Rebel Academy: Crave

Chapter Fourteen 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.

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:

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. Honestly, 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.”

“Dad’s not like that,” I whispered. “He only seeks—”

“The chaos moment.” Bacchus sprang up, and Pocus drew back, startled. “Let me tell you a story.” She prowled closer, and my heart thudded in my chest. I blanked my expression, however, because I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of knowing that she was getting to me. “Once upon a time, a certain God of Mischief did a great wrong to my god, Bacchus. Luckily for Bacchus, the God of Ecstasy, he had his cult and could choose his most dedicated followers to transform into immortals. He named each one Bacchus, giving them a single task: hunt and hurt Loki.”

Bacchus prowled around me, leaning down to stroke my hair. I flinched. “And I love to hurt him. How much do you think it hurts him every day to be separated from you?” I bit my lip hard. “To know that you’re trapped in here with me, and that I could be doing anything to you? Don’t you think that he must be in agony?” My eyes burned. I wouldn’t cry… Then she tightened her hand in my hair as she whispered, “It’s weird though that he hasn’t tried to save you yet. Do you think it’s because he doesn’t truly love his monster kids?”

Finally, a tear tumbled down my cheek. I hated the wet sensation as it trailed down my skin, its coldness, and the way that I was helpless to stop it. I hated…everything.

Bacchus wiped the tear onto the tip of her finger like she was collecting a payment. “Every tear is one more drop of justice for Bacchus. Cry, son of Loki.”

“Remove your hands from him, now.” Magenta’s voice was low and dangerous.

To my shock, her mists were wrapped around Bacchus’ neck, and her magic lit the entire classroom like fireworks. The room vibrated; a single spark could send us all sky high.

It was kind of hot to have someone defend me with such intensity.

“This is why a wicked witch like her should never have been admitted,” Lysander spluttered.

Yet Bacchus only grinned. “Such frenzy! I wear a charm against your powers, or had you forgotten? But it’s far more interesting for me to see them for real. Lesson Number One: Transfiguration works best through emotion. That’s why you’re both my subjects this class.” She glanced down at our hands, which were still clasped together. “Your fierce angst is perfect for transfiguration.” Then she tapped her thyrsus on the desk sharply. “Just chill out on the strangulation.”

Magenta hesitated, until I nodded. Then her mists faded, and the dancing pink lights dimmed. Yet they didn’t disappear.

Bacchus rubbed her neck. “Seriously, you’d think that I was all bad. But look, I even brought you a gift.”

When Bacchus drew back her thyrsus and waved it over my head, I flinched, expecting to be turned into a chair again or a pumpkin, but instead, something cool settled around my neck. I reached up to touch the silver, and my eyes widened.

I stroked over the plectrum with shaking fingers. Just one moment longer, before I had to part once again with the final link to my dad…

“Take it back.” I couldn’t help the way that my other hand broke away from Magenta’s to clench around the plectrum. “This was a sacrifice to…”

“Hecate appreciated the gesture, but do you truly think that she needs trinkets?” Bacchus asked.

“It was my blood that raised Magenta,” Fox murmured. He raised his fingers to his cheek, where the feather had sliced him. “I’m officially hating that it’s always about blood.”

Bacchus waltzed back to her bone-white throne, throwing herself into it. When Pocus crawled around her, settling between her spread thighs, I held my breath. If the second part of this lesson included Pocus’ tongue, then I was noting this as a war crime against hostages.

“Lesson Number Two: transfiguration is stronger if you create or change the item, whilst thinking of the person with whom you have a strong emotional connection.” She stroked Pocus’ hair, settling his head against her thigh. I let out my breath in relief, and Bacchus studied me slyly. I flushed. “The spell is even stronger if you enchant something that belongs to them.”

Why was she staring at me?

“You’re her pair of dim-witted favorites,” Lysander shot at me under his breath. Favorites? I blinked. “Get on with it and fail this class already.”

I bristled. Every class counted towards the Rebel Cup. I refused to fail Fox. “I’m a hostage; the witches stole everything of mine. Unlike you, Prince of the Assholes, I don’t have my vintage porn collection, golden fairy statuettes, and secret pantie collection, hidden away in my luxury wing of the castle.”

Willoughby cocked his head like he’d been daydreaming, but had just caught my last sentence “How do you know about the panties?”

