Rebel Academy: Crave

Chapter Seven FOX

When the dragon swooped overhead with a screech that made my ears ring, I dived for a snowbank. Then I spluttered, as I swallowed a mouthful of freezing snow. The brand on my hand throbbed like a pulse.

When I’d arrived only a couple of hours earlier in the bailey, I’d been frightened that the witch professors could’ve been using my dick for target practice. Yet all along I should’ve been worried that the dragons hungered for my cock and balls and not in the kinky Witches Who Swing party way, which Aquilo had whispered to me he’d overheard was his sister’s style.

It’d turned out that Damelza had been telling the truth about mum’s donation…truth: bribe to the dragon polo team. Unfortunately, that meant dragons existed. Then it meant that candles and bells, I’d be forced to ride one.

Wasn’t it enough that I’d had to travel through the dragon gargoyle perched outside the West Wing, who’d licked me with his stone tongue? The only licking I wanted was from Rebel Ghost.

This time, when I’d stumbled to my knees outside the castle’s walls, I had puked in the snow. Pan knows, I’d snuggled on Bask’s lap as a fox, which meant that I’d already broken too much of the House of Jewels’ etiquette to stand a chance at that good first impression.

Then Sleipnir had yanked me up, bouncing with excitement like we were on our way to a punk concert, rather than heading into danger, and pulled me past a host of mysterious buildings that I’d barely been able to make out by the light of the moon.

What other secrets did the Rebel Academy hold?

From the outside, the academy had looked rugged with gray walls. The witches hid the truth of their colorful inside just as well as they hid their lies with their charms.

The closer that I’d walked over the crunching snow towards a huge building, which appeared with its barred stalls and smoky scent to be a cross between a prison and the gateway to hell, the more tender the brand became.

Voldemort in panties, was the brand like a screwed-up Bat-Signal?

“The stables,” Sleipnir had muttered, whilst something dark had flashed in his eyes.

Truth: I know the danger that we’ll discover there.

My powers of Confess had blasted me with the nu metal roar of Adema’s “Immortal”. Either Sleipnir had missed his Mortal Kombat sessions with his dad (and I’d have given anything to be a fly on the wall to those), or he’d been certain that we were going into battle.

How did he know? Why hadn’t he told me?

It’d been a godly kick in the balls that Sleipnir had promised I wasn’t a stranger, but he’d kept me in the dark like one. I’d been treated like that by my own family. After Sleipnir had gifted me a coat and scarf, before I’d followed him to the gargoyle, I’d allowed myself to think of him as better than my mum and sister because only dad had ever risked giving a shimage gifts.

Bask had told me that whipping boys weren’t handed out their own coats because in witch tradition they didn’t feel the cold. I figured that Damelza had a catchy bullshit motto about it.

I’d shivered, pushing my hands into the pockets of my black woolen overcoat that was embroidered with a pink RA crest. I’d loved the way that it’d been too long for me and smelled like Sleipnir. I’d sniffed the collar, burrowing further into its warmth.

Bask had brushed his hand across the hollow of my back. “The funding always goes to polo because it’s the Princes’ favorite class.” Bask had sighed. “Don’t you want to please the Principal and start the term as the golden boy?”

As I lay cowering from the dragon who’d attacked us Immortals, before we’d even been able to reach the stables, I’d say fat wizarding chance.

When a sizzling spray of golden fire scorched the snow above my head, I hollered, only for both Sleipnir and Bask to throw themselves over me like a shield. I stiffened in shock.

Wait, were they protecting me…?

The dragon roared and circled again. If the dragon was able to escape, then the academy had some serious breaches of risk assessments and safety precautions. I’d be writing a strong letter to the nobody cares Fox; be thankful that you weren’t thrown to the wolves.

Yeah, that ought to do it.

I peeked up into the night time sky at the sharp stars.

Then Sleipnir grunted as the back of his collar was snatched and he was hauled to his feet. He struggled, twisting around in the snow, whilst he was shaken. He stilled, however, as he looked up into the blazing eyes of a delicate fae who was more beautiful than I thought it was possible for a guy to be but who was also wearing an expression that could flay Sleipnir alive.

