Rebel Academy: Crush

Chapter Thirteen FOX

When Bacchus stalked towards me like the unholy mix of an eruption of magma and an avalanche, my heart thudded in my chest.

100, 99, 98...

I forced myself to count back from hundred to calm myself. I was the whipping boy guinea pig in Bacchus' lesson. Magenta had made me soft. The way that her arms curled around my neck to protect me, rather than to hurt, had confused my Mage Radar.

Some witches were truly wicked. They also made me want to wet my pants.

Bacchus' purple dress, which was pinned at her shoulder by a moth brooch, swept across the floor. Her midnight hair fell to her waist in a silky veil. My breath stuttered, as she raised her arm, and a short iron spear appeared in her hand, which was covered in ivy and topped with a pine cone.

Magenta stood up, clapping her hands. "Ah, how charming. You wish to show off your wand again."

Magenta appeared to enjoy playing with both magma and snow.

I winced, but didn't take my gaze off Bacchus, whose cat-like hazel eyes swirled amber.

"Shall we see just what my bacchal thyrsus can do?" She waved her thyrsus at me

I was glad that wasn't a euphemism.

Then I yelped, as my chair spun around to face the front of the classroom, at the same time as Midnight's. The breath was knocked out of me. Bask tumbled off my lap and into a sexy heap on the floor. I'd never even known that heaps could be sexy.

"You've bruised my arse," Bask wailed. Then his eyes narrowed. "No one reduces the pettability of an incubi's arse."

Magenta crouched next to Bask, helping him onto his feet and circling his hip in a way that made the skin of my own hip tingle like I could feel her phantom touch; I longed to. "I assure you that you'll always be pettable to me. Bruises and all."

Bacchus smile was beautiful but wilted my prick, until there was no longer any risk of me embarrassing myself with tented pants.

Look at that, the witch equivalent of Anti-Viagra. Maybe I could bottle it.

"Calm your cutie pie ass down. Such angst over mere marking!" When she stalked closer, Sleipnir stepped protectively in front of Bask. "I should delight in such power over you, Crave, because you hand it to me like you give away power to your Duchess." Bask became ashen, and Magenta linked her arm around him like she could protect him from Bacchus' words or his own memories. Could any of us protect him from the Duchess? "You're a panther and panthers don't need others to acknowledge their beauty. Do you want to be as wild, free, and dark as I know all my Immortals to be or a tamed cat?"

She clicked her fingers. "Here, Pet 9."

I flinched. I hated that witches only called their familiars by numbers, stealing their names, just like werewolves were only called Omega.

Pocus crawled to Bacchus. His tail hung between his legs, however, and his ears were flattened to his head. Even if he was my pussy nemesis, I still cringed at his humiliation.

And had Bacchus just complimented Bask?

Bask appeared caught between preening and wanting to dash to Pocus and scratch behind his ears.

My feline side, which was clawing at me to step up in solidarity even for my nemesis, forced me to insist, "But look at that adorable tail." Pocus' ears perked up. "I mean, sure the jungle sounds fun, but where are all the feathery things to chase or the belly rubs? And then you'd miss out on the pillow nests and the drugs..." Sleipnir raised a censorious eyebrow at me. "Catnip takes you on a serious trip. How many panthers ever get high on catnip or...?"

"All students to their seats." Bacchus' gaze was fixed on me so intently that I shivered. Yet Midnight's fingers swept across mine, and when I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, his smile made drawing her attention worth it. My shivering mage balls hoped. "Or do I need to tie you all down to your stools? Although, I do adore that my chaos has caught on."

"It was my dad's chaos moment first," Sleipnir muttered.

Bacchus' lips twitched, but she turned away as if she hadn't heard him. She carded her fingers through Pocus' mop of hair, allowing him to rest his head against her leg.

Sleipnir and Magenta sat on stools at the lab table at the back, which was beside a window that looked out over the courtyard. Bask slipped behind the table at the front. He winked at me, and I relaxed.

All of a sudden, roots exploded up, curling over the windows and blacking them out. The classroom was cast into twilight.

"I don't want the Princes moaning that I haven't catered for the special needs of their vampire whipping boy." Bacchus twirled around, before her eyes flashed amber. Her ancient magic scented the air. My pulse raced at the sudden threat like fire had sparked. Her voice was deceptively soft but this kitty wasn't deceived. "Where are the Princes, darlings?"