Lysander reddened, gripping Willoughby’s chin hard. “You shall not talk about the Prince’s illustrious self.”

“Am I not a prince too?” Willoughby asked with the iciness of a winter breeze.

“You own one thing.” Bacchus met my gaze.

So, that was what it was like to be punched in the dick.

The thought of taking off the plectrum and sacrificing it for a second time was paralyzing. But then, I met Fox’s concerned gaze from across the room, and I remembered the feel of his curls, the surging power of his freed magic, and the beauty as he hunted as an Arctic fox under the moonlight. And it was the easiest thing in the world to rip the cord necklace and hand the plectrum to Magenta.

Magenta took it with a wink. “How much I desire to kiss you now. The angry way in which you tore this from around your neck has made me quite hot and bothered.” I smirked. “So, I simply imagine something and this silver changes form…?”

Bacchus shook her head. “I’ve cast an enchantment on it already.” My skin prickled at the thought of that: her magic on my plectrum. “It’ll work alongside your own magic. All you have to do is channel your emotion about the person who it belongs to. Love or hate: it doesn’t matter. But the more powerful the emotion, the better the transfiguration. Indifference won’t spark magic.”

The look that Magenta cast me, as her fist closed around the plectrum was anything but indifferent, but I guessed that this enchantment would test the theory.

I understood why Bacchus had chosen us, as well as riled us up, even if I wished that I didn’t.

Magenta lay her hand on the desk, allowing her mist to coil out of her and around her closed fist. Her brow was furrowed with concentration. Then she opened her hand, and her palm was veiled in black mist that coiled as if alive. I drew in my breath, as it took shape and changed color into a tiny red horse. When he snorted, smoke coiled out of his nose like fire.

No way… On the World Tree… Don’t let it be…

The Mist Horse neighed, stamping his hooves, as he circled on her palm. Except, he wasn’t truly a horse. My heart sank. Of course, if the creature had sprung from me, he couldn’t be.

I’d been dumb to think that I could hide it forever.

Magenta laughed with delight, as the horse wound around her hand. “He’s so soft.” Perhaps, she would love him, after all? But then, she jerked back, and the Mist Horse tumbled onto the desk with a pained grunt. I winced. “Ah, I did it wrong. It was my first attempt, after all. Poor little thing; he’s all misshapen like he was born wrong. I believe that he has eight legs. Let me try again, and I shan’t create a monster this time.”

The Mist Horse squealed in distress, floating as much as galloping to the back of the desk.

Monster…

I kept up the mask that I’d worn since I was a kid, and Loki had taught me why I could never have friends, but I couldn’t help the way that my shoulders stiffened. At least I now knew now that I should allow the others to have their love, but that I had no part in it.

Bask gasped. “Slippy, she’s wrong, see, he’s beautiful.”

I jumped at the scrape of a stool being shoved back, before Willoughby stalked out of the room without a word. The door banged shut after him, and Lysander paled.

Magenta stared between us all and then back at Bacchus, who was smiling smugly. “Was it something I said?”

Bacchus leaned forward. “All Loki’s children are monsters. Don’t you recognize his son in his shifter form? I’m impressed with your magic. Your transfiguration was perfect.”

Mist Horse’s ears flicked back and forth in distress. His long tail was tucked in his hindquarters like he was showing the emotion that I was desperate to hide. When Magenta ghosted her fingers across his back that was stiff with tension, I swore that I could feel them as well. Mist Horse relaxed, and the same calming sensation flowed through me.

Magenta’s eyes widened with understanding and a crushing compassion, before they sparked with rage. Her sparkles blazed to full brightness around the room again. “These Rebels belong to me. If you ever hurt them through me again with such calculated cruelty, then I shall impress you with a demonstration of how my magic is powerful enough to curse an entire coven.”

Bacchus’ eyes flashed an answering amber. “And if you ever threaten me again, I’ll show you that my power can curse worlds.”

Fox slapped his hands together. “If you’re done with the I’m the Most Badass Witch Contest, then can we get to the deciding who won the lesson because it’s us, isn’t it?”

Lysander fluttered his wings in agitation.

Bask twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “Prince Willoughby did break academy rules by leaving…”

“And I made the beautiful horse!” Magenta held up her palm with the Mist Horse like a kindergarten with their first wonky clay pot. Then she shot me an apologetic glance. “He is beautiful, you know. I’ll name him Mist.”

