Rebel Academy: Crush

Chapter Nine FOX

When Damelza snatched Willoughby’s hand, my own fingers cramped in sympathy.

It was Magenta holding my hand; I was safe in the seats of the Memory Theater. This time, it was Willoughby’s punishment.

Yeah, actually that didn’t make my furry ass feel any better.

My heart thudded faster and faster in my chest again. I forced myself to keep watching the stage. This was the worst theater production that I’d ever seen and I’d never even been inside a real theater before.

But I’d watched Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats on TV. I think dad thought that I’d feel a connection with the singing and dancing creatures. Instead, I felt weirdly traumatized.

When Damelza pressed Willoughby’s palm against the back wall, Willoughby attempted to wrench away, but Damelza shoved him stumbling forwards.

Then it was me stumbling and sliding on a sheet of ice.

I landed on my knees with a crack, catching myself with my hands.

I wasn’t in the Memory Theater anymore but an ice cave.

I shivered, staring down at my fingers, which were covered in thick gloves. Then I gaped at the sky-blue hair that swept across the ice.

Willoughby's hair.

I scrambled onto my knees, glancing down at the loose tunic and trousers, which were underneath a flowing woolen coat. It was as different to the tight silk uniform that Willoughby wore in the academy as a dove to a snake.

I counted back from hundred to control the panic.

100,99,98…

I didn't want to see whatever was in this frozen memory. On my prickles, don't make me do this.

I slid my fingers across the ice. It burned me, even through my gloves.

It was so real.

Whatever had happened here was Willoughby's secret truth. It was the moment that he'd become a monster.

Yet I was a witness now.

Had it been just like this for the other Rebels, when I'd been reliving my sister's birthday party in the attic? Even Lysander had felt what it was like to be me. Had each of them walked around inside my body like a demon possession? Wait, that meant that they'd all been inside me at the same time.

Was that sextuple penetration? Oww...

I shuddered. I wasn't ever thinking that again. Still, they'd literally worn my skin, and now I was wearing Willoughby's.

All of a sudden, a rough hand gripped my arm, yanking me to my feet; I struggled not to fall over again. "Watch yourself. By my ears, let us at least pretend that the dance lessons to teach you to become more graceful were a worthy use of a prince's time."

I was twisted to face a warrior. I swallowed. Okay, not simply a fae, but one who was taller, stronger, and a king if the crystal crown (like massive antlers on his head), wasn't simply for decoration.

I was guessing that it wasn't and could also be used for goring disrespectful foxes.

When the warrior fae brushed back my hair, I fought not to flinch. He only readjusted the crystals that were woven through my hair, however, instead of poking me with his crown.

Why didn’t Willoughby wear his hair like this in the academy? His hair was always coiled with ribbons, instead.

So, this warrior was Willoughby's dad...?

Suddenly, my mind became hazy, melding with Willoughby's memories, until I didn’t know where I stopped and he began.

Then, I was him.

I blinked at father, leaning towards him, as he pressed a kiss to the crystals in my hair. I smiled. Mother had given them to me as a gift on the day that I'd been officially announced heir to the throne. I'd been raised to expect to rule but still, it'd only been days since I'd been granted the official right to publicly wear the crystals that marked my right.

I'd never been so proud because it was my parents’ and kingdom's will.

When father turned me by the shoulder, the reassuring weight of his hand guided me further into the Sacred Ice Cave. My magic prickled and sparked across the walls.

In the name of the Other World, this was wondrous.

The winding cave was carved out of sheer ice. Needle-sharp icicles, which looked like sabertooth fangs, hung from the roof. It glowed with ancient blue magic. I craved to add my own ice sculptures.

I reached out, touching my finger to the wall and dancing ice horses across it.

Did I truly deserve such honor? To walk the path that so few had done before? In the way of kings?

Father's fingers squeezed my shoulder, reassuringly. "Your doubts echo off the very walls. They're the reason that you should be king." Then his lips twitched. "I was just as nervous."

I feigned shock. "But I thought that the Slayer of Dark Elves was incapable of fear?"

Father let go of my shoulder to pinch my ear. Why had I forgotten that was his favorite chastisement? My dancing horses reared up in distress, and I broke off my ice patterns.

I grimaced, glad that none of my friends could see me dragged like a child by the pointy tip of my ear. I truly didn't look like a prince now. "You should be more frightened of the Pincher of Ears."

Then he let me go with a chuckle.

Ruefully, I rubbed my ear, before sweeping father a bow. "I apologize to both Slayer and Pincher."