Sleipnir straightened. Why was he looking so smug? "Hey, the room could do with a couch. I vote for a silk one with love heart patterns."

I blinked. Was transfiguration Bacchus' punishment for lateness?

Bask bounced on his seat. "If it pleases you, I vote for Lysander to be transformed into a Pomeranian and Willoughby to be a satchel. Then I can carry the dog around with me."

I imagined Lysander's outraged little face all yappy and peering out of a satchel.

Please go with the Pomeranian...please, please, please.

I brightened. "Do I get a vote?"

Midnight kicked his foot against mine. Oww. "Do I?" He snapped.

"No one is getting transfigured into anything," Magenta declared. "Black cats, you'd imagine that England had become a democracy with votes for all."

I forgot that as a Victorian witch she'd missed out on some pretty important news.

Should I tell her that the non-magical in this country had also banned child labor, closed the workhouses, and stopped corporal punishment?

Except that much advancement in one go might explode her mind.

The door banged open, and Lysander rushed into the room, dragging Willoughby after him. Lysander leaned against the table, panting and out of breath.

Willoughby straightened like he was on parade, deliberately stepping closer to Bacchus. Yet his gaze was dazed like he’d been pushed deep inside.

When Lysander looked up and met Bacchus' unimpressed expression, he paled. "E-excuse our l-lateness, but it's n-not my f-fault," he gasped, struggling to let go of the table. Had they run the whole way here across the castle? Where had they been? Lysander usually looked composed, but now his hair was dampened to his forehead with sweat, and his blazer looked creased like he'd been in a fight or punished. Unfortunately, corporal punishment hadn’t been stopped within the magical world, which meant that amusingly, we hadn’t advanced as much since Victorian times as the humans that we thought ourselves superior to. "Our T-tutor wished to...talk...with us after Prince Willoughby—"

Bacchus held up her long-nailed finger to silence him. "Am I ever interested in excuses?"

Numbly, Lysander shook his head.

Bacchus pointed her thyrsus (to my shock), not at Lysander, but rather at Willoughby. Instantly, Willoughby transformed in a golden swirl of glitter into a sky-blue silk throne.

Lysander looked like he was about to hurl, and so did Magenta.

"What right do you have to talk of power when you so misuse it?" Magenta whispered.

"I have true immortality, girl, and true power, which is neither used nor misused. It simply is. I exist the same as the night, and just as that can't misuse the dark, neither can I." Bacchus shot a glance at Sleipnir. "You requested silk."

"I take it back," Sleipnir muttered. "I know what it feels like to have your ass on me all lesson, and even a Prince doesn't deserve that."

Bacchus arched her brow. "Men have begged to feel my ass on their faces."

Okay, now it was me about to hurl.

Lysander ran his shaky hand along the arm of the Willoughby Throne. Could Willoughby feel what had happened to him?

Lysander cast a horror filled glance at Bacchus. "But it was my fault that we were late."

"No, it wasn't." Bacchus sauntered to the throne, sweeping her dress around her. Pocus prowled at her side. Then she threw herself down on the Willoughby Throne, which let out a yelp. Pocus leaped onto her lap and circled, before he sprawled across her. He pawed at the silk. I itched to rub his fur the wrong way to see how he liked being messed with. "You were about to pin the blame on this one." She booted the leg of the throne, and it howled. "So, now he can make himself useful, and you can think about the consequences of not taking responsibility."

Lysander was ashen. "One is truly sorry."

"Hey, there it is." Bacchus leaned forward; her eyes glinted. "Isn't it a shame that you didn't open with that?"

Lysander flushed, looking down. His wings drooped, and he hugged them around himself. I had the sudden urge to hug him as well.

I wonder if fae kink was catching.

When Lysander attempted to slink to a seat at the back of the classroom, Bacchus stopped him. "Park your princely ass down the front next to my Immortals, where I can keep an eye on you. I guess that you'd better not be late next time."

Lysander bristled. "I prefer to sit—"

"In the shadows because you're all mysterious…?" Bask asked, teasingly. He patted the stool next to him.

Lysander huffed, slamming down onto the stool next to Bask. It was weird how different it was to look out at the classroom and see the Immortals and Princes sitting together, just like Midnight and I were next to each other as whipping boys. It didn't matter what rival Wing we'd been forced into; we'd still face this together. When I saw Lysander sitting next to Bask, they no longer seemed different.