The fae’s eyes were emerald and bright against the alabaster of his skin. They were the same shade as his steam punk style military officer uniform. A leather whip coiled around his waist like a snake.

I shuddered at the sight of the whip but even that couldn’t stop me from gaping in fascination at the fae’s wings, which were golden like his hair and beating violently, gusting wind across my cheeks.

I’d never seen a Seelie fae before. Especially not one who was shaking with anger. I’d take a wild guess that he was the Dragon Trainer who was guilty of failing to control the dragon and setting it loose to flambé me.

Unless, he wasn’t the one who was guilty of setting free the dragon?

Yet why was a fae shivering in these cursed grounds? Dragon Wrangler at a witch led academy wasn’t top of a Seelie’s career path. The fae tribes and their Courts were fiercely independent and had so many civil wars between themselves that I didn’t know how they remembered whose wings they were meant to be kissing or hacking off.

I wrinkled my nose. How could anyone hack off something so awe-inspiring (and also so soft that I wanted to kneed it with my paws?).

“Do you see what your daft slackness has caused, boy?” The Sexy Fae (sometimes I lied to myself and sometimes I called it as I saw it), snarled with a Scottish accent that thrummed with dominance. Plus, how big were his cojones to call a god boy? “I should never have allowed your refusal to use spurs, bridles, or even a saddle. Now Marcus is free. Your ridiculous insistence on treating these dragons as if they’re—"

“Shifters, Prince Ambrose?” Sleipnir shot back with the practice of a familiar argument.

“Professor,” Ambrose hissed.

I stiffened. My pleasing Damelza before term started just went up in flames. Plus, Marcus…? Shouldn’t he have a dragony name like Smaug, Drogon, or Puff, the Magic Dragon?

“Professor,” Sleipnir drawled as insolently as if he’d just called Ambrose asshole. Ambrose’s wings stretched out in an alpha display. Sleipnir cocked his head, although the look in his eyes was dangerous. “Hmm, I wonder why I’d treat them as if they’re shifters kind of like me? Could it be because they are?”

Wait, Sleipnir was a shifter?

Was that how he could change his hair and eyes like other people changed their shoes? It’d been startling to watch in the West Wing, as his tattoos had morphed like they were connected to his emotions. I’d never met anyone who was like me before, and it made my chest ache because I didn’t think that Sleipnir was a monster.

Did that mean that I wasn’t?

If the dragons like this Marcus were shifters as well, then neither were they. They didn’t deserve to be shut away in that barred building and rode by posh boys with spiked spurs.

Whatever sabotage Sleipnir had set up tonight, he could count me in.

Ambrose glanced around like he thought he was being spied on, which for all I knew he was. Finally, his expression softened, “Aye, you’re right. Don’t you think that I understand?”

I jolted at Ambrose’s troubled intensity. He couldn’t have been more sincere if he’d scrawled the words on his own balls in blood. The princely fae hated how the dragon shifters were treated as much as Sleipnir did. So, why was he helping to enslave them? I mean, I understood being competitive, but no sports trophy could be worth trapping a supernatural to ride as if they were a horse.

There were kinky parties for that type of thing, but consent had to be given in writing first.

Sleipnir grinned; it was wickeder than anything I’d ever seen before. “Then hey, what’s your problem, professor?”

Ambrose’s wings beat furiously, as he gripped Sleipnir’s elbow and yanked him closer.

Bask and I launched ourselves up. The urge to protect Sleipnir rushed through me, even as the scent of yew trees enveloped me. I shuddered, as Rebel Ghost’s kisses nipped down my neck. Despite the danger of both the dragon and its fae trainer, I felt safe now that the final Immortal was here.

Did she feel safe now that I’d arrived in the academy?

I knew that I’d save her. I hadn’t been able to save my dad or older brother from my witch family and I hadn’t been able to save myself. The craving for pleasure…and love…that had trapped me beneath her portrait, despite the cringe factor of humping my patron’s thigh, had been the most outstanding sensation of my life. I’d die to set her free, just like Sleipnir had finally freed me. Okay, it’d been thirteen years too late. But then, how long had this ghost been waiting around for someone who’d rescue her?