I couldn’t help the shy smile, as Mist shook his flowing mane, transforming to aquamarine. I reached up to pat at my hair that had softened to match the same shade as well.

Mist flew up, settling himself in the pocket of my blazer.

“More like My Little Monster,” Lysander sneered.

Bacchus shot Lysander an inscrutable look. “The Immortals won. The new witch has style.” Bacchus’ lips quirked. “Go ahead: play the Punish or Reward Game.”

Fox bounced up, rushing over to Magenta and slinging his arms around her shoulders. “Let’s huddle.” Like I didn’t know that it was any excuse for Fox to sneak a kiss onto Magenta’s cheek. “Ever since Lysander hit Bask, I’ve been thinking up devilish ideas. Number One: the fae prince stands on a desk in only his underpants, singing “It’s Raining Men”.”

Lysander bit his lip hard enough to break the skin, clutching the edge of the desk like it was a raft in a stormy ocean.

Bask slunk across the room, eying Lysander as he passed him. It hurt that he didn’t drop onto my lap or kiss down Magenta’s neck like I knew he craved to. “As much as it’d please me to see that,” he cocked his head in thought for a moment like he was imagining the scene, “truly please me, I already hurt Lysander.” Bask’s gaze was anguished as it met the fae’s. “Here’s the thing of it, I didn’t know what the iron would do to you and so I shouldn’t have even been fighting with it. Ezekiel used me to hurt you in the same way as Bacchus used Magenta. You’re still a bastard, but I’m sorry.”

Lysander barely looked like he was breathing; he was mesmerized by Bask. Had anyone ever apologized to Lysander before, who hadn’t been motivated by fear alone?

“Reward,” I stated, glancing around at the other Immortals. “Giants and dwarves, I can’t believe that I’m choosing this, but let’s give the Princes a reward.”

Lysander wrapped his wings around himself, studying us in confusion.

The other Rebels nodded.

“The Princes’ whipping boy,” Magenta said, softly. Pocus lifted his head to stare at her, but the only sign that Midnight had heard was a twitch of his shoulders. “He’s knelt in the corner all this time. Such treatment is barbaric. Yet positive change is better than negative destruction. I wish to reward him with the rest of the day off.”

Bacchus rapped the thyrsus on the floor. “Done.”

“You can turn around now,” Magenta urged.

Cautiously, Midnight straightened and twisted, glancing at her from underneath his eyelashes. She flushed, and I couldn’t blame her. Midnight was hot in a smoldering vampiric way, with charcoal eyes that begged save me at the same time as his fangs and muscles screamed before I bite your throat.

Who could resist that combo?

Yet Midnight appeared as flustered as her. Had he been included in any reward since he’d arrived here? Huh, I didn’t even know how long ago that’d been. He’d already been the Princes’ whipping boy when I’d arrived.

Fox whooped. “Whipping boys on vacation go wild…”

“When we say that he gets the day off,” I wagged my finger at Lysander, and Mist snorted aquamarine flames at him as if to punctuate the point, “that means no crawling, answering to your bullshit orders, or any other whipping boy asshole duties.”

Lysander shoved himself away from the desk, marching to the door. “If you insist.”

“Hey, look at that, I do.”

“Gloating is unbecoming,” Lysander’s voice was dangerously low. “Shifter Training is this afternoon with Prince Ambrose. Us fae are formidable enemies, and you made a mistake to turn him against you. The torments of Seelie Fae can be creative and excruciating.” Lysander shuddered. Was he speaking from experience? “One was shocked to hear about the escape of my dragon, and how you Immortal delinquents were involved. Perhaps, now that I no longer have a steed, Ambrose will allow me to saddle you up…? It’s clear you need a good dose of my riding whip to break you. Are you capable of being trained, monster?”

When he laughed, slamming out of the room, I stormed after him. Magenta snatched for my sleeve, but I shook her off.

Mist retreated to the back of my pocket, trembling. But my own eight-legged horse reared inside me in distress at the thought of being ridden by the prince. Loki had taught me that shifting was a sacred power that mustn’t be forced but only ever be willing, but the professors treated it as something that should be controlled.

Just like me.

What if Ambrose forced me to shift?

I trembled as violently as Mist. The horse was small and no more dangerous than a toy. It was no wonder that the Rebels had accepted him so easily. But this afternoon, if I became Lysander’s replacement dragon, they’d discover that I was truly monstrous.