Rebel Academy: Curse

Chapter Fifteen FOX

Naked bondage was becoming my familiar classroom experience. At least in Spells, Hexes, and Potions. I tingled with a weird anticipation for which of those three thrilling...okay, horrifying...options would be guinea pig tested on me today. Was this how they controlled and brainwashed whipping boys into obedience?

If I didn't get tied down in Professor Bacchus' lesson, then I wouldn't know what to do with my feline self.

Was dancing to “Stop in the Name of Love”, while shaking my furry ass in Bacchus’ face and whacking her with my tail an option? You know, on that options sheet for our studies that we'd never been given.

Possibly, that was why she tied me down in the first place.

Slugs and beetles, I was screwed.

I groaned, dropping my forehead forward and then groaning again, as it thunked against Midnight's.

I grimaced.

Whoops.

Pluck my prickles, this morning I wasn't even waiting for Bacchus to hurt me (or get the Princes to do it with their experimental hexes), I was going for it myself.

Who said that I wasn't committed to the Rebel Academy's mottoes? I'd even internalized my mage self-loathing.

Who'd have guessed that I'd have turned out to be my own worst enemy?

Well, everybody.

"Ehm, sorry." I rubbed my head side to side against Midnight's like that had magic bruise removal properties. "The head bump greeting is reserved for those you love in shimage society. It's an honor like..."

...Wedding vows...

I might've invented the whole head bump thing, but I still shivered with delight, when Midnight with a careful reverence bumped his head against mine again.

Oww...

Couldn't I have invented a less painful way of showing love? Rebel Academy truly was corrupting me already. Could Bacchus make me want to punish my own foxy arse?

I took a deep breath, counting backward from one hundred. Then I regretted the deep breath because ancient magic bloomed out of the room's spores, and I choked on it.

Familiar or not, I still hated being ensnared. It'd taken me a decade to escape the attic that my family had shut me in, and all the witches wanted to do was wall me up and tie me down again.

I pulled on the purple vines that bound me cross-legged on the floor to Midnight, and they only tightened. I winced, hating the way that Midnight did too.

How many times could you say sorry in one class? I'd bet that I'd smash that record today. So, something to look forward to.

The vines wound around our arms, holding us together from elbow to wrist, and then where our knees touched sort of like a pretty center piece.

I couldn't even wriggle or tap my foot like last time, and each movement jerked Midnight because we were connected. I gritted my teeth against the urge to squirm like the Itching Balls Hex had been cast on me; the floor was a tangle of roots, which also curled around the moss walls, and they dug into my private places.

Bacchus and Hecate combined in this classroom with its blacked-out windows and naughty roots, and they had far too much fun tormenting mages.

Midnight's soft charcoal gaze met mine; his dark eyelashes were sinfully long. "My king."

My breathing slowed, along with the thudding of my heart. Even the roots appeared to lose interest with my balls.

I smiled. "My knight."

Midnight's eyes brightened. He was also naked and palely beautiful with raven hair that tumbled to his waist. His prick was lost in the forest of his hair. I could see its pink head, peeping at me with a twitching hello.

His prick liked me. I was the Prick Charmer.

Midnight's skin next to mine looked like we'd always meant to be tied like this together. Although, that could be the bondage brainwashing talking. He always appeared calm like kneeling as if he was classroom equipment or hanging by his ankles was no different to taking notes on a lecture. For him, it wasn't.

Yeah, an academy education offered equal opportunities. If by equal you meant...you’re lucky not to be thrown to the wolves, shut up forever, or walled up alive pathetic whipping boys...

Three cheers for an Oxford education.

Except, I was taking off one cheer for the leather that bound Midnight's broken wings, and the way that he was unable to curl his soft feathers around himself.

Willoughby's healing song had been stolen from him, and he hadn’t been able to set Midnight’s wings for him. I knew what it was like to have my shifter power suppressed by blood magic, but what would it feel like to have a power stripped away?

Yet even so, Midnight held himself still, rather than vibrating with anxious energy like me. It was only the somber darkness of Radiohead’s “How to Disappear Completely”, which crept through my Power of Confess like his depression shivered through my Soul, which told me that he was barely holding on.

I fought against the vines for a moment, desperate to hold him and be certain that he hadn’t disappeared yet. That he was still safe. I ached that I didn’t know better how to help him. I felt intensely how my skin pressed against his at my knee and along my arm.

He was still with me. I hadn’t lost him.

Let him know that I was still with him too.

Over Midnight's snowy shoulder, Bask sprawled on a lab table. I snorted. Of course, he'd take the back table, even to sprawl over. He was a bad boy rebel, after all.

Sleipnir pinned Bask’s hands above his head; his single strong hand encircled both Bask’s slim wrists.

