Rebel Academy: Crush

Chapter Ten MAGENTA

Torment Thursday didn't feel too tormenting, as I sunned myself on the stone window seat in the Conqueror's Gym. This was my first class, after the Immortals and I had been woken up at the punishment hour of 5 a.m. and then had forced down the barely edible slop that Sleipnir had sworn was porridge.

Sweet Hecate, I'd bet that the Princes had dined in Crow Hall on poached eggs, kippers, bacon, sausages, muffins and strawberry jam.

Oh, and delicious English tea.

I sighed, and my mouth watered. I couldn't forget the seven different types of tea, which had been stacked in the Prince's bedroom. Was it greedy to wish to taste each one, passed from Willoughby's lips to mine?

At least Ezekiel hadn't arrived yet to start the lesson and neither had Lysander (so the witching heavens did sometimes favor me). If it wasn't for the fact that my sweet mage would die if the Immortals lost the three classes today to our rivals the Princes, I'd have been able to sneak in a quick rest. Sleipnir had woken me up last night with a sleep talking outburst about bananas, which had been followed by Fox's snicker.

I missed Fox with an intense ache that made my magic wish to reach out and burst flowers from the ground to spell out his name.

FOX.

...or perhaps...

MINE.

Flower magic was possessive. Certainly, that was my excuse.

Only, whipping boys weren't allowed in warrior training, which meant that right now Fox was snuggled in bed again. He'd shot me a smug smile, burrowing back under the covers for an extra snooze.

Ah, witchy prejudice defeated by cat naps.

I leaned my head against the stone wall. Perhaps, I'd survive today with all my limbs and even my bosom in one piece. I ran my hand across those ample but perky bosoms just to be certain that I was truly here and looking out at the frozen river, which divided the academy from the domes and spires of Oxford.

It almost appeared that I could reach out and pick up the non-magical world. Could I control it with my magic in the same way as I did the grounds of the academy?

Now, wasn't that a thought?

Did the wards keep us hidden and secret from the rest of the world, or keep the rest of the world hidden, secret, and safe, from me?

Cauldrons and black cats, it was thrilling to be wicked.

I glanced across at Sleipnir and Bask, who'd thrown off their blazers and ties and slouched in the shadows. Sleipnir pushed back his mop of aquamarine hair, licking over his lip piercing like a promise to lick something far more pleasurable. In the far corner, which was painted with the grand battles that’d been fought by previous Rebels, they kissed like it was a battle as well.

Was this Kissing Practice?

That was what Fox had claimed was part of his curriculum this morning. It didn't look to me like either Bask or Sleipnir needed the lesson. In fact, they could be Professors in Kissing.

Yet they needed to take out their frustration, since last night Damelza’s Celibacy Hex had been effective at keeping our lips, hands, and naughty bits regrettably to ourselves.

They clutched hard onto each other's shoulders; their bodies melded as if into one. First one way and then the other, they fought each other for dominance, but neither gave an inch. Bask humped against Sleipnir's leg, but he glanced over his shoulder at me with half-lidded eyes.

My lips twitched. They knew that I was watching. Did they wish me to rate them out of ten or politely applause? Their pleasure fed me, until I had to battle myself to hold back the groan.

Was it appropriate ladylike behavior in class to slide your hand up underneath your skirts and...?

In a flurry of feathers and loud cawing, Flair and Echo flew through the window and landed on the seat. Echo overbalanced in his excitement and tumbled into my lap. I snatched my hand away from my naughty bits, and Echo flapped around, wrapping his wings around me in greeting.

Flair tilted his head. "Don't let us stop you, boss, if your cock lane needs a good—"

"My flower is none of your business." I flushed. "And it's watered enough right now, thank you for your interest."

"Any time." Flair hopped closer. "I don't know why our fuckable backsides were worried, since you're sitting here happy as a pig in shit."

I scrunched up my nose. "More like a ghost witch in sun."

Echo rubbed his head against my chin. "More like a beautiful witch in love."

I smiled, stroking Echo's wings. "Now, why the panicked crash landing? Are the dragons after you or have the witchy bitches developed a taste for crow on toast?"