Ambrose’s gaze darted to me. “A new Rebel?”

Bask’s fingers curled possessively around the back of my neck, and I leaned into his touch.

I shook my head. “I’m an inspector from the Ministry for Training and Enslavement of Shifters, and you’ve just failed. If you’d open the stables, so I can look around and take any remaining dragons into my care…”

Bask cupped his hand over his mouth to hide his grin, and Ambrose blinked at me in confusion.

“Are you mocking me?” Ambrose demanded, as pink flushed his translucent cheeks.

Shut up mouth...please…I promise, chocolate tasty treats, if you just…

“Great Pan, of course not,” saved by the power of pathological lying, “I’d never mock one of my esteemed professors.”

Ambrose growled. “Right, like you rascals weren’t sent here to drive the gold from my wings.” I grimaced. Wow, my lying had never been accused of that before. “As long as the shifters wear the House of Crows’ collars, then they’re trapped in their dragon form, and your daft arses will treat them like beasts.”

“Just our asses?” Sleipnir asked coolly, even though his gaze darkened. “What about our ears or our dicks…?”

When Ambrose gripped Sleipnir hard by the chin, I realized that I was shaking with rage in a way that I never had before because this fury wasn’t for my own mistreatment but for Sleipnir’s and for the dragon shifters’.

Prickles jabbed beneath my skin, and I rocked from foot-to-foot. Bask tightened his hold on my neck.

Any moment, Mr Fierce the hedgehog would burst out, and I wouldn’t be held responsible for any bloodshed, smackdowns, or even (no matter how much my kittenish side mewled in protest), pricked wings.

I was going Hedgehog on the pretty fae because that was how I rolled.

“If you don’t, then I’ll sling all of you…asses, ears, and dicks…into detention with Professor Bacchus again.” When Ambrose’s lips curled back, I recoiled.

Ambrose’s teeth were pearly white and as sharp as fangs.

Why had no one told me that fae were part vampire?

I didn’t miss Sleipnir’s shudder or the way that he bit his lip. He still rolled his eyes. “Huh, threatening me with the witch who kidnapped me. That’s the type of messed-up dickishness that I’d expect from a jerk ex-Prince turned professor.”

Ambrose snarled, tossing Sleipnir backward into a snow drift, where he landed with an oomph. My eyes widened. Sleipnir was taller than Ambrose — and a god — but Ambrose was one badass fairy.

I often became confused between the tales that dad had told me of the real supernaturals and the ones that I’d read in my novels written by non-magical authors and the Disney films that I loved.

Aquilo had sniffed in disdain when he’d caught me watching Peter Pan, but he’d still settled down to watch it avidly with me because most witch Houses didn’t allow TVs in their homes. Witches protected non-magical humans but had no interest in their true lives.

Dad must’ve bargained…sacrificed…something major to ensure I had that entertainment.

Yet now all I could imagine was Ambrose’s emerald military uniform transforming into a short green dress and slippers with white puffs. Maybe I had a secret cross-dressing fetish hidden so deeply that I’d never realized it until now because okay, who hadn’t wanked over that naughty but seductive Tinker Bell?

What, just me then…?

Even the vision of Ambrose with pixie dust erupting from a wand that was definitely not Disney approved, couldn’t stop the flush on my cheeks being from anger at Ambrose’s attack on my new student friend, rather than arousal.

Truth: it was a heady mix of both. Sue me.

With a pop of glitter, I transformed into an albino hedgehog. Hex my balls and call me a witch, Mr Fierce was on the rampage.

Berserker rage flooded my mind. Kill, kill, kill…

My ghost white bristles stood out like spears, as my red eyes blazed. I let out my warrior high pitched squeal, before tucking my head down and rolling through the snow to hit Ambrose’s foot.

Feel the hedgehogy wrath…

I emitted a furious clicking sound as I jumped up and down because if the professor didn’t fear me after this display, then maybe I’d pull out the big guns and start with the biting.

Ambrose gawked down at me. “Would one of you care to explain why the new student is making sweet love to my boot?”

Worms and prickles, he’d done it now.