The academy forced us to wear different uniforms, eat and sleep separately, and compete in trials against each other. But we were all students and prisoners here. We were the same.

By the way that the other Immortals were eying Lysander, I had the feeling that they sensed the same thing. Had Bacchus placed him there on purpose?

Bacchus' long nails rapped on the Willoughby Throne. "As today is Torment Thursday, we'll be studying hexes." Of course, we would. "Other academies have to study from books, but magic doesn't come from dried up pages. It's in our hearts, souls, and the connections between everything living and the dead. This academy has always been lucky enough to have whipping boys. You can create your own hexes and test them out on your whipping boy."

"It's funny how you see me as a girl," Magenta's voice was tight and clipped, but her mists swirled around her at the same time as her magic sparkled, "but I'll still hex your immortal behind if you suggest such harm to my lover. It's charming that you forget I've traveled through the veils and defeated death. How great do you believe my magic to be?"

Bacchus laughed. "Not as great as mine. I've made the homes of creatures across all veils my bitches. I've journeyed to realms that you don't even know exist. Your magic is linked to nature, but mine is linked to worlds beyond nature. We can battle over who has the biggest broomstick later, but this lesson is to learn to hex. So, Lysander and you have the strongest magic. Step forward and start throwing your best hexes. Let me see what I have to work with."

When Lysander sidled to stand in front of me, I tensed. He wouldn't meet my eye. Only Midnight's fingers, still stroking mine, steadied me.

This was going to hurt.

Would it be the Poison Ivy Penis Hex? Nerd Social Awkwardness Curse? Please, not the Justin Bieber on Perpetual Loop Hex…

Magenta glared at Bacchus, storming to join Lysander. To my shock, Lysander smiled reassuringly at Midnight.

Then Lysander shook his head. "My royal personage failed to take responsibility for Willoughby. It’s a lesson about leadership that I already know, and I’m ashamed that I forgot it. One won't fail again. My apologies, but I won't be partaking in this lesson." He tilted up his chin. “My noble self refuses.”

Well, blow me down with his golden feathers.

Magenta stared at Lysander with wide eyes. "Well said. I refuse too."

"Ehm, thanks for not hexing me," I ventured.

I didn't think that they heard me. They were too busy staring into each other's eyes. Perhaps, I could play some violin music for them...if my hands weren't tied down...or I knew how to play the violin. Who knew that not torturing my foxy ass would be what united them or brought out Lysander’s very, very, very deeply buried nobility.

"Mutiny, huh?" Bacchus examined her nails. "Will you hold to this defiance, even if I inform your guardian?"

Fear flickered across Lysander's face, before he was able to hide it. "Better that I suffer than my whipping boy."

Bacchus' lips quirked. "You do know that you were given a whipping boy precisely so that he could suffer for you?"

Lysander stiffened. “One wouldn't like to be boringly conventional."

Wow, he was a Rebel Fae.

"I take back at least fifty percent of the rude things that I've said about you." Sleipnir gave an approving nod, and his hair transformed to aquamarine at the same time as Mist's mane. "Hey, let's not go crazy: forty percent."

"You're too kind," Lysander deadpanned.

Bacchus trailed her hand down Pocus' spine, and he purred, arching. "Of course, rebellion can be as conventional as obedience, and in this case, twice as stupid. I won't force you into anything. I can taste the ancient paths of fate winding through this castle and tugging on all our tails. So, all I'll do is point out that if you refuse to take part in my class, then you'll lose it. Who won Warrior Dueling?"

"The Immortals," Magenta said, softly.

Lysander's hands balled into fists. Uh oh, the Rebel Fae was about to wave the white flag. I knew that I'd jinxed it by imagining the feel of his golden wings on my prick. Wait, I hadn't said that out loud, right?

I peeked up at Lysander. He still looked furious but less like he wanted to kick my furry ass and more like he wanted to save it.

No more daydreams about fae's feathers circling my balls.

