high above the bailey, which I’d been shut away in as much as Fox had been locked in his attic. Yet I hadn’t been punished as a mage, rather adored as the Blessedly Charmed who was too precious to risk in the world.
Merlin’s balls to that.
Now, the room had been hollowed out. Nothing remained apart from the magical mural that’d been painted across the walls at dad’s request. Byron had brought the outside into the Bird Turret, surrounding me with the nature, which my magic craved.
I twisted, ghosting my hand across the mural of Hecate’s tree, which was alive again here at least; its branches rose to the roof. Lilies of the valley and foxgloves grew at its base and suffocated the room in their intoxicating aroma. Frogs hopped along the baseboards. I shuddered at the pulsing magic.
It fizzed through me, calling to me. Hecate was inside my heart, and I was inside hers. I pressed my nails hard into my palms to resist her.
I won’t return to you. I’m alive now…
Fox laughed as hundreds of robins swooped overhead like a bloody cloud, and I bit my lip hard to stop myself praying to Hecate to save him today.
My goodness, old habits truly were hard to shake.
I snatched back my hand in case I was tempted to pray to the goddess, and smiled at Fox’s joy. The robins had always been my favorite as a child too. Painted in the indigo roof, even though they’d been forever trapped, they’d sung their silvery songs to me. But now they were silent.
Could magic murals grieve or perhaps, after all these years, they’d become a little crazy like me?
Behind every crazy witch is someone even crazier who made her that way. That was Number 34 in the Principal’s Motto Book.
I could hate the mottoes, even if some of them were right.
Yet even if I and the robins were a teensy-weensy bit crazy, we could also be restored to our former life through love. I was certain that mother had a motto about it but I’d rather watch the way that Fox dived to his feet and ran around the circle like he was playing ring-a-ring o’roses, pretending to duck, as the robins chased him.
“Help, the birds are after me,” he laughed. “My prey has turned against me. I blame global warming.”
The robins twirled and dived, enjoying the game as much as he was. Lysander rolled his eyes, but Bask giggled, shifting closer to Lysander who sprawled back on his elbows.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of the artificial flowers. I remembered when there’d been no laughter in the Bird Turret, apart from Byron’s and my own. Yet this room had been filled with other beautiful things: a brightly painted rocking horse, china dolls, and samplers embroidered with the RA crest. Witching heavens, I’d hated embroidering those.
I’d adored sitting on the window seat amongst my ranks of dolls, however, pretending to read Jane Eyre, as I’d sneaked glances at the Rebels below. Well, sneaked glances at one Rebel in particular: a young mage with a tumble of burnished red hair and intense emerald eyes. After all, I’d never seen a mage before (and they were meant to be as wicked as I was Blessed).
It’d made me shiver.
What did he do that was so naughty?
Byron had told me that not eating my broccoli was naughty. Perhaps, the mage had refused to eat up his greens…? I’d frowned at the bruise that’d swelled his eye and cheek. Bryon had often tried to hide bruising just like that. When Bryon would mutter that he’d been bad and had deserved it, I’d never believed it. Father had been the kindest…most fun…and least wicked person that I’d known. Of course, I’d barely known anyone, but compared to mother who’d punished Byron simply because she’d been displeased with my work, he’d been my hero.
I’d studied the mage in the courtyard, who’d cradled his purpled cheek. He’d been dressed as a whipping boy and hung back from the other Rebels, who’d ignored him.
Was he also my hero, rather than wicked?
I’d thrown aside my book, crawling closer to the glass and pressing my hand against it.
All of a sudden, in a spray of golden glitter, the mage transformed into a red squirrel. I gasped, clapping my hands in delight.
Why had nobody told me that mages were also shifters?
Bubbling cauldrons, he was cute.
My fingers had clenched to snuggle him and pet his fluffy tail. He’d chattered, dancing around the hollering Rebels, who’d recoiled from him like he was a tiger, rather than snatched him up and cuddled him like he was begging for.
When Henrietta prowled from the shadows with dangerous intent, my eyes had widened. I’d known that look and it’d always ended in tears…Byron’s.
Henrietta had clutched the squirrel by the base of the tail, swinging him into the air. The mage had let out a high-pitching whining sound like he was crying in distress and pain. His little paws had scrabbled desperately.
