Rebel Academy: Crave

Chapter Fifteen SLEIPNIR

I stormed ahead of the other Rebels, avoiding them like I had between classes since the nightmare that’d been SHP. I huffed a breath into the freezing afternoon air. Storm clouds fled across the gray skies. I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my black woolen overcoat. Then I sniffed its collar, calming at the sweet scent that still lingered from when I’d bundled Fox into it for the Discipline Run.

Valhalla! I wished that whipping boys were allowed to train at Dragon Polo because if anyone could understand the struggles and shame of a shifter, then it was a shimage.

When I breathed in the faint aroma of raspberries, it was kind of like Fox was as invisible as Magenta had once been but he was holding me as tightly as I needed him to right now.

Was that friendship?

I stared up at the towering barred stalls of the stables. This lesson was going to suck dwarf balls.

Honestly, after Bacchus’ fun and games, the last thing that I needed was to face an irate fae who wanted my dick on a spike. Oh yeah, and this fae was a professor.

My breath sped up, and my hands curled into fists. Misshapen…born wrong…monster…

Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop…

I punched my fist into the stable wall.

Crack — in the fight between stone and bone, my knuckles lost.

I grimaced, shaking out my fist. On the runes, my brothers were right: I could be a dumbass sometimes.

Mist poked his head out of my coat pocket with a squeal, stamping his eight hooves in pain.

“Sorry,” I stroked my finger over the flowing wisps of Mist’s mane, which curled around me like smoke.

Mist allowed himself to be petted, before nudging me with his head.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you start.”

My own eight-legged horse inside pawed at me to run. But on the Norns, it wasn’t truly Prince Ambrose that I was scared of but my own darkness. Every academy had its secrets, but so did I.

Prince Ambrose wouldn’t miss me for one lesson, would he?

I twisted on my heel, but before I could take a single step, Magenta materialized out of a cloud of pink and black mist that burst towards me, pinning me against the wall with my hands held above my head.

Woah, she could do that…?

Perhaps, I’d better save the impressed questions for after she’d flayed me because she looked pissed.

“I’d considered that gods may be arrogant, but do you not care that your behavior has the incubus believing that he’s displeased you, until he shakes like he’s been most soundly beaten, and the tender mage is close to tears?” Her eyes flashed, as she leaned closer. I didn’t struggle because how hadn’t I noticed the distress of the other Rebels? I’d been wrapped in Fox’s scent, but I’d allowed him to suffer. “Our emotions and our actions affect others. I’ve learned this in the harshest way. I wish yours to be gentler.”

My cheeks burned, and I couldn’t meet her gaze. “I wasn’t punishing them. I was…” Punishing myself. I bit my tongue hard to stop myself finishing the sentence, but Magenta appeared to have understood anyway because her expression gentled.

“I wish that you could see your merits as I do. Why should you require punishment?” When Magenta rested her forehead against mine, the intimacy of her touch suddenly meant that I trusted her with my shame.

It gutted me that I’d never had such a close connection with anyone outside my family before, and yet once she’d heard the truth, I was certain that it’d be shattered.

My breath hitched, and Mist trembled, sinking down into my pocket like he could hide from the words. “Dad’s Loki, this powerful shifter god. And mom…well, she’s even more powerful or that’s what dad said. She was a Seraphim, which are kind of the angels’ gods. It’s me who came out wrong.” My voice dropped to a whisper; forcing out the words was like birthing snakes. “Loki refused to abandon me, which was another black mark against him.” My gaze flicked to Magenta’s and then away. Her breath gusted against my cheeks, and the feel of her fingers encircling my wrists was real and anchoring in a way that I never wanted to lose. Only, I knew that I had to, and that wrecked me. “You don’t really want me. No one does. You should run from me like everybody else.”

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.

“Never do that again, you hear me?” Ambrose tried for stern, but as soon as Ty wrapped his arms and legs around him like a limpet and wept into his shoulder, his expression softened. “What would your da do without his daft wee man, right? You gave me a scare. You must…” He took a deep breath; his hands shook. “Be careful.”

“S-sorry,” Ty forced out between sobs.

“No need for that. You’ve had a scare too.” Ambrose raised his gaze to Magenta. “Thank you. A Seelie fae always honors their debts, and I’ll never be able to repay you for saving something so precious to me.”

Was this the same Ambrose who whipped dragons, threw me into snowbanks, and was a typical fae prince?

Loki had told me that it was having kids that’d brought out the best in him. I’d thought he’d said that to make my brothers and me feel better about the fact that he’d been burdened with us. But seeing the softer side to Ambrose with his son made me wonder if dad had been telling the truth.

Could guys get broody because seeing Magenta carrying Ty and now Ambrose getting in the cuddles was kind of making me regret that Magenta couldn’t have kids with me. And that wasn’t something that I’d ever wanted before.