Mist stood as dominantly as I’d yet seen him with his chest thrust out on Bask’s palm like he was the one holding him down; it looked like he was happily imagining his mane blowing in the wind.

Magenta stroked Bask's prick through his pants with an impressive determination, while Willoughby kissed him, slowly and thoroughly.

Bask was the one held down, but he was in charge. This was him claiming the elf, after Willoughby had been missing from our bonding last night. Bask was possessive like that.

A twinge of worry shot through me at the thought that the other Prince, Lysander, was still missing.

Could I help it if I imagined what it'd feel like to have Lysander’s elegant fingers palming my prick, while he kissed me, and his cherry blossom feathers stroked my cheek?

Okay, while his cherry blossom feathers stroked my prick...

My prick did a twitching hello at that, as if answering Midnight's.

Midnight's tongue darted out to wet his lips, revealing a hint of fang. Then I noticed the smudged purple shadows under his eyes, and the tightness to his mouth. He looked exhausted.

He was disappearing even in front of my eyes.

If a Sleep Deprivation Hex were ever cast on me, I'd go crazy within a week. I needed my sleep to have the energy to...well, fail at everything.

But I wouldn't fail Midnight. For whatever reason, he'd chosen me as his king, and I took my royal duties seriously.

I pressed a light kiss to Midnight's lips, and he gave a surprised, happy sound that filled me with joy.

Truth: I never thought somebody would love me.

“I missed you and I thought of you when I was walled up in this academy’s luxurious…okay, dusty and rat-infested…walls.” Don’t disappear inside yourself. You’re needed. Midnight’s pleased smile was enough. I cocked my head. "Have you tested this hex then?"

Midnight looked down. "On my wings, it's hard to never sleep and have so much time to think," his voice was gentle with a soft Welsh lilt. "I only have so many good things to remember."

"You're with us Immortals now. Just watch the good times come rolling in. I promised to save you and I will." I pressed my bound arm more tightly against his. "I'm Champion of Pedantry; it means that I'm hated but it comes with perks like always being the smuggest person in the room and the ability to make anyone look stupid. So, sleeping: that's the state of being asleep, right? What about a cat nap? Meditation? Just a really epic zone out. My dad said I was brilliant at zoning out. I'm not sure it was a compliment."

Midnight's smile widened, but he shook his head.

My brow furrowed. "Okay, more extreme now but go with me here. How about knocking yourself unconscious? Do people sleep in a coma or...?"

This time it was Midnight quietening me with a kiss; his lips were soft, and when his fang caught at my lip, I blushed at the thought of how much I desired that he'd bite my lower lip.

Then heavy hands landed in my lap, before I was being pushed back from Midnight by something furry, swishy, and black. I spluttered, unable to bat it away.

Who knew there were so many disadvantages to bondage?

Something even heavier squirmed in Midnight's lap and mine, before curling around.

I found myself staring into the furiously protective eyes of my naked pussy nemesis: Bacchus' cat Halfling and familiar, Pocus.

I winced, as Pocus' claws bit into my chest, as if my nipples were pincushions. He shoved his nose against mine; his eyes were narrowed with predatory danger.

Hanging around with naked vampires was apparently my new thing.

"The mage is not harming my vampire, or I'll knock him on his silly curly head," Pocus hissed. "Pocus knew not to trust you."

What was it with my curls?

I pulled at my arms like I could smooth down my hair. Being shut up in the walls probably hadn't helped with its wildness.

Pocus was a lithe Korean vampire with striking black eyes and matching black ears that poked out of his mop of hair. His tail was right now wrapped around my balls. I shivered; I'd rather that a psychopathic pussy didn't have me by the balls. Unlike the Immortals, he didn't look like his torture of them would end in fun orgasms.

"And I always trust someone who grabs balls and talks later." I arched my brow. "I thought you liked my silky hair. Why don't you have another stroke?"

I shook my hair like it was a cat toy.

Come to the silky hair...

Pocus hesitated.

"Last chance..." I forced myself to hold still.

Pocus darted out his hand and carded it through my curls. Then he sniffed. "Pocus is still not impressed."

Pocus needs to be taken to the vets and neutered.

When I smirked, Pocus looked at me suspiciously.

"My king is helping me," Midnight's voice was steely, "and this is not a fair fight. You won't hurt him, just as you won't hurt the Princes."

Pocus sneered at me, before turning on our laps (and getting in a final twist of his claws). His tail thwapped me in the face again, and I got a closer look at his hole and the balls swinging between his legs than if we'd been lovers. I reddened. Then he settled, straddling Midnight, before shooting me a smug, possessive glance over his shoulder.

"But I protect you," Pocus insisted.

Truth: I'm sorry that I can't protect you.

Pocus had been at Bacchus’ side at the tournament, but he hadn't been able to stop the hexing.