Flair cawed in outrage.

"Bones and blood, it's Torment Thursday." Echo stared up at me, and his gentle voice became suffused with fear for me. "You love these Rebels, so I'll do anything to save them for you. But today could hurt or kill them."

Flair flapped his wings. "If I had my way, I'd peck off the Rebels’ balls, and make them my bitches. But as you'd never stop moaning about it, I'll save them, instead."

What kind of vampire had Flair been before he and his twin had been transformed into my familiars? I'd imagine that he'd been fierce. I found it both admirable and hot.

"How restrained of you." I tapped Flair on the beak. "Now on those mage’s balls that you swear not to castrate, tell me what's so important?"

"As I have Fallen, promise not to abandon us." Echo wrapped his wings even more tightly around me; I loved the feel of their feathery softness. "Please, please, promise me. The next few days..."

I blinked. "What am I promising?"

"You're not a ghost anymore." Flair assessed me, shrewdly. "But we are. Do you want to go back to being trapped in Hecate’s Tree?"

I bristled. "What a ludicrous question."

"Bollocks to that, wrapped in a shiny Torment Thursday sized extra dose of bollocks. The werewolf says that today can be deadly, but the mission tomorrow is worse. You may not even come back, boss."

My guts churned, and my pulse raced. I cuddled Echo like he was Nile, and rather wished that I hadn't already guessed that Flair was right.

"What werewolf?" I asked.

It seemed like the safest question.

That was, until Echo bumped his head against my bosom reprovingly. "The beautiful Omega who lives here. On my fangs, don’t tell me that you missed the cages?"

I gasped, remembering the cage in the corner of Juni's classroom. During Divination Class, however, I'd been rather taken up with Sleipnir's lips kissing up my neck, until my toes had curled. Of course, also Fox swinging upside down next to a naked vampire.

The cage had been for a werewolf...? Wait, wasn’t there also one by Hecate’s shrine in the castle courtyard? That was certainly a new addition, which hadn’t been there, during the time that I’d been growing up in the academy.

"I rather hoped that it was for when the Princes handed in their homework late." I shrugged.

Flair shook his head. "The Omega's collared, caged, and without the kinky fun. He's only allowed to transform on the full moon and at that bitch's command."

“But wolves are shifters. They should be able to transform at will. How do you know that he’s being controlled like the dragons?”

Echo cocked his head. "Flair's stalking, stalking, stalking him."

"Following him," Flair corrected.

"Just sleeping on—"

"Next to—"

"Him at night."

I glanced between them, narrowing my eyes. "Uh-huh. Entirely normal crow behavior. But why's he even in the academy? He's not on the Membership list."

"Juni owns him like you own us," Echo replied.

I winced. I opened my mouth to deny it, but Flair shot me a warning look. Last time that I'd tried to assure them of their freedom, Echo had freaked out, until I'd claimed him again. I couldn't tell if it was a vampire thing or a uniquely Echo thing. But since we'd spent over a century as ghosts alone together in Hecate's Tree, we belonged together.

Plus, Echo was technically right. His twin and him had been given to me on my twenty-first birthday, just as the cat familiar, Pocus, must've been given to Professor Bacchus.

They'd all been made property against their will.

Yet the wolves were wild and free. Their civilization was fascinating. Most of it was peaceful or not more war-like than any other paranormal.

How had Juni collared an Omega?

"It turns out that there was a Wolf War," Flair's voice was more anguished than I'd expected. What terrible things had Echo and he learned on their missions around the academy? "The bastard witches won and enslaved the wolves. From what I can tell, most of the werewolves were freed by some glittery god, a Wolf Charmer and her wolves, and our mage's cousin." I straightened, staring at him in shock. Fox's cousin had saved an entire race? He'd been brave enough to battle against witches? Wait, that explained the courage of my mage and why the magic inside him was so powerful. "But the witches here in the academy don't give a flying monkeys' fuck about witch law or tradition. They're outside all that shit. The academy’s Omega is still a slave."

"Not if I can help it," I muttered.