"Then it'll be your fault that the Princes lose the Rebel Cup." Baccus' scrutinized Lysander, whose shoulders slumped. She'd wrecked him. I understood now that he cared in his own way for the Princes like Magenta did for us, although his way included more manhandling and kneeling than kisses and love. "Curse will have his wings broken because those are the stakes." I linked my pinkie with Midnight’s at his whimper. Why did it boot me in the balls worse to think about his beautiful wings being broken than my own death? "And at the Dragon Tournament, Prince Titus will witness the Rebel Cup being presented to the Immortals for the first time in a decade. Do you honestly think he'll believe you redeemed or wish to bring you home after that shame?"

"Stop this cruelty," Magenta hissed. Her magic sparkled around her. "Why in Hecate's name are you crushing him?"

"It's called motivation, darling." Bacchus sighed. "After all, this is your chance to save the mage. You're the reason that the original mage died a slow death, walled up alive. I kind of thought that you'd care more about saving this one. My mistake."

Magenta’s gaze shot to mine like she was pleading for something. Her scent of yew trees cocooned me like she could protect me even now.

My chest was tight, and my breath was raspy. I'd known about the original mage, but the idea of being walled up alive had been theoretical. Now it was as real as Magenta. When she'd been first alive, there'd been a mage and because of her, he'd died in the walls of this castle.

Would I be executed in the same way?

How was it that the fact I only had two lessons left to save my life had only just truly sunk in?

"You must breathe," Midnight murmured. "You're paler than a ghost, see."

My bark of laughter was close to a sob. Bask shot me a concerned glance. I'd known a ghost, and I wasn't one yet: I was just a dead fox walking.

"Are you both motivated yet?" Bacchus leaned back in the Willoughby Throne.

Lysander's gaze was intent on Magenta's. "I shall win the Rebel Cup. No one is breaking my vampire's wings."

A slow smile spread across Bacchus' face. "Now that's the kind of Rebel Academy spirit that I'm looking for! I adore battles between Prefects."

Magenta paced closer to Lysander. "Look at that, my motivation has just been set alight as well. I'm quite aflame with hate for a certain fae right now."

Lysander's wings burst out in a display of dominance, cradling around Magenta. "And my blue-blooded self feels something quite the opposite of love for a certain witch."

They were so close that their lips were almost touching. I bit my own lip. They were either going to kiss or...

Wait, why was I hoping that the kissing option was even possible?

I tightened my pinkie around Midnight's, sneaking a glance at his expression. He was watching Lysander and Magenta with as much rapt shock and delight as me.

"Well," Baccus said, "the winding paths of fate are unexpected." She guided Pocus by his collar onto the floor, before striding to stand behind the two Prefects. Pocus huddled by the leg of the throne. "I delight in the frenzy. Do you know what I can do with this?"

Why did witches always gift me these opportunities? Bad mouth, don't you dare say it...

"Stick it where the sun don't shine?" Bad, bad mouth, no sugary treats for you.

"Conduct a light orchestra?" Bask fluttered his eyelashes.

Sleipnir cocked his head. "Role play the good witch in the Wizard of Oz? Hey, does glitter explode out of the end of your wand when you're excited?"

Bacchus’ eyes swirled with amber; her ancient magic spelled the air with the aroma of mulled wine. Bad mouth look what you've done: you've driven her to drink. "It whips men and women into a frenzy. I've been inciting true fervor for thousands of years. You've seriously no idea about true love or hate. In frenzy, there's nothing but the freedom of wild emotion. Once, I belonged to a cult where we could give in to every urge. There'll never be anything so liberating. I could tear you limb from limb or screw you until you scream."

“Could I go with the tearing limb from limb option?” I asked.

Was this appropriate from a professor?

Yet I had a sense that Bacchus was no longer herself. It was like the power of her own thyrsus had possessed her. I stared at the thyrsus with more respect than before.

Sleipnir slipped out of his seat, approaching her with his hand raised like she was a stallion that hadn't been broken yet. "Yeah, we're all scared of your frenzy and screw wand now. So, why don't you sit your ass back down on the comfy elf throne?"

"The son of Loki would dare speak to me? You sit down. Loki's the one who destroyed the frenzy," Bacchus snarled. Reluctantly, Sleipnir stalked back to his stool. "He made the music and the dancing stop. We shall break him, just as he broke everything of ours." Sleipnir stilled; his breathing was too rapid. "Justice comes to everyone, even to gods." Her gaze swept across Lysander and Magenta. "As well as Princes and Immortals."