He might be my nemesis, but how long had be tried to guard Midnight? Midnight had been alone apart from Pocus, and Pocus hadn't been able to do more than offer comfort.

But I still respected him for doing that. Very, very, very grudging respect.

Midnight's expression gentled. "Now I'm lucky to have more who care to protect me, see? Blood and bones, I never thought that I’d be so blessed again. Be pleased for me…?"

I heard the uncertainty.

Pocus wrinkled his nose. "Can I claw him a little?"

Midnight narrowed his eyes.

Pocus pouted, nuzzling his ears under Midnight’s chin. “Just a little?”

He fluttered his eyelashes, hopefully.

“I withdraw the right to stroke my hair,” I huffed.

Pocus hissed.

“You only claw him, if he wants you to,” Midnight admonished. Wants…? Midnight blushed. “On my fangs, you may enjoy it.”

Yeah, just as much as I’d enjoy Bacchus using my foxy tail as a fun clit toy.

I shuddered. Bad brain, the Wank Bank would be closed for the next week…okay two days…okay, for tonight…to wipe out that image.

Wait, did that mean that Midnight enjoyed Pocus’ claws?

The Wank Bank was officially open for business again.

Pocus shot me another smug grin.

Over Midnight’s shoulder, the Immortals and our Prince swaggered together towards us.

Mist rode Sleipnir’s shoulder; he was still high on the whole dominant thing. I’d better not coo then.

It was weird being bound on the floor. It made me realize how much I trusted all of them that I didn’t stiffen, but only grinned.

“You appear to have adopted a pussy,” Magenta pointed out.

Pocus bared his fangs, and his tail wagged, rubbing against my face again.

I spluttered. “Stop pissing off the pussy. And you’ve adopted a Prince.”

Magenta looped her arm through Willoughby’s. “He’s quite charming, don’t you think? I’m determined to keep him.”

Willoughby’s lips quirked.

I nodded. “Let’s sign the papers to keep the Prince, and my fellow whipping boy.” When Midnight’s eyes flared with longing and desperation, I wished that there truly were papers that I could sign to officially claim both Willoughby and Midnight. Although, by breaking the Membership, maybe that’s what we were doing. Adopt a Prince could become a popular scheme. “But this pussy isn’t housetrained. I’m sending him back, unless we…?”

I whispered snip, snip, snip in the hushed way that meant parting him from his manly bits.

And that’s what happened when you wrapped your tail around my balls...not that I was against it as a principle…I mean, my merrily swinging against my stomach prick wasn’t…

His fur had been so soft…

Pocus’ expression darkened. Then he twisted in outrage, and his claws extended over my manly bits.

I’m mage enough to admit that I squeaked.

“You’re lucky that Midnight said no scratching.” Pocus leapt off Midnight’s lap, flouncing with a swish of his tail back to the corner.

Sleipnir blinked. “Honestly, I’m more of a dog person.”

Bask snickered and then prowled to Midnight with a predator energy that meant he’d fed well on pleasure. He fluidly dropped to his knees behind Midnight.

Willoughby dropped his gaze, and his hair hung across his eyes like a gorgeous waterfall. “I regret like the numbing silence now inside me that I can’t heal you.” I could sense the truth of it: there was no perfect single violin note or the hummed lullabies of the Other World. Inside Willoughby, there was only a crushing silence. Damelza had cut him off from his last contact to his homeland and family. I vibrated with the need to slap that witch up. “Yet these Immortals forgive us our pasts and flaws. They trust us, and so we must trust them.”

There was no hesitancy in Midnight’s nod.

Willoughby raised his head, meeting Bask’s eye. “I owe you a debt, and if you’ll have me, I shall spend the rest of my life repaying it.”

My breath hitched. Was it just me or did that sound like the ding, dong of wedding bells…?

Bask winked, snuggling closer to Midnight. “I already have you, and although my arse is versatile in the spanking department, how about we start with you over my lap, pointy ears?”

Okay, that made my prick do an embarrassing dance of joy.

The tips of Willoughby’s ears pinked, but his expression became mock stern. “What did I tell you about insulting me with the pet name pointy ears? For such a crime, it’s lucky that you do have such a versatile behind.”

Bask wriggled around as if to prove the point.

Magenta twisted Willoughby to face her, however, grasping him by the chin. “Do you awfully mind if you thrash Bask later? I’m certain that he’ll take it with great bravery.” Sleipnir choked off a laugh at Bask’s shocked gasp. “But it’s not a debt. You owe us nothing. Any kindness that we offer you may once have been an exchange or…” Her gaze flicked to Sleipnir, who raised his eyebrow, “part only of a plan, but now we offer it out of love.”

Willoughby raised Magenta’s hand to his plush lips and kissed the back of it.