When Flair hopped forward, patting his wing on my knee in gratitude, I smiled. Flair must have a crush on this Omega. Now I was truly desperate to see him.

I glanced up at Sleipnir and Bask and I realized that they'd stopped kissing, although they were still wound around each other. They both stared at me with impatiently raised eyebrows.

Ah yes, I should've been watching their sexy show. Instead, I'd been...talking to myself.

Sometimes, I forgot that my familiars were invisible to others.

I grinned sheepishly, gesturing go on.

Bask shrugged, before clasping his hand around Sleipnir's neck and rubbing his knee across his prick. Sleipnir arched into him.

I wished that I could get back to enjoying the delightful sight. Instead...

"Why are you telling me about your wolfie crush?" I demanded.

Flair thwapped my knee with his wing. "That wolfie crush has something to do with Torment Thursday. I was sleeping...okay, rolling around sniffing his bed...and I heard him talking to the witch. He fears this day."

The hairs on my nape rose, and I pressed my nails into my palms. As long as we won to save Fox, I could endure anything.

"Forgive, forgive, forgive," Echo's gentle voice wove up to me like a prayer.

"I'd forgive you anything." Then I bit my lip. When would I learn the danger of such sweeping promises? Yet I’d never take it back because Echo's eyes gleamed with joy like I'd sworn him my eternal love.

Although, I supposed that was true as well.

"You warm my very heart of pain," Echo murmured. "But I meant please forgive the elf. I'm certain that he's sorry, if he's been bad. The song that he sang in the shower this morning was like a stream weeping down the melting snows of a mountain. I barely remembered to glance at his beautiful prick. Why don't you spank me in his place?"

When Echo threw himself dramatically across my lap, as if his behind was a sacrifice to save Willoughby’s (although I still didn't understand why he believed the elf at risk of my fury more than the fae because my hand truly did itch to give him a witch smacking), I startled. When I merely stroked over Echo’s feathery behind, he rumbled low in his throat.

"I'm not punishing the Prince," I promised.

Flair cocked his head. "So, the blue-haired bastard just put himself in the corner then?"

When I twisted around, my eyes widened.

While I'd been distracted both by my familiars and the delicious pleasure winding to my magenta magic from Sleipnir and Bask putting on a hot show for me, I hadn't seen Willoughby enter the Conqueror Gym.

He never went anywhere without Lysander, as if the other Prince was his guard.

Where was Lysander?

Now, Willoughby stood in the corner with his palms pressed hard against the wall. His back was stiff with tension.

My brow furrowed. What was wrong with him?

"I assure you, I'll look after the elf, until he no longer hides himself or sings anything but the merriest songs in the shower." I shooed Echo, and he hopped off my lap. "I hope that you'll then remember to take a thorough look at his beautiful prick."

Echo flapped his wings, as he murmured, “Beautiful prick."

Flair and Echo took off, circling above my head.

"What you need to do," Flair called down, "is to fuck him hard and dirty, until he's seeing icicle shaped stars. That'll do it."

The crow twins flew out of the window.

"Thanks for the advice," I called after them, "most helpful."

I almost meant it.

I took a final glance at my Immortals (I'd have to remember to ask Sleipnir to repeat the trick of trailing kisses and marking bruises up and down Bask's neck on mine later), before strolling behind Willoughby's tense back.

I studied his lean muscles and perfectly sculptured figure in the silk suit that was tighter than any clothes I’d ever seen. Witching heavens, the fuck him hard and dirty plan deserved definite consideration.

And I understood Echo's obsession with his pretty hair.

I stared at the back of Willoughby’s head. "Ehm, have you put yourself in the naughty corner? Are you waiting for further chastisement? What happened over your luxury breakfast? Did you complain that there weren't quite enough flavors of tea for you to choose from?"

On a witch's tit, I admit that I might've been a little bitter on the tea issue.

For a moment, I thought that Willoughby wouldn't answer. Then his fingers curled against the wall, and he rested his forehead against it.

Perhaps, I'd been a little cruel with the tea jibe?

I shifted from foot to foot, reaching out my hand but not quite touching his stiff shoulder. "I'd understand about the tea, by the way. There's no such thing as too many flavors..."