I hissed, uncurling and biting Ambrose’s toes through the leather. Any minute, he’d be screaming… Any minute…just a little longer…

My little black nose whiffled in disgust. Yuck, how long would I have to lick Ambrose’s boots, before he broke?

Bask giggled. “He’s a shimage.”

Ambrose shot Bask a censorious look, hooking his hands on his waist around the whip in a way that should’ve been intimidating but hello, Tinker Bell wank bank fantasies. “I know that he’s nothing but a ball of prickles,” hey, I resented that anti-hedgehog prejudice, “but will you leave off insulting your fellow Rebels.”

“A shimage,” Bask repeated more slowly. “Who right now looks like his inner shifter has a problem with you.”

Ambrose shook his boot, and I fell backward with a grunt. “Respect my position. You swagger around forgetting that once I was a Rebel just the same as you. I was one of the few to survive, however, and I earned this professorship.” His gaze slid to Sleipnir’s who suddenly pinked. “How long do you imagine that I’ll survive if my dragons keep escaping?”

Was that a flash of guilt in Sleipnir’s eyes? Was this freeing of the dragons one of his campaigns and would Ambrose pay the price?

My fury died down to a bubbling simmer.

I knew what it was like to suffer in fear of witches. How long had Ambrose been imprisoned here, under the control of the House of Crows, even if he was a professor?

And survive…? I knew that this academy was dangerous, but the Seelie was simply being dramatic, right?

Sleipnir tilted his chin up defiantly; the wolf tattoos snarled. “Whatever. I can only count one escaping right now. Are you certain that you graduated if you can’t count, professor?”

Ambrose’s wings arced out in golden glory, before he dropped over Sleipnir, caging him with his arms. “If I can prove that you broke Marcus’ collar to free him…?” Then he took a shuddering breath, calming himself. When he continued, his voice was quiet but even deadlier, “The principal in her infinite kindness hasn’t granted me permission to fly until term begins. But then, wasn’t that part of your plan?” And there went the flash of guilt in Sleipnir’s eyes again. “Maybe you want me to suffer or perhaps, all you care about is mayhem and mischief like your dad.”

Sleipnir became ashen. “Don’t talk about my dad.”

Ambrose huffed with laugher; it blew across Sleipnir’s cheeks like dragon mist. “Aye, right because he’ll appear any moment and spank me. Oh, wait, he won’t because he’s abandoned you.” Bask hissed in fury at the same time as me. Ambrose glanced around at all of us; the moonlight shone on his fangs. “Recapture Marcus or you’ll be punished. Then this term, you’ll have more to fear than the Princes. You’ll discover why the fae are the cruelest warriors.” His eyes flashed dangerously. “If you make me your enemy, I swear that it’s a battle I shall win.”

Truth: You’re leaving me no choice. Obey me or suffer.

When Marcus roared above us, swooping towards the stables, Ambrose didn’t even flinch. My nose twitched, however, and I curled into a ball. Rebel Ghost’s cool breeze cocooned around me.

What kind of ever-witching choice was that for a hedgehog?

I either captured an enraged dragon or turned my fae professor into an enemy who’d make it his mission over the next term to see me suffer.

As a fox shifter trapped in an attic for over a decade, I’d dreamed of hunting many things: crows, reality show contestants, and Jiminy Cricket. But even I hadn’t been able to trick myself that I’d get the chance to stalk a dragon.

Rebel Academy — offering new hunting opportunities since 1870.

I’d have to drop that in the Suggestion Box for Damelza. Maybe she’d give me a gold star.

I lowered my head in my Arctic fox form, slinking through the snow around the stables. My cream coat camouflaged me. I hesitated in the stables’ shadows. My eyes stung in the smoky mists.

For the first time, my powers were a strength. I’d only just arrived in the academy, but it was my magic that would help recapture a dragon and save my friends from the professor. I wasn’t simply the mage who didn’t deserve to live in a witch’s House (and embarrassed myself all over the floorboards because Mr Fierce was a pooping rebel), I was the fox whose fur fitted with these wintry grounds like I’d always meant to be sent here.

I usually knew if I was tricking myself with a lie but somehow, that felt deep in my bones like the truth.