Why didn’t I have the type of gracefulness that could take a single gesture and show such love and duty through it? Probably because I could pull off disgruntled hedgehog better than romantic gentleman.

Oh, but I made an epic hedgehog.

Bask worked his fingers around the leather that bound Midnight’s broken wings, unwinding it. Midnight bit his lip, and I gave him a head bump (code: I love you), which got me a judgey glare from Sleipnir and a tender gaze from Midnight.

Midnight’s ash wings fell free of the leather, hanging from his shoulders in a way that made every bone in my own body ache.

Bask wound his arms around Midnight. “Do you wish me to kiss and heal you?”

So, that was why Bask had been laid out like a sacrifice to screwing on the lab table: he’d been building his powers through pleasure just for this moment. At least, that was his excuse and he was sticking to it.

Why didn’t my power of Confess need chocolate or crisp sandwiches to work? Could I redesign this whole shimage thing? I mean, how about I got to transform into something dangerous like a bear, tiger, or rabbit?

Don’t mock the fox with the rabbit phobia. Sometimes, irony is cruel.

Willoughby swallowed. “I trust you.”

How could three words speak such worlds of hurt and new hope?

Bask leaned forward, kissing up the side of Willoughby’s cheeks and encouraging him to turn his head. He licked across Willoughby’s lips, before he opened them. It was breathtaking to watch the way that ruby sparkles passed from Bask’s mouth and into Willoughby’s. I couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy at their kiss, even though I knew it was to heal him.

Plus, the way that Bask’s black hair mingled with Midnight’s dark waves was beautiful.

They were beautiful together.

This greedy foxy wanted them both.

Midnight gasped, and his wings spread. Their wingtips pulsed with violet light. His feathers gleamed like polished gems, as he beat his wings.

He was stunning, and he was healed.

Bask gave Midnight’s lower lip a final satisfied lick, before settling back.

“Thank you,” Willoughby breathed.

Pocus looked up from where he was curled in the corner. “Pocus thanks the sparkly incubus too.”

Bask pushed himself to his feet. “Incubi don’t sparkle.”

I smirked at Pocus. “Yeah, that’s vampires.”

Pocus snarled at me.

All of a sudden, the classroom shook, and a rumble rolled out like thunder. I wrinkled my nose at the intoxicating scent of mulled wine.

At times like this, my Mr. Fierce side begged me to roll into a ball, but that only toppled me to the side, taking Midnight with me into an embarrassing tangle of naked limbs and feathers. My breathing was too ragged, and my pulse raced.

Sleipnir crouched over me protectively at the same time as Willoughby.

Magenta’s magic burst over me in pink brambles. How could Magenta’s connection to nature make me feel so safe, while Bacchus’ roots reminded me with every touch that I was the enemy mage?

But I’d never be Magenta’s enemy.

Out of the floor next to Pocus, coiled sinuous purple vines. The ivy tangled into the outline of Bacchus, the Immortals’ Tutor and brilliant but scarier than Hecate in a rabbit costume, American professor. In her class, you never knew where she’d appear: on a throne, out of the walls, or from the floor.

Maybe it was a game of Whack a Professor. If she’d only let my hands free and pass me a mallet, I’d be happy to take a turn.

See, academy spirit. I was a brilliant student.

The vines fully formed into a professor who was scrutinizing us like she could see into our Souls. I straightened up, projecting my brilliant student thoughts, but Bacchus’ eyes only narrowed with frenzied fury.

Then Bacchus raised her hand, and vines shot from the stools, grasping the other students (apart from Magenta) around the waist and dragging them to sit down, before tying them securely in place.

“Valhalla!” Sleipnir struggled, and Mist flared his nostrils. “Whatever happened to asking us to take our seats? It’s called using your words.”

Had the professors forgotten to tell us that it was Bondage Sunday?

Bacchus’ eyes flashed. “The son of Loki dares lecture me about words over actions, when he’s nothing but reckless deeds?” Pocus pushed himself onto all fours, before crawling to wind around her feet, rubbing his head against her thigh. She stroked his ears as if calming herself. For the first time, I realized that Pocus did protect Midnight and those who he loved, simply by playing the faithful familiar. Yet did he also love Bacchus? “Shall I show you just how words and deeds are connected in spells? After all, we have two whipping boy puppets.”

I stiffened. Okay, puppets didn’t sound good.

Yet a spell couldn’t be as dangerous as a hex or a potion, could it? The way that Bacchus’ lips curled with the danger of a true wicked witch forced my heart to beat harder against my ribcage.

Magenta’s concerned gaze met mine.

Bacchus’ gaze was ancient death and retribution. “I’ll delight in teaching you the Mind Control Spell. Then you can use your words to influence anybody to become your magical bitches, and today, your whipping boys are the bitches.”