"I can’t fight today," Willoughby's voice was low.

I tilted my head. Screw a mage, he needed me, and I needed him to break the wards. When I wrapped my fingers around his shoulder, he stiffened in shock like he'd never expected that I'd touch him. But then he sighed, relaxing.

"Are we playing hide and seek instead, then?" I asked.

Willoughby raised his head, straightening. "I don't know how to play that. How about Silent Elf? Then nobody would need hear me for the rest of the lesson and I hope, ever."

Now that was quite enough.

I clutched him tighter, twisting him around. He gasped; his eyes were frosty blue pools.

"I battle every day not to fade away again. I know what it is to be invisible and trapped. You shall not let yourself disappear because of your grief or shame. You'll hold on."

I gripped onto him like I could reach into his mind, even though he felt such a long way from me. He was buried beneath dark magic. It burned me. I ached to save him. I didn't care whether it was a crush or love, but it no longer mattered. "You shall stay with me."

His breath caught, and his gaze was suddenly desperate and searching.

I flushed.

Then Willoughby stroked the back of his hand down my cheek, and it was me flushing. Even though his kiss was butterfly light on my forehead, it settled hot in my stomach, furling out warmth through me and lighting me up with sparkling magic.

"Even though I’m a Prince, I would obey," he replied. "But this is warrior training, and I can’t fight."

I raised my eyebrow. "After what I saw last night..."

Ah, someone kick my witchy ass.

Willoughby reddened, trying to pull back, but my mists reached out and dragged him even closer. "I can't control myself."

"Stuff and nonsense." I wrapped his arm through mine, dragging his bewildered behind (and the rest of his cute self) to the middle of the gym. "I claim you as my sparring partner. Do you imagine that I'm ever fully in control? Hexes and curses, how naive. Why don't we be the storm together? It's much more fun that way."

Willoughby's amazed face would've been comical if it didn't show how little anyone had trusted him before. "But you saw..."

"Do you not also see the entire academy covered in ice?" I pointed out of the window with my chin. A chill breeze swept through the window, but I didn't shiver; I welcomed the thrill of nature. "I rather trump you on the whole they're dangerous threat level. You shan't have my Ice Witch Crown, but we could always be frozen royalty together."

Say yes...

Willoughby gasped, and his cool face lit with sudden joy. He leaned closer into my side; and the feel of his arm through mine was solid, safe, and right.

Like he'd always meant to fit there.

Witches above, I was taking that as a yes.

Then the door to the gym slammed open, and Lysander burst inside. His black blazer and pink silk shirt were as perfect as always; it was Lysander who wasn't. His alabaster skin was pallid; and there were shadows under his large emerald eyes.

Had he slept at all last night?

His equally emerald hair hung between his drooping golden wings. Why did I wish him to beat them in that arrogant way of his like fae could buy up everything within the academy (even me), just like his guardian Prince Titus, rather than the fake pretense of being fine.

I'd watched the Rebels from the window of the Bird Turret as a girl many decades ago. So many had worn masks to hide their fear, pain, or grief. Yet I'd been a hidden witness to the truth. And I could see it now in Lysander.

Was he also limping?

Lysander stared first in amazement at the way that Willoughby's arm was hooked through mine and then at Bask, whose legs were hooked around Sleipnir's waist, as Sleipnir ground against him.

It was indeed a charming sight.

Lysander's jaw clenched, before he marched, as if onto a battlefield, towards Bask.

For a moment, I had the disconcerting feeling that he intended to join in their fun to add a dash of fae for my pleasure. Well, that killed all the lightning spark tingles that’d been warming my happy places.

I couldn't quite help the tilt of my head, imagining Lysander's tight behind added into the mix of my lovers. It was simply a shame that it was attached to the rest of him.

Lysander pointed a quivering finger at Bask. "My royal personage received your message." He glanced darkly over his shoulder at me. "And of course, your cursed witch's."

Sleipnir casually dropped Bask to the ground, but there was nothing casual about the way that he twisted to Lysander. His muscles bunched, and his hair bristled to red. "I'll show you cursed, asshole, if you disrespect Magenta again."