Was it because of Rebel Ghost who hadn’t left my side from the moment that I’d shifted? Her icy fingers brushed my tail, and I shivered at its sensitivity. I was certain that the gust of air across my fluffy ear was a chuckle. In fox form, everything was heightened: my sight, hearing, smell, and touch.

It should’ve felt like an assault, but instead, it was like coming alive.

I eyed a snowbank. Hartley and I had built snowmen and laughed, whilst chasing each other through the formal gardens behind our mansion in the final winter BM. We’d checked that mum had been out visiting the House of Seasons first, which was the coven in charge of Oxford. Otherwise, Hartley would’ve been chided for setting a bad example:

How will your brother ever find a good wife, if you don’t show him his place?

Was being a mage truly worse than becoming some rich witch’s trophy husband?

I wriggled my ass, desperate to jump in the snow and play. But Sleipnir had chosen me for this mission to sneak closer to Marcus, and no one had ever picked me because of my talents before. Except, my power of Confess sucked because I knew Sleipnir was lying that he wished to recapture Marcus.

Had he broken the collar?

Sleipnir’s lie had blasted me with The Animal’s haunting “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood”, which had made me shiver. Sleipnir was one complex, troubled, and way too hot to be fair god. I figured that he schemed as much as I lied and Bask desired sexy times. The problem with Confess was that it didn’t explain the why behind the lie.

Sometimes a lie was kinder than a truth, and a liar was braver than an honest man…or woman. On the other hand, sometimes lies were cowardly, cruel, or cunning.

Which type was Sleipnir’s?

My ears flicked around as Marcus circled overhead again. Why hadn’t he flown away and escaped? Why would he risk remaining so close to his prison? I’d have been halfway to my mountain cave, treasure hoard, Pokémon trainer…or however it worked. Dad had been sketchy on that part.

Air whooshed against my fur. I flattened myself to the ground and then risked peeking up.

Marcus was like a streak of sun flying across the moon. His smooth skin was golden, and his long neck and tail were sinuous, as he coiled above me. Yellow magic fluttered out of his bat-like wings, as if he was wearing a decadent outfit. He was more ethereal than the fae prince.

He was nothing like the monster that I’d always imagined dragons to be.

How could I hunt another shifter, when inside he was the same as me? I mean, I could be a prick, but I wasn’t a dick. And that there was an important distinction.

I whined, lowering my ears, before I stepped out of the shadows and padded through the snow in front of the stables and under the dragon, no longer attempting to hide from him.

If a dragon shifter didn’t deserve to be imprisoned, then did that mean that I didn’t deserve to be either?

Truth: I’d never deserved to be shut away.

I whimpered as that truth ripped through me, tearing down the lies, which I’d built to protect myself. I didn’t need them now. I could be my true self, and I would be free.

Behind me, I could hear the other Immortals and the professor wildly hollering.

I quivered, as my heart pounded in my chest. I whimpered, glancing up from underneath my eyelashes at Marcus. He’d flown lower, and his molten gold gaze fixed on mine. Then Marcus’ magic whipped out: furious rays of the sun that were heading directly for me. I crouched in the snow. Any moment, Mr Fierce wouldn’t be the only one to embarrass himself with an accident.

I covered my head with my paws, as fire streaked from Marcus’ jaws, and his magic prickled across me.

Closer, closer, and…

Suddenly, I was lifted by the scruff of my neck. I yelped, as I found myself staring into the golden gaze of the dragon transformed into man. He was just as beautiful as he’d been in his dragon form.

Wait, did that mean that I was…let’s settle on as handsome because I wouldn’t admit to adorable unless sugary treats changed hands…as I was as a fox?

In a spray of blue glitter, I transformed back into a mage. Marcus was still holding me by the neck, but his lips twitched as if trying not to smile.

Marcus’ hair hung in soft blond waves to his waist, but his stance was that of a warrior. His cheekbones were high and sharp, and his yellow jacket and trousers, which were embroidered with orchids, were cut like a military uniform.

“Nice moves.” Should I tag on a sir, master, or maybe a bow…? I shrugged: screw that. “I’m scoring you full marks. Now, how about you fly away home, before you’re collared again?”