Then I laughed, dashing in front of him through the caves. Yet I stopped short, when the tunnel flared out into a vast cavern. A chill seeped into my bones. It felt like this place deep underground was frozen in time.

"Every prince who will sit on our kingdom’s throne must first visit this cavern." Father marched to the far wall, which was streaked like the ice had been struck by lightning. "Step forward and discover your magical gift."

I took a deep breath, flushing. Why was my chest tight and my breathing ragged? I should be puffed up like Darby was whenever he was the center of father's attention. Yet I felt like transforming myself into one of my own sculptures, so that I didn’t have to put on a performance as the prince like I did whenever father took time away from running the kingdom, sitting at council, or fighting battles to notice me.

I wished that I could be outside with Darby riding beside him on Thunder or challenging him to climb the oaks in the palace gardens. Yet now I had these crystals in my hair and a sacred gift to receive. The crown would be on my head soon.

Yet what if I wasn't strong enough to wear it?

Listen to me.

"What if I can't protect this kingdom?" I ducked my head, and my hair swung into my eyes. "What if I can't protect Darby, mother...you?"

Father frowned. "I'm going somewhere, am I? You'll get this new gift, and I'll just vanish?"

Listen to me.

"I meant simply that I've been arrogant about my powers as a warrior. But I know Darby possesses the true strength as a sorcerer..."

Father snorted.

I arched my brow in surprise. "I sometimes believe that he thinks I'm weak. Yet I'm frightened I have more power than I can control. I feel it’s frozen claws inside me..."

Listen to me.

Father's eyes flashed dangerously. "Do you think your mother weak or her magic frightening?"

I hurriedly shook my head. On every oath, she was my light.

Father beckoned me closer. "Your mother would sooth you to sleep with her lullabies because her healing powers are in her song. You've inherited the same powers. Your brother..." He sighed. "I wish that his powers didn't inflict hurt, rather than heal. Yet he'll stand at your right-hand. He'll be the reason that you'll win every battle and this kingdom shall stand strong."

I straightened my shoulders. Why had I been scared to take up my birthright? I'd have Darby beside me, just like I always had. Once, we’d battled imaginary enemies with wooden swords, but now, we’d fight true battles with my steel and his magic.

I was blessed.

When father nodded at the wall, I gasped.

A glittering book was trapped in the ice. Its magic was ancient and dark, but it sang to mine a song so beautiful that I ached.

Save me...claim me...forever...

"The Crystal Diary," father's voice was hushed. "If it bonds with you, and you write in it every day, then a part of your soul will live forever in its pages. It's magical immortality."

I licked my dry lips. I wanted it, or the diary wanted me.

When I reached out and my fingers grazed the wall, my magic shattered the ice with a sharp crack. The wall broke in a jagged line, and I covered my face as it fell on top of me like an icy waterfall.

Then I peered between my hands at the diary at my feet.

It was mine, mine, mine...

"You're my worthy successor." Father's pride wound through me like warm honey; I glowed. "How about I take the next few days off so that we can celebrate together? Would you like a feast in your honor?"

Father would take days away from his duties for me…? I felt dizzy. He'd never done that before, even when I’d broken my arm or Darby had achieved every accomplishment there was in sorcery.

Darby would love a feast.

He’d always been excited when the palace had been decorated for events, the bustle of important visitors, and the pomp and spectacle. I hated the attention that he swallowed like sweets. I’d rather have been hiding out under the quiet branches of the oaks. Of course, I’d tried that several times, only to be dragged inside by scolding servants.

They always seemed to bow more swiftly to Darby than to me.

I nodded. "Darby as well?"

Father's mouth twisted. "If it’d make you happy."

When I bent to pick up the diary, however, the magic stung me. I jerked back in shock.

I was unworthy. A warrior but no sorcerer. A rejected prince.

I sucked in my breath. Need me. Want me. Let me be strong.

Yet as I turned away, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Dark shadows slunk at the entrance to the cavern, and my ears twitched at the sound of echoing footballs.

My eyes widened, and I moved in front of father, at the same time as his hand fell to the hilt of his sword, and he pushed me behind him.

"Assassins," he grunted. "Traitors."

The traitors were swaddled in tight black clothes that made them look like true shadows swarming monstrously across the walls of the cavern.

How many were there? Too many...far too many...

My eyes widened, and my throat became tight. I'd fought in battles, galloping at their front on Thunder like war itself. I'd faced death, destruction, and danger.