When Bacchus raised the thyrsus, I attempted a watery smile at Bask who looked ready to vault the lab table to protect me. I didn't want anyone to suffer for me. I also didn't want to be hit by some crazy Frenzy Hex but if I could take it instead of the other Immortals, then I'd beg for it.

After all, I was the whipping boy.

"Visual aids are honestly way more effective than words. You choose: which whipping boy will demonstrate The Frenzy?" Bacchus swung her thyrsus like a pendulum between Midnight and me.

Me, me, me...

Lysander and Magenta shook their heads at the same time, but I noticed that they both took a step away from each other. To me, that was one point to Bacchus.

Then to my shock, Midnight said, "As I have Fallen, it's all right, my prince. Pick me."

"Hold your tongue," Lysander sneered, but I didn't miss how his voice shook more with fear than anger. "Do you presume to tell me what to do? One should've known that this new ill-disciplined whipping boy would corrupt you. You've earned a punishment after class."

Fae. Kink. Officially. Dead.

Midnight's wings trembled, until his chair rattled, but he still begged, "Please, choose me."

Lysander stared hard at the floor, clasping his hands behind his back like he was on parade. Had he been trained in the military? "Cast The Frenzy on the Immortal."

When Bacchus stalked towards me with amber magic swirling from the end like a promise of loss of control over even my own mind, I couldn't help the undignified squeak. I wrenched my ankles against the restraints. Sweat slipped down the back of my neck.

At least it was me and not Midnight.

Magenta stepped in front of me, blocking Bacchus like she was simply claiming the first dance with me. "I regret to inform you that no one is harming my lovers. Do test your little fervor on me, instead. I'd love to see the explosive possibilities when combined with my Wickedly Charmed magic, and your explanations to the Principal."

Bacchus shook her head.

Magenta’s eyes narrowed at Lysander. "It appears that I wasn't clear enough with you about the not hurting rule."

Lysander's wings beat angrily. "But if you don't choose, then you're forcing me to shoulder this responsibility alone. Why does everyone always expect that of me?" Wait, were we still talking about throwing hexes or The Frenzy? "If I must become the villain to save my...save Curse...then I shall." He hung his head. "Haven't I played that role long enough?"

When Magenta's gaze met mine, it was anguished. I understood because if both Lysander and her didn't play along, then the stakes were Midnight's wings and my life. Yet she was still waiting for my permission like Midnight had given his.

Weirdly, I'd expected her to know that she already had it. I trusted her in a way that I never had any other woman and definitely not any witch.

I'd resurrected her, but she'd brought me to life.

I bit my lip. "Come on, I'm ready to win this today with my spectacular demonstration of fervor. I spent my teenage weekends running around naked in the woods in a frenzy. My bare ass was a terror to the local non-magicals."

Bask snickered, which was better than the pale anguish for me that'd been on his face a moment before.

Lysander's tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. "Exciting as it would be to witness Confess' bare ass in a frenzy, I request permission to discipline him by my own method. I'm well-trained with a—"

"Whip…?" The thyrsus transformed into a thin riding whip; it was the type that would slash across the thick hide of a horse.

And my hide was pale and soft.

There'd been stables attached to the House of Jewels. My sister, Hartley, had been given her own pony at the age of three. I'd been desperate to ride as well but as son to a witch family, I'd been forbidden. They hadn't wanted me to injure myself and so reduce my value.

Before I'd been locked away, Hartley had sneaked me out one night to sit on her pony, leading me into the paddock behind the stables. We'd laughed together at the adventure, and I'd thought that my sister would never allow me to be traded to a wife who treated me like mum did dad.

I’d been innocent enough to believe that she wouldn’t become like the other witches.

It'd been worth the month’s grounding to the house for me, when we'd been discovered, and the lecture on Husband Management for Hartley. I'd never ridden again. But I recognized the whip. Ironic, as a shifter, that I'd now been transformed into the horse.

Irony sucked.

Yet still, Lysander hesitated.

Perhaps, he was deciding whether to stripe my thigh, shoulder, or balls... Decisions, decisions.

I let go of Midnight's pinkie. Instead, I clenched my hands, digging my nails into my palms. It always helped to focus on a small amount of pain that you'd created, rather than the large amount of pain that someone else was about to visit on your balls.

I pushed my nails harder into my palms.

"Amusing that you believe I shall allow you to whip him anymore than hex him." Magenta's gaze was steadying.