“Allow me.” Willoughby gracefully stood, stepping towards Ty.

Ambrose took a step backward, twisting to shield his still crying son from Willoughby.

Did Ambrose know something about Willoughby and how dangerous he was that I didn’t?

Willoughby froze, unable to hide the hurt. Then his expression became shuttered. He swallowed, before offering, “It’s only an elven lullaby to help him sleep.”

Grudgingly, Ambrose turned back, allowing Willoughby to step closer and place his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Is that your father and you?” Willoughby asked with the same hint of mild curiosity that he usually showed, pointing at the drawing that Ty had managed to keep holding, despite the tumble from the window.

“A-ye,” Ty whispered. “I’m the o-one in g-green. You can t-tell it’s da because he has m-metal on his wings.” I winced at the same time as Ambrose. It was screwed-up that a kid had to witness his dad’s punishments. I bet that Ambrose had tried to hide them, as much as my dad had tried to hide when he was in trouble. The problem was that we’d still known when Loki had cried. “C-can you take it off? It h-hurts him.”

Willoughby’s gaze slipped to Ambrose’s. “I’m a mighty elf prince; I can help your father stop hurting. You rest now and forget the fear. Would you like that?”

Ty nodded.

In wonder, I watched as Willoughby placed his hand on Ambrose’s wing, as well as pressed harder on Ty’s back. When Willoughby started to sing, it was so hauntingly beautiful that the hairs on the back of my neck rose, my toes curled, and my eyes fluttered shut. I was caught in a flow of winter waters, drawn into their depths. Honestly, I hadn’t truly understood the Other World that the elves had been ripped from, until Willoughby had offered up his song out of kindness.

Why had he?

When it ended, it felt like being kicked out of Valhalla.

My eyes snapped open, and as I glanced around, everyone wore the same dazed expressions as me. Ty was cradled, sleeping in Ambrose’s arms.

When Ambrose smiled with genuine happiness, it shocked me how truly hot he could be. “How long will…whatever you did…stop my wings hurting?”

Willoughby’s face clouded. “Only an hour or so, I’m afraid.”

“That’s more respite than I’ve had.” Ambrose wrapped his wings around Ty. “Right, this lesson is ended. I have a certain wee lad to get to bed.”

Lysander watched Ambrose with his son like he couldn’t understand the tender way that he was holding him. “You intend to reward the child for his misbehavior? How can you teach us, when you’ve no conception of how to discipline your own son?” Ambrose’s smile faded. “If you fail to teach us our lesson, there shall be consequences.”

Ambrose straightened his shoulders. “Aye, right. Your concern is touching. Your daft arses will learn that there are always consequences, no matter what you decide. But right now, my son is what matters.” He glanced at Magenta. “You saved Ty, which means that you win the Punish and Reward Game.” Then he glowered at Lysander. “Punish his arse for me. As he’s so interested in discipline, a beating sounds good.”

As Lysander gaped in outrage, Ambrose marched into the stable block, carrying his sleeping kid.

In the silence, the Princes glanced at us Immortals, waiting for the ax to fall. Bask bounced to my side, smiling.

“If it pleases you,” Bask wrapped his arms around himself in anticipation as he whispered, “I’ve been thinking all day of the perfect punishment. It’s a punishment to Prince Lysander, but it’ll reward Midnight. Tonight, in the Rebel Café, Lysander has to serve him.”

“I don’t like taking part in this game at all,” Magenta sighed, “but if we must, then that appears the best compromise.”

“Come on, get on with it,” Lysander spat. “Lay hands like the brutes you are on my royal person.”

Bask snickered.

“Hey, there aren’t enough chocolates in your private larder to bribe me into touching your person.” I lifted my brow. “The punishment is for Prince Lysander. Tonight, you have to serve your whipping boy.”

He blinked. “How?”

I grinned wickedly. “That depends on the café and your whipping boy, but since you’ve had this whole master and servant thing going on, I have a feeling that you’re in for a long night of humiliation, slave.”

Always hit them where it hurts, and for Prince Lysander, that was right in his pride.

Lysander’s cheeks pinked, before his eyes darkened with a deadly rage. “Have your fun. But tomorrow, I’ll be certain to win the Game, and you’ll regret making me suffer. Roles can be reversed for a single night, but the whipping boys shall be whipping boys still and princes shall always be princes. I’ll be certain that yours remembers that as much as mine.”

My eyes narrowed at Lysander’s threat to Fox. Didn’t he get that we could seriously hurt him with the Game, but instead, were trying to teach him to treat his own whipping boy with some respect?

Even though Magenta had manged to make a friend of one fae prince, another had become a deadlier enemy. Lysander looked set to wreck us, before we could wreck him.