But no one ever attacked the king. To do so in the Sacred Cave was like cleaving open the heart of the Other World.

Who would dare...?

I shook with rage and then I paled because if they'd entered the cave, it meant that they'd killed the guards outside: my friends who I'd trained and fought alongside.

Had they also hurt our horses?

No, no, no... not Thunder...

I wouldn't also let them take father.

"Leave this place," I didn't even know that I was speaking, until the words had rung from my lips like the regal peel of a bell. "I swear on the ancient ice that holds the power of my birthright that I shall kill you if you don't."

Was that me speaking? Where had such words wound from...within my soul or magic? Father stared at me; his brow furrowed.

I expected pride but instead, there was only concern.

My eyes burned that even now, we didn't stand side by side. But he still thought that he had to protect me. He'd told me that I wasn't weak. Yet I knew that Darby would've been attacking these traitors already for daring to threaten the royal family.

And father would've allowed him to.

When I drew my dagger, baring my teeth, why did father shake his head at me?

I clenched my jaw, deliberately ignoring his gaze.

Inside, I was as chilly as the cavern. Something dangerous clawed to be free. My frozen magic surged in a way that I'd always feared, but nobody had ever believed me.

Why had they never listened?

I couldn't control it. The tips of my hair became icy.

Then my shoulders stiffened, as the shadows converged on us in a black silent wave.

They were almost here. Any moment... My palm was sweaty around my curved dagger. Almost here... My pulse raced. Too late...

Dark magic shot in a bolt at father, and he howled, as it seared his leg. He stumbled, falling to his knees. He lost his grip on his sword, and it skittered across the ice.

No, no, no...

A powerful force inside me, which had listened to my oath on the ice, burst out. The roaring in my ears blocked out everything but the winding tale of a song that linked me back to every ancestor who'd ever stood in this chamber, and it was their strength that I channeled.

I lost control.

There was nothing but the tempting dark freeze and the sweet song of my ancestors.

I swayed, before blinking open my eyes.

Where there'd been shadows, now there was frozen death. I gasped, stumbling onto my behind. I clutched my arms over my eyes because if I couldn't see it, then it wasn't true.

I hadn't murdered more men in a single moment than I'd ever killed on a battlefield.

I swallowed, slowly lowering my arms again. The traitors had been frozen into grotesque statues.

Was my legacy to be such an ice sculpture?

I twisted to the side and vomited. Then I pulled back my hair and wiped my mouth, grimacing.

What was I? What was wrong with me?

I stroked over the crystals in my hair. Would they be taken from me and given to Darby now that I'd been shown to be...unstable?

Yet I had defeated the traitors, saved the kingdom, and father. Perhaps, my honor could be restored.

I brushed my arm across my eyes, turning to father. "I kept my oath! See, I can fight too. I saved us..."

Then I keened, launching myself towards my father’s corpse.

Please, Sacred Other World, take anything from me but this.

I shook father by his icy shoulders, before dragging him to my chest like I could bring him to life again through my warmth. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I howled.

I take it back, I take it back, I take it back...

He was dead.

Please, no...

On my ears, what had I done? How would I explain this to Darby or mother? Anything that they did to me or sentenced as punishment, I’d deserve.

I was a king-slayer and killer.

Monstrous.

Desperately, I reached to the songs of my ancestors, but they were silent. So, I called to the mountains and woods for healing songs to bring him back, but they merely wept. There were no songs, but the streams screamed at me.

They knew what I'd done, and even they rejected me. Numb, I rocked, cradling my dead father.

More guards would come for us soon.

Come to shackle the monster, monster, monster...

Monster.

All of a sudden, the world spun.

I shook my head and found that I was back in my own foxy body, rocking in the seats of the Memory Theater. The feathered straps opened, releasing me.

Wow, that'd been a bad trip. I mean, I'd been locked in an attic for most of my life, where the highlights of my week were a whipping, wank starring Tinker Bell, and a Harry Potter comedy routine. But Willoughby's life made mine look like a pampered sultan who had a harem of jinn.

Willoughby rocked in the center of the stage...alone...with his arms clutched over his head. He was ashen, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. He'd never been anything but distant and composed before, except when his brother's letter arrived.

I understood why now.

My dad's funeral had been on the day that I’d arrived at this academy. It was less than a week ago. I'd loved my dad and everything that he'd suffered for me. He'd protected me the best he could. It squirmed inside me that the effort could've killed him. But Willoughby's magic had killed his own dad, while he'd been trying to protect him.