I'd never had anyone who refused to allow my whipping before. Dad, Glow, or even Aquilo would beg for mercy on my behalf. Yet that was different to someone who stated that it wasn't allowed.

It was almost like Magenta believed that it wasn't right that a mage was disciplined.

I could be strong with her by my side.

Lysander raised the whip above his head; his gaze met mine. Yet I'd suffered enough whippings to know that he should've slashed the implement down by now. So much for his boasting about being well-trained.

Why was he hesitating?

When Bask and Sleipnir both rose out of their seats like they planned to either tear the whip out of Lysander's hand or tear him in half (possibly both), vines grew out of their stools, tying them down. Magenta huffed in protest, swirling out her mists to snatch the end of the riding whip. Lysander's eyes widened, and he snarled, caught in a tug of war with Magenta.

Bacchus smiled. "If you don't complete the assignment, every student shall fall to The Frenzy. I haven't orchestrated an orgy in decades. Honestly, I'm kind of hoping that you go for the orgy. Then all you have to do is let go..."

"Desist," Lysander growled. "My princely personage shall not partake in such debauchery."

Magenta yanked, dragging Lysander sprawling against her. "I knew that you were a virgin!" Lysander pinked, and his jaw clenched. "Don't worry, my lovers showed me some wonderful tricks, and I'm most certainly not one anymore. As soon as we're able to take the stick out of your behind, then I'm certain that they'll show you as well."

"Take your hands off me." Lysander righted himself, batting Magenta away. He shook his whip at her like it was his wand or prick. "There shall be no orgies, taking of virginities, or other...things." His wings fluttered. Of course, he didn't yet know about the Stop Game. I had a feeling that Bask had plenty of things in store for Lysander. "Just let me beat the mage. I don't understand why you're so outraged. I've been disciplined in such a way since I was too small to fly."

For the first time, Magenta's expression softened, as she assessed Lysander. "I watched too many of the Rebels being beaten when I was a child. I swore that I wouldn't watch it happen again." Lysander blinked at her in confusion. "What was that charming speech you made about responsibility with Willoughby as the example...? I took it to heart, which means that as Prefect, I take responsibility for my whipping boy. Whip me."

No, no, no... This was Glow all over again, except without the fur, the collar or... Okay, she wasn't a werewolf slave but she was still about to take my punishment.

I wouldn't be able to bear that.

When Lysander's gaze faltered, shocked, she merely arched her brow.

"On Tyr's cock," Sleipnir growled, "if you even think of raising a hand against Magenta, then you'll discover what it feels like to be destroyed by a god."

I shivered. Wow, that'd even frightened my balls back into my body.

Lysander hurled the whip at Bacchus, who caught it. "Why do you all believe the worst of me? One most certainly would never strike a woman."

Thank Pan... I slumped in my seat.

Magenta snorted. "But you'd hit a defenseless man?"

I shifted, attempting to puff out my chest. Defenseless stung. I might not have the use of my hands, feet...okay, any of my body...but I still had my lies and the power of Confess.

Lysander shrugged. "Of course, if needs must."

What else had I expected from an Unseelie Fae? They probably taught How to be a Haughty Jerk classes in their nurseries.

Bacchus swished the whip through the air, transforming it back into her thyrsus. "Prepare yourself for The Frenzy..."

Midnight gasped, and Pocus wound around his legs comfortingly. I cringed, waiting to be overtaken by the desperate need to rip off Magenta's clothes and screw. Although, I always felt like that, which I put down to her gorgeousness, being locked alone since before puberty, and being a bloke.

"This is all your fault..." Lysander spat.

"What a truly mature fae you are," Magenta spat back.

Bacchus rapped the thyrsus against the floor, and I jumped. "There it is. Now you're ready for the lesson to begin."

I tilted my chin. "I believe I speak for all us...what?"

"Hexes or curses aren't created by the power of your magic but the strength of your intent. How much do you mean it? For that, you need an emotion, and love and hate are the most potent. Seriously, it all comes down to the connection between the one who casts and the victim. Mild dislike," Bacchus' lips curled, "will create nothing but a smoldering hex. For one that hits like dragon fire, you must have hate."

"Not a problem," Lysander sneered.

I glanced over at Midnight. His eyes were creased with concern. He knew as well as me that Bacchus had played the two Prefects against each other to fuel that hate.