My eyes had smarted with tears, as I’d raised my fist to bang on the window for the first time ever.
Let him go, let him go, let him…
The magical robins had fluttered around the roof, yeeping in alarm. Then I’d felt a warm hand on my shoulder and had realized that I hadn’t been alone.
My hero had arrived. Unfortunately, Byron had also witnessed my tantrum.
I’d primly settled back onto the window seat, opening the book at a random page…upside down.
Did I have time to cast a Reading Upside Down Spell?
Bryon had snorted. “Good try, Magenta.” He’d plucked the book from my hand and tossed it onto the floor. His green suit had been open at the neck to reveal his peacock amulet, which he’d stroked. I could tell that had meant he was plotting something. His mouth had been tight, as he’d stared out of the window. “The boy down there is an orphan mage called Robin.” His elegant fingers had brushed the amulet again. “You’re lonely up here, aren’t you?”
I’d warily nodded.
“What if that boy was allowed into the Bird Turret to play with you?” Bryon had straightened, clicking his smart heels together as if on parade.
My magic had burst from me, sparking like pink fire.
The excitement of the forbidden, mixed in with the chance to cuddle a squirrel (and rescue a Rebel from Henrietta), had me bouncing up and down on my seat.
The lack of decorum in becoming a bouncing witch would’ve horrified mother. I’d bounced even harder.
Bryon had raised his finger in warning. “I hate to ask it of you, but we must keep this a secret from mama, or I shall suffer.”
Well, that was how to stop a witch bouncing.
My grin had slipped but it hadn’t faded. “Papa, I can keep a secret. I want the mage.”
Byron’s icy eyes had flashed, as he’d snatched up my most loved doll and waved it in front of me. “Pan’s balls, Robin is not a toy. I don’t suggest bringing him here, so that you can practice witch cruelty or coo over him like he’s no more than this doll.” My lip trembled. Byron had never spoken to me with such harshness before. What had I done? Bryon’s expression softened, as he dropped the doll and pulled me into a hug, stroking my hair. “Calm, Magenta,” he’d murmured. I’d sighed, safe in his arms. “Hush, now, there’s no need for tears. But believe me, in here Robin shall be
your equal. You’ll share with him, and he’ll choose what you play. I know that’s hard to understand with what mama preaches, but let me show you a different way.”
I’d nodded, nestling closer to his warmth. He’d pushed me back so that his gaze could meet mine.
“If you mistreat him, then you lose this chance,” his voice had been steely. I’d quivered, tightening my arms around his waist because it’d felt like if I lost Robin, then I’d lose Byron as well. “Do you understand?”
“Robin will be my friend,” I’d whispered. “I’ll love him.”
And I had. I’d loved him to death.
Now, watching Fox as he finally threw himself next to me, underneath the flock of painted robins, I bit back a sob because if I didn’t win the contest today, then I’d have loved this mage to death as well.
One mistake is forgivable, but two deserves the Revenge Hex: 88 in the Principal’s Motto Book.
I’d hex myself if I let Fox down today.
When Lysander’s haughty gaze met mine across the circle, and he pointed the tip of his wing at me like a golden sword, I rather thought that the fae intended to hex me himself. After what Sleipnir had shown me about the Membership, I now understood that the Rebel Cup meant as much to the princes in their own way as it did to me. Yet whatever they thought that they were proving through winning, it could never be worth Fox’s life.
If I had to witch slap a few princes to prove that point, then so be it.
I inclined my head to Lysander (because manners cost nothing), and Lysander gaped at me. With a snarl, Lysander wrapped his wing around Willoughby instead, manhandling him to sit straighter in the way that I hated. Willoughby’s gaze appeared hazy again like he was lost somewhere inside his own mind again.
Were all elves so inscrutable or only their beautiful princes?
At the sudden flutter of feathers, I turned to the window. When Ezekiel flew through with outstretched violet wings like the righteous angels that I’d dreamed about as a child (although none of them had such rippling muscles that warmth coiled through me, along with the desire to lick along his bronzed chest), Tchaikovsky’s “1812: Overture” burst out in all its martial glory.
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