Rebel Academy: Crave

Chapter Thirteen BASK

Warrior Training was deadly for an incubus whose arse was slinky, sexy, and not for kicking. I’d been trained in diplomacy. Ma had never intended that I wield a sword, but rather that I use both my body and words as weapons. But then, she hadn’t intended that the Duchess would choose me to bond with either.

Good intentions made pettable arses out of all of us (snicker).

When Bacchus pulled me aside before class, with a sweep of her toga that trapped me against the side of the building, I drew in my breath. The rough stone of the Conqueror Gym bit into my back, and I squirmed. The breeze cut across the frozen river and my cheeks. The spires of Oxford always looked so close from here.

Was the tutor going to punish me for sneaking out of the Wing, my part in stealing the food, entering the Dead Wood or… I cocked my head.

Yep, I was bad.

When I smirked, Bacchus narrowed her eyes. The aroma of spicy red wine coiled around me, as she casually leaned closer. Pocus wound over her shoulders like a scarf, blinking at me sleepily.

“I made a mistake to forget that a panther lurked beneath your cutie pie mask.” She stroked the back of her hand down my cheek, and I fought not to flinch. “I concentrated on the mage, when it was the witch that I should’ve feared.”

“Don’t hurt Magenta,” I hissed.

Bacchus’ eyes widened in surprise. “Why would I do that? And why would you defend a witch? She’s the Prefect, and we have a whipping boy now to play with.”

I gritted my teeth. “If it pleases you, just punish me now, so that I’m not late to class.”

Bacchus blinked. “But you haven’t displeased me, Crave.” I couldn’t fight the way that warmth flooded me at pleasing her. It was simple biology like waking up with a boner. Never turn down a pleasure feeding. I was certain ma used to say that, or I could’ve made it up. Either way, it was good advice. “You’ve surprised me, and that’s always thrilling. The Immortals now outnumber the Princes, which tips the balance in our favor, but the stakes are much higher. Trust me, there’s a joy in the dark, and Magenta overflows with it.”

I frowned. “Stakes?”

Pocus yawned, and Bacchus patted him on the head. “Whichever side loses, will have their whipping boy executed.”

No, no, no…

My legs buckled, and I fell to my knees. I wrapped my hands over my head like I could block out…everything.

It was Hector all over again.

I’d promised to keep Fox safe, but Bacchus had warned that the Princes were fiercely competitive over the Rebel Cup.

I couldn’t watch Fox die.

As if she understood, Bacchus crouched down, firmly pulling my arms away from my head. “Did hiding ever help you before?”

Rule 65 of the Incubi Night Code: Never hide because punishment is always worse once you’re found.

I shook my head.

“Then let me see your claws, panther, and ensure that you win the Rebel Cup. You may not even be here at the end of the week to see the punishments carried out.” My pulse pounded in my temples at the way that her expression gentled into pity. Wow, that was a disturbing look on her. “Darling, you fight me like I’m not on your side, but believe me, I am. I’m not meant to warn you but then, the Duchess is Damelza’s guest this week. I have a feeling that if you win the Rebel Cup, you’ll be the student who’s freed into her custody.”

Don’t cry… Tears make you ugly… Nobody loves an ugly incubus…

I took desperate gasps, struggling to hold back my tears. All of a sudden, Bacchus’ hands were on my shoulders, steadying me. Pocus leaped into my lap, rubbing his head against my legs in comfort. But their touch felt muted and far away because I was back in the Duchess’ palace, as she’d trained me.

As she’d broken me.

I’d been made to lie down but lever myself up onto my fingertips and toes, so that I didn’t touch the marble floor, which the Duchess had then lit with a magical fire. For an hour, I’d managed to hold myself up, but my shoulders had quivered with the strain, and my thighs had ached.

The Duchess had watched me calmly from the bed.

All the Duchess’ other incubi (she’d bonded with four, and I was the youngest, lucky me), had swooned at her beauty: her flowing red hair and peachy skin. But she’d treated me differently to the rest because I’d been the weird kid. She’d only chosen me because she’d been excited by the challenge of the Night son who’d been known to be different.