Lysander's wings beat, as he stared intently at Bask. "One merely meant..." His cheeks reddened. Where was the witty insult? Perhaps, he was ill? Was that why he looked like he might even apologize? Mage's balls, let's not go entirely crazy. "Have you not marked me? Were you not both claiming me as yours with...?"

Bask's eyes widened, and he desperately sought out my gaze. Lysander thought that we’d been claiming him?

Sweet Hecate, who knew that fae even had social etiquette for coming on someone's bed? I hadn't been trained on coming misunderstandings.

My education had been sorely lacking.

The silence had gone on too long.

Lysander's eyes flashed with hurt and a desperate insecurity. "Who would wish to be claimed by such pitiable Immortals anyway?"

Wait...had he?

Bask blinked, reaching out. "If you wish..."

Lysander sneered, turning on his heel and marching towards the opposite wall. He clicked his fingers at Willoughby. "Here."

I stiffened, just as much as Willoughby. "I wasn't aware that he was your dog."

"But are you aware that he bites?" Lysander tossed his hair, unbuttoning his shirt like all of a sudden, he was too hot. I couldn't help the way that I watched his nimble fingers, and the sudden pale strip tease of his skin. "One has already suffered this morning at the hands of Juni because she believes that I've lost control of my fellow Prince. While you've played at friends with this witch, I've been played with by our Tutor."

Willoughby flinched. "I'm sorry. May I heal you?"

I hadn't expected the concern or the way that Lysander's expression gentled. Perhaps, it'd be harder to win Willoughby away from the Princes than I'd thought.

"You know that's cheating. Punishment Points must be endured and not magically healed. Now...here." Lysander snapped his fingers again.

I tightened my grip on Willoughby. "Today, he's playing at being my friend, remember?"

Lysander's eyes glittered dangerously.

Suddenly, the angelic Professor of Dueling, Ezekiel, swooped through the open window with a swoosh that blew my hair back from my face. The sun shone off his violet wings and his bronzed muscles. Truly, had I imagined an angel...he would’ve looked nothing like Ezekiel. But had I imagined a man who I wanted to lick all over and suck his wings, then that would be Ezekiel.

By the way that Bask was biting his lip and attempting to hold back breathy moans, I wondered if he felt the same. But then again, that could be because of Sleipnir's hand, which had slipped down the back of Bask’s trousers.

Ezekiel landed with an intimidating thud. He folded his wings and his arms at the same time. Even in only the ash harem pants of an Addict Angel, he was nothing but warrior. Luckily, he was also kinder than the other Professors, as long as you didn't forget that he was just as ruthless. He'd never have been the sole survivor of his year of Rebels otherwise. There was no escape from the academy, I'd learned. There was only death or the offer of a professorship.

I'd yet to decide which was worse.

"I'm glad to see that you're already partnered up and ready to go. Yesterday was..." His gaze settled on Willoughby, whose expression became shuttered. "...difficult for us all. Let's start today with a clean slate. The others will want you fighting between yourselves, but I don't. I'm glad to see that you listened to me."

Lysander raised his hand. "One appears to be lacking a partner."

“It’s not all he’s lacking,” Sleipnir muttered.

Lysander affected not to notice.

Ezekiel cocked his head. "Then ask yourself why that is."

"I was late," Lysander gritted out.

Ezekiel tutted. "Then you don't get to train today." He pointed with his wing to the corner, which Willoughby had been standing in earlier. "No moving and think about why you're missing out."

Sleipnir chuckled.

"B-but this is an outrage," Lysander spluttered. "It's essential that I train. My uncle will know if I don't."

"Disobedience as well." Ezekiel swept towards Lysander, guiding him firmly into the corner. My stomach squirmed. Was Ezekiel helping us Immortals to save Fox? Helping me? Yet why didn't it feel fair because Lysander couldn't help being late, and despite everything, I hated to see him in trouble for that. Wait, I couldn't be under a Fae Lover spell because I should be enjoying this torment. Only, I wasn't. "I'll have to write to Prince Titus now."