I darted an anxious glance over Marcus’ shoulder at Ambrose who was sprinting towards Marcus and me. Ambrose’s wings beat in frustration at being unable to take flight. My breath caught, and I clutched Marcus’ shoulders, trying to urge him back into the air.

Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “Are you not a spy, little fox?” He asked in a deep, rich voice.

I froze. “Why would the King of the Fox People be a spy?”

So, who doesn’t exaggerate on their resume…?

Marcus snorted. “Uh-huh. Well, Your Majesty,” (I shivered: I could get used to hearing that), “I happen to be an archduke.” My shoulders slumped. Why hadn’t I gone big on the lie and made myself Emperor of the Fox Universe? “And my dear brothers are still collared in the stables.” He let go of my neck to stroke his fingers through my hair. I hated the anguished expression in his eyes. “It’s simply that I belong to Prince Lysander, and I fear being ridden by him again. The Princes believe in nothing but subduing and conquering. They don’t understand shifters. This academy holds the most terrifying of secrets. But if I leave my brothers behind, it’ll be dishonorable—”

“Wouldn’t your brothers want you to be safe?” I whispered.

It’d been all I’d ever wished for Glow. I hoped that it was how he felt about me being sent away from the House of Jewels and leaving him by himself. And I knew that, despite the fact that he’d died, dad had given everything to keep me safe because he hadn’t been able to protect my brother.

Marcus scrutinized me in a way that made me squirm. “I wish that I saw the truth as clearly as you.”

“Believe me, you don’t,” I muttered.

Ambrose was just the other side of the snowbank now. When he slipped the leather whip from around his waist, I gasped.

All of a sudden, Marcus clasped me to his chest. He was hot, despite the cold, and his magic coiled around me like he was cocooning me in the sun.

“I’ll take warning to my people,” his grip was harsh in my hair, as if he never wanted to let go, “but you shouldn’t be trapped here either, King of the Foxes. Let me free you as well.”

I flushed. “I’m sort of collared myself. I was branded by this dancing Hecate, which means that I can’t escape the wards.”

When Marcus drew back, I was shocked by the gleam of tears in his golden eyes.

Nobody had ever cried for me before. Not even dad. Glow and I had cried for each other, but that wasn’t the same thing.

Marcus smiled, tracing down my cheek. “It’s kind of you to urge me to go, when you shall be the one to pay for it.”

So, he hadn’t been conned by my royal ploy…

I shrugged. “Someone did the same for me.” My throat was thick with tears; I struggled to swallow. “Drive safe.”

Marcus huffed with laughter. “You’re a funny little fox. But I like you.”

Then he kissed the corner of my mouth, before darting into the dark. Ambrose bellowed at him, but Marcus shifted into his dragon form, beating his wings and winding towards the stars and away, over the ancient woods.

My eyes blurred with tears, but I’d never thrilled with such joy, until Ambrose cracked his whip into the snow at my feet. I jumped, wrapping my arms around my middle. Ambrose panted, out of breath from his dash to catch Marcus.

Bask and Sleipnir were still sauntering after him. Had Sleipnir plotted Marcus’ escape? Why had he wanted me to be the one to witness it?

Ambrose stalked towards me, raising my chin with the butt of his whip. The hardness of his emerald gaze made me realize just how gentle Marcus’ had been.

If the Seelie were so tough, maybe the Princes should be saddling them up and riding their asses…?

“You let him go,” Ambrose hissed.

I licked my dry lips. “I lost him. Dragon beats fox. Sorry.”

Ambrose eased back, glancing between me and the other two Immortals. “You’re not yet. But you will be tomorrow morning.”

When I flinched, Bask dived for me, slinging his arms around my shoulders and fussing, whilst he checked me for injuries. Sleipnir stood between Ambrose and me, crossing his arms like he was my bodyguard — and I wasn’t the whipping boy.

Yet it didn’t matter how much they pretended that they could protect me because that was just another lie. In Rebel Academy, I sensed the truth that the professors held the power, and even though Prince Ambrose was male and an ex-Rebel, he was still a professor.

In my first morning in the academy, what punishment would I suffer?