Ma had tried to keep me in the shadows and away from the Succubi Court, but the Duchess had still selected me.

You could never hide.

“Stand up, if it hurts,” the Duchess’ words had been quiet, yet they’d rung inside my mind, “but then you won’t please me. It’s your choice.”

I’d despaired because I hadn’t understood. Where was the choice, when you were hardwired to please? Instead, I’d collapsed onto the fire.

The next day, she’d repeated the training.

Except, she hadn’t said a word.

“Please,” I’d gasped, as my arms had shaken.

“Please, what?” The Duchess had been reading a book and hadn’t even glanced up.

“Please tell me what you wish. What do you desire? I want to be yours.” I’d ached to be hers because that was what a bond was like. I’d been young and hopeful still

I’d just craved to be loved.

“I want…” The Duchess had slipped in a bookmark, before placing down her book. She’d folded her hands in her lap. My heart had clenched, and I’d been flooded with joy that I could at last please her. “…you to hurt yourself.”

I’d shuddered, willing the tears that were matting my eyelashes not to fall.

Please, don’t let her see them.

I’d bitten my lip to hide my disappointment, before I’d let myself fall onto the fire.

The following day, I’d been back in the same position, but this time the Duchess had towered over me, watching me with a hungry intensity. She’d been taller than me, and I’d never felt it as much as in that moment.

“Beg me,” she’d whispered, “beg me to let you burn yourself.”

At last, Bacchus’ quiet words reached me again like I was rising up from the bottom of a dark river, along with Pocus’ purr, “It takes a cruel trauma to break a bond. Taming a guy is one thing but… If I had my choice, she wouldn’t get a second chance.”

It was a struggle to remember Rule 3 of the Incubus Night Code: An incubus must mask their true feelings.

I kept my gaze lowered as I asked with difficulty, “She wishes to take me back?”

Maybe I could get Bacchus to transform me into a Pomeranian before then…? Fox would love to carry my fluffy cuteness around in a satchel.

Bacchus’ lips thinned. “She’s here to inspect your progress.”

I knew what inspect meant.

I needed to hurl. But whatever happened, I had to hide it from the other Rebels because their love was real, and if the Duchess did take me away again, then I wanted something to hold onto that was untarnished by fear or sadness. I craved just one week of love to keep me warm for the rest of my life.

Don’t let them learn the truth…not like this…

I could be brave if it gave them the illusion that we were safe in our love for one week.

“That means no touching any of the Immortals for the next week. Damelza even struck Magenta, whose new name is Crow, with a powerful Incubus Repellent hex.” Wow, that was rude. “She’ll be hit with an electric shock if she goes within three inches of you, which would be admittedly amusing.”

I paled. No touch…? I’d go crazy, and worse, my hair would go lank.

“I can’t survive a week without—”

“Sorry, didn’t I say?” Bacchus’ grin was wicked, as Pocus jumped back onto her shoulder. “The Princes will take turns massaging you.”

I choked on my own tongue.

So much for not being punished.

Although, the thought of the Princes being forced to serve my sexy self, made it worth it (especially the coldly regal elf).

Could I choose what they wore? I sighed. Juni seemed the type who’d go for it.

Yep, Willoughby in a maid’s outfit: fantasy role-play Number 49. And Sleipnir had told me it’d been a waste of an evening to make that role-play list.

Bacchus dragged me to my feet, before shoving me towards the Conqueror Gym. “I take it that you’re clear about not touching the Immortals? You’ll just have to love yourself, darling. At least you’ve had plenty of experience, and so has your hand.”

I blushed. But who was I kidding? She was right. I wiggled my fingers: you’re not out of a job, boys.

I trotted into the gym, which streamed with sunshine from the wide windows out over the river, only to be faced with the frowning angelic Professor of Dueling, Ezekiel, as the class waited on my slinky arse. I ran a hand through my hair in case a morning without snuggling had already forced me to lose my edge and brought on Ezekiel’s I’m five seconds from spanking you face (which was admittedly scorching hot).