"Don't," I called at the same time as Bask.

Ezekiel turned, raising his brow at both of us. Then he smiled. "You're lucky that you have some brave defenders, Crown.” Lysander only snorted. Impolite. “Keep your nose pressed into the corner in total silence through the lesson, and I won't have to inform your uncle."

Lysander nodded; his wings quivered with anxiety.

Then Ezekiel marched into the center of the gym. His wings outstretched in a display of dominance. "Today is Torment Thursday. Sometimes, we all have to face our nightmares." Not if I could help it. "And when we do, it's unfortunate but we can't always rely on those around us. We could be alone with our weapon lost. So, I'll teach you to defend yourself hand-to-hand. But this is about the defensive. I've seen more than enough how you can attack."

Sleipnir lounged against the wall. "You want one to attack and the other to defend. Then how will you know who wins this lesson because hey, that's our nightmare right now."

Ezekiel sighed. "You have more nightmares than that." I jolted with fear. Black cats, what a motivational teacher he was. He swooped to Willoughby and me, wrapping us in the feathery softness of his wings that smelled tangy but sweet like citrus creams. Would he notice if I just nibbled a single feather? I sucked one into my mouth, before I caught his amused expression, and hastily spat it out. Then he ran his hand down Willoughby's neck. "Crow, you're defending against Crush's attack."

Willoughby shook his head. "I won't attack—"

"You're a worthy partner for me," I insisted. "I need an equal to my power." His breath hitched on the partner. "Don't fear the cold."

Willoughby's lips twitched like he was desperate to smile but couldn't quite remember how. “I’ve always admired strong women.”

“Ah, such a charmer.”

"But what do you fear?" Ezekiel demanded. Magic sparked across his wings: he was casting a spell. "What's your nightmare?"

"Don't do this..." I hissed.

Would it be dark elves, the traitors who'd attacked him and his father, clowns juggling snakes...?

I trusted Willoughby to control himself when he fought me but could he when he was under an enchantment?

I saw Lysander glance worriedly over his shoulder from his corner. I shook my head at him. There was no point him getting in even more trouble. This was Torment Thursday, after all, it was filled with our nightmares.

"Myself," Willoughby whispered.

I drew in my breath, and my pulse was loud in my ears. I wished to draw Willoughby into an embrace, rather than being forced apart from him by Ezekiel. Willoughby's expression was blank like he no longer knew where he was.

He'd think that he was fighting himself because he feared and hated himself that much.

I'd told him that we'd be the storm. We truly were now twin Ice Princes.

When Ezekiel swept to Sleipnir and Bask, Sleipnir stood protectively in front of Bask.

"Lay those nightmares on me." Sleipnir boldly met Ezekiel's gaze.

Ezekiel shrugged apologetically. "Crave isn't a god or a warrior. I have a feeling that your nightmares would lead to the dismemberment of one of my students, and I don't have time for the paperwork."

Sleipnir paled, almost as much as Bask.

"I call for the non-dismemberment option," I said.

Bask slunk around Sleipnir, patting his shoulder. "Don't underestimate an incubus. You should tremble before me."

Ezekiel smiled indulgently. "We'll see." Then he wrapped his wings around Bask, who settled his hand on the angel's chest like he didn't blame him for putting him under a spell. Then I realized: this wasn't Ezekiel's fault. He was a prisoner here at the academy too and always had been. He was trying to save each of us in his own way. Had he also saved Lysander from suffering this spell by putting him in the corner? Did he know how terrible his fear would've been? "What's your nightmare?"

"The Duchess," Bask breathed.

My witchy behind was entirely unsurprised. It was also, however, furious.

I clenched my hands into fists and concentrated on remembering that my role was merely to defend.

My magic snapped within me, desperate to attack, attack, attack…

Pink tendrils streamed through the window and into the sky. They burrowed into the earth. Nature screamed along with me to unleash my Wickedly Charmed magic and protect my Rebels.

Because this time, they were still alive.

Ezekiel’s smile was grim, as his wings beat down like the shot of a starting pistol. “Nightmares begin!”