No wonder Willoughby believed all those lies about being a monster. But he wouldn't suffer alone. If us Immortals were claiming him, then he'd never be alone again.

When Damelza's eyes glittered with a predatory delight at Willoughby's distress, I stiffened. I glanced at Magenta, and she nodded. I should've known that the witch who could love a mage would never let something as small as the power to decimate whole armies stand in the way of her love.

After all, Magenta was a wicked witch with the power to curse into winter this entire academy. My whiffling nose smelled the perfect match.

When I dived across the seats onto the stage, Damelza let out a squawk of protest, which I ignored. Sleipnir and Bask followed me. Magenta transformed into mist and rematerialized next to Willoughby on the floor. He looked up with hazy, confused eyes, as she wound her arms around him. Then he rested his head against her chest, and she carded her fingers through his hair, until his breathing steadied.

I sat cross-legged next to him, as Bask and Sleipnir stood over him, guarding him from Damelza’s special brand of cruelty.

Lysander stood up, pointing at us in outrage. "Get away from his royal personage! Don't sully a Prince with your Immortal—"

I tilted my head. "Brilliance? Wit? Cum?"

Lysander reddened. "Who knows where any of you have been." He glowered. "Let me comfort him."

I snorted. "You mean, manhandle him and then lock him in his room."

Lysander at least had some decency in his fae ass (okay, that was a guess because it could've been in his fae prick, balls, or little toe), because he looked down, chastened.

Wow, that was a weird look on him. I liked it.

When I caressed Willoughby's cheek, wiping away his tears with the pad of my thumb, finally his gaze focused. "You're here now. In the academy."

When I leaned forward, Willoughby’s lips pressed to mine like he was desperate for me to prove it. I was up for that challenge. My skin tingled. Willoughby's lips were as soft as I'd imagined and as cold. They opened on a soft gasp, and my tongue pushed inside, twining with his. Instantly, everything faded but the taste of him.

I needed more. More of him.

Willoughby’s magic was dark and sang to mine. A sorcerer and a mage, we could be powerful together alongside Magenta. His magic was meant to bond with Magenta's and mine because he was death as surely as we were, and Sleipnir too.

Pleasure and death: I’d never forget the essential incubus ingredient.

Sleipnir wrenched back Willoughby's head, pulling him away from the kiss. I let out a whimper of protest.

It wasn't fair to take away a cat treat. Did he want me to bring out Master Claws? Because I was close to transforming and using Sleipnir’s dick as a scratching post.

Never piss off a pussy.

"We've seen your wicked secret now. And you know what? Who cares." Sleipnir lowered his face closer to Willoughby's. "We're all monsters. The question is whether you want to take control of your story."

Willoughby raised a shaky hand to cup Sleipnir's face. "I have a choice…?"

Bask eased Sleipnir's hand out of Willoughby's hair, smoothing it over.

He knelt behind Willoughby, wrapping his arms around his neck and nuzzling happily against him. "You're not alone, if you wish it. Can you feel me?"

Willoughby arched his brow. "You’re the most endowed of the Immortals. I can feel your impressive dick against my hip."

Bask flushed. "I’ll take the compliment."

Magenta's voice was low; it made me shudder. "Is there truly any way that you can ever achieve redemption for your past?"

Wait, what...? I attempted to hush her, but she batted me away.

Willoughby bit his lip, shaking his head. Tears hung like dew drops on the tips of his eyelashes.

"Then we must all of us move forward and show who we truly are in our actions. Believe me, I've had over a century to work that out for myself. I don't recommend taking that long. But you're not alone." Magenta leaned forward, whispering, "If you choose to be, you're a Rebel Immortal like me."

Willoughby shivered, leaning into Magenta like she was his salvation.

Damelza coughed, tapping her foot. Pissed off Principal alert. "Disgusting PDA and angsty declarations: I'll have to record these as side effects of the Memory Theater. How fascinating. This academy isn't about choice, however, you follow the rules that I set down as your Principal. Why can't you understand that the magical training within these walls offers up secrets like nowhere else in the world. If you survive, you'll experience adventures and realms that are beyond imagination. What's a little danger compared to that? Talking of danger..." Her lips curled into a malicious smile. "Tomorrow is Torment Thursday. I've cast a Celibacy Hex on you all." Her grin widened, as we groaned. "You need your sleep. Torment Thursday will be exciting but dangerous. The mage's life and the vampire's wings are the stake, as you've drawn every day this week. Tomorrow will decide whether the mage dies."