Nope, I still had it.

I ducked my head: time for the innocent face. Away with you, I was better than Puss in Boots at it. “Sorry.”

Ezekiel’s expression gentled. He tucked his beautiful violet wings behind him, whilst studying me with his equally violet eyes. As an Addict Angel — angels who became obsessed with the human world, which was forbidden by the dick angels who considered themselves purer in Angel World — he wore only ash harem trousers.

Be warned: incubus envy was a dangerous thing, and I envied Ezekiel’s bronzed six-pack. His abs, obviously, rather than his beer. When I met Magenta’s shy smile across the gym, as she rested with her head on Sleipnir’s shoulder, however, I could’ve done with a quick drink. Maybe it would’ve settled the crawling underneath my skin that demanded I please someone or they please me.

The Duchess had called those whom she’d punished through removal of touch: The Not There. Everyone in the palace would be ordered to ignore them like they’d been turned into a ghost. It’d only happened to me once, and that had been what’d broken my bond.

I shivered at the thought of Magenta’s hands caressing me, plucking at my nipples, or cupping my balls. Then the thought of Willoughby dressed in a maid’s outfit and massaging my arse intruded, and I sighed because that was all I was getting from now on.

Last night, I’d been filled with nothing but a happy tingling across my skin. Magenta had been free and alive in my arms.

The woman from the portrait had been made flesh.

All right, she’d been unconscious. But I liked to look on the bright side. I’d even allowed Magenta to snuggle in my nest with all my pillows as a special concession (even Nile).

If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was.

But now, she was spelled so that we couldn’t even get close to each other. I squared my shoulders. If the Duchess wanted to turn me into a Not There even within the academy, she could kiss my pettable arse. I wouldn’t break for her twice.

“Glad you could join us.” Ezekiel tried for commanding but he couldn’t help the smile. Cute…and hot. Away with you, I had a thing for angels, even if they were professors with more muscles than was decent. “I’ve been warned about your special needs, so I’m afraid that we’ll have to mix things up for this session. You need to be partnered with someone different.”

Why did he look apologetic?

Then Ezekiel’s wings were wrapped around me, as he led me to the far corner, which was painted in murals of grand battles that had been fought by previous Rebels. I took a moment to cuddle into the feathery softness. They smelled tangy but sweet like citrus cream.

Resist the urge to suck as well as to snuggle.

I knew that Ezekiel was offering me this short treat of gentle touch. He was the kindest of the professors, even if he was physically the strongest. Then I noticed who was lounged against the wall, waiting to be my partner. Wait, I retracted that part about the kindest.

Ezekiel twisted me, until I was forced to look at him. “Whipping boys aren’t allowed in my lesson, although I’ve fought for their inclusion, and you can’t touch Crow. She declined with certain choice words the offer to be partnered with a fae.”

“Choice words like: It would cause the slow death of my soul?” I cocked my head.

Lysander straightened. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He’d neatly folded his black blazer with the P crest embroidered in silk to one side, and his pink silk shirt hung open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his translucent collar bone. His tight black trousers left less to the imagination than mine. He looked as much like a dashing but arrogant warrior as I didn’t.

Ezekiel crossed his arms. “Crown wasn’t exactly overjoyed to be paired with you either.”

I took a cautious step towards Lysander. “Did I spoil his play date with the wee elf?”

Lysander’s eyes narrowed even further.

Ezekiel stalked back to the center of the gym. “When he heard that Willoughby was to be replaced today by you, he gagged.”

Well, didn’t that just help a guy’s ego?

Lysander smirked, tossing his emerald hair with a beat of his golden wings, and I couldn’t help seeing…just for a moment…my Andro. I flushed with the memory of that little swirl Andro did with his tongue on my dick (it should be a superpower), as well as his delicious cuddles. But then, I saw the harshness in this fae’s eyes, rather than the softness, and there was no doubt that it was Prince Lysander.

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 speak 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 fairies, 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.