I didn't fancy a hex as powerful as dragon fire blasted at my face.

"There's no such thing as a hex, which isn't directed at someone specific. They're darkly intimate." Bacchus' eyes became hooded. I hoped that wasn't her sex face. "Hexes are fury, hate, and revenge. They're from your imagination and soul. You can't lie to a hex." Bacchus's gaze darted between Magenta and Lysander. "Create a hex in your mind; it doesn't need to be voiced. Imagine your enemy..." By the way that Magenta and Lysander glared at each other, it was clear that they hadn’t had to think hard. "Then test it on your rival's whipping boy."

"I said that the mage wouldn't be harmed," Magenta gritted out.

Bacchus' eyes narrowed. "And I gave you the choice that you'd lose the Rebel Cup, and he'll die if you don't."

"It's not like you need it, but you have my permission. Both of you. Hex me up." I forced myself to smile at Magenta, as if getting hexed by a fae in front of the rest of the class was a refreshing start to the day like an extra shot of coffee. “It’s not as if the fae has enough darkness or imagination in him to scare me. The pampered prince probably thinks denying me golden spoons to eat off is a curse."

Lysander sidled closer to me, caging me in with his wings. Okay, not intimidating at all...if that means very intimidating. "Be assured that there are many deadly things held within my imagination. One could crush your curly head, explode your guts, or tear your magic from you like peeling your very essence from your Soul…"

"My Prince, don't," Midnight warned with more steel than I'd been expecting.

Lysander's sharp teeth glinted, as he smiled. "One merely stated that I could."

"You're lying," Bacchus snapped. "The hex must come from your truth, which is the line between love and hate. Hey, even I can feel it. Think of your enemy and then imagine what you wish most. The hex will do the rest."

I shook, and my shoulders were tight.

Not the Poison Ivy Penis Hex, not the Poison Ivy Penis...

Lysander leaned closer. His grin was malevolent. Then his eyes opened comically wide, and he stiffened, as if he'd accidentally cast the hex on himself, rather than me. Except, if the hex acted on the truth in your soul, almost like my own power of Confess, maybe that was how it worked.

As if he couldn't stop himself, Lysander leaned down, cupping my cheek with an aching tenderness. Then he kissed my cheek like he was a suitor in a romance novel.

I'd deny to my foxy deathbed both the way that my breath caught and my prick thickened against my thigh.

Lysander’s thumb caressed my skin like I was woven glass. When he ducked his head to touch his lips to mine, Magenta dragged him away from me. His gaze was dazed, as he stared at her.

Wait, Lysander hadn't been kissing me. He'd been acting out his desire on his enemy...on Magenta. I couldn't help the twinge of regret at that.

"You wish to kiss your enemy…?" Magenta demanded.

Lysander wrenched his arm away from her, stumbling backward and landing on his ass. He reddened. "The s-spell made me d-do it. It must've gone wrong."

I couldn't help the flinch, when he wiped his hand across his mouth.

"I warned you that hexes were intimate or are you as keen as me to start the orgy?" Bacchus threw herself back down in the Willoughby chair. "Shall we see if our wicked witch loves or hates her enemy?"

I didn't miss the way that Midnight straightened and his eyes lit up. Was he hoping for a kiss from Magenta?

Unfortunately, I'd imagine that a Posion Ivy Penis hex was more likely.

"I cast the hex, and the Immortals' whipping boy suffered the consequences," Lysander pointed out. I grimaced like Lysander's gentle kiss had been a terrible trial, although my perky prick called me a liar. "Surely, the assignment is complete."

I realized that Lysander was frightened to discover the truth: whether Magenta loved or hated him.

I'd bet that it was a mixture of both.

Bacchus rapped her thyrsus against the floor. "You’re lucky that I'm so soft. Ezekiel must be rubbing off on me." Now I grimaced for real. I didn't want to hear about the kinkiness between those two in the staffroom. "He sometimes calls draws, right?"

I didn't know whether to sigh with relief or slump in defeat. We’d neither won nor lost. At least, there’d be no Punish and Reward Game.

Our next class was the Hunt, and nothing good had ever happened to a fox, during a hunt.

Bacchus' eyes glinted with malicious glee. "That means whoever wins the Hunt, wins the Rebel Cup. See how chaos brings everything down to this final crucial moment? On your final class, balances life and death.”