Be warned: incubus envy was a dangerous thing, and I envied Ezekiel’s bronzed six-pack. His abs, obviously, rather than his beer. When I met Magenta’s shy smile across the gym, as she rested with her head on Sleipnir’s shoulder, however, I could’ve done with a quick drink. Maybe it would’ve settled the crawling underneath my skin that demanded I please someone or they please me.
The Duchess had called those whom she’d punished through removal of touch: The Not There. Everyone in the palace would be ordered to ignore them like they’d been turned into a ghost. It’d only happened to me once, and that had been what’d broken my bond.
I shivered at the thought of Magenta’s hands caressing me, plucking at my nipples, or cupping my balls. Then the thought of Willoughby dressed in a maid’s outfit and massaging my arse intruded, and I sighed because that was all I was getting from now on.
Last night, I’d been filled with nothing but a happy tingling across my skin. Magenta had been free and alive in my arms.
The woman from the portrait had been made flesh.
All right, she’d been unconscious. But I liked to look on the bright side. I’d even allowed Magenta to snuggle in my nest with all my pillows as a special concession (even Nile).
If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was.
But now, she was spelled so that we couldn’t even get close to each other. I squared my shoulders. If the Duchess wanted to turn me into a Not There even within the academy, she could kiss my pettable arse. I wouldn’t break for her twice.
“Glad you could join us.” Ezekiel tried for commanding but he couldn’t help the smile. Cute…and hot. Away with you, I had a thing for angels, even if they were professors with more muscles than was decent. “I’ve been warned about your special needs, so I’m afraid that we’ll have to mix things up for this session. You need to be partnered with someone different.”
Why did he look apologetic?
Then Ezekiel’s wings were wrapped around me, as he led me to the far corner, which was painted in murals of grand battles that had been fought by previous Rebels. I took a moment to cuddle into the feathery softness. They smelled tangy but sweet like citrus cream.
Resist the urge to suck as well as to snuggle.
I knew that Ezekiel was offering me this short treat of gentle touch. He was the kindest of the professors, even if he was physically the strongest. Then I noticed who was lounged against the wall, waiting to be my partner. Wait, I retracted that part about the kindest.
Ezekiel twisted me, until I was forced to look at him. “Whipping boys aren’t allowed in my lesson, although I’ve fought for their inclusion, and you can’t touch Crow. She declined with certain choice words the offer to be partnered with a fae.”
“Choice words like: It would cause the slow death of my soul?” I cocked my head.
Lysander straightened. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He’d neatly folded his black blazer with the P crest embroidered in silk to one side, and his pink silk shirt hung open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his translucent collar bone. His tight black trousers left less to the imagination than mine. He looked as much like a dashing but arrogant warrior as I didn’t.
Ezekiel crossed his arms. “Crown wasn’t exactly overjoyed to be paired with you either.”
I took a cautious step towards Lysander. “Did I spoil his play date with the wee elf?”
Lysander’s eyes narrowed even further.
Ezekiel stalked back to the center of the gym. “When he heard that Willoughby was to be replaced today by you, he gagged.”
Well, didn’t that just help a guy’s ego?
Lysander smirked, tossing his emerald hair with a beat of his golden wings, and I couldn’t help seeing…just for a moment…my Andro. I flushed with the memory of that little swirl Andro did with his tongue on my dick (it should be a superpower), as well as his delicious cuddles. But then, I saw the harshness in this fae’s eyes, rather than the softness, and there was no doubt that it was Prince Lysander.
Andro might’ve been a clone but he was his own fae.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lysander arched his brow. “I demand that you stop looking at me like you wish to eat me.”
“Since I’m not one of your subjects,” I scanned him from head-to-toe with a sexy leer that walked the line of insulting (okay, I might’ve fallen over the line), “you don’t get to demand. And that means an incubus may look at a prince.”
Lysander slunk closer. “And a prince may gouge out an incubus’ eyes.”
My wee break down over the Duchess might’ve made me forget just how dangerous the Princes were.
Oh, well…
I tilted my chin. “May both sides of your pillow be forever warm.”
Lysander blinked. “I tremble before you.”
Odd, but he didn’t appear to be frightened of my curse.
I still smiled smugly, patting his cheek. “Of course you do. I’m a mighty incubus.”
Lysander slapped away my hand. “Don’t touch my royal personage.”
I ached at his mention of touch. I yearned for Magenta with an urgent desperation. When I glanced at her, however, I wished that I hadn’t because Lysander then studied her with a contemptuous hatred.
“So, the witch is back,” he breathed, bitterly.
I flapped my hands, trying to claw his eyeballs off her. I didn’t mean that. Yuck.
At last, Lysander turned back to me. “Is your fit over?”
“Keep you bastard…everything…away from my Magenta.”
Lysander barked with dark laughter. “I assure you that I’ve never had less interest in having my anything near that woman. Not even if she begged me.”
“Less flirting, more fighting,” Ezekiel commanded. He stood with his hands smartly behind his back, eying both pairs warily.
Magenta grinned. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Sleipnir laughed, but dropped into a crouch. Magenta’s legs swirled in a black mist that coiled around him.
I spluttered, blushing. “This…us…not flirting.”
Ezekiel raised his eyebrow. “Hmm. Then concentrate. You all know now about the Rebel Cup…?” Next to me, Lysander stiffened. “The Punish and Reward Game is daily this term. In each lesson, either the Immortals or Princes will win and be allowed to choose either a punishment or reward for the other Wing.” My breath hitched, at the same time as I heard Sleipnir’s curse. They should’ve simply called it the Punish Game because the chances of the Princes rewarding us was the same as me climbing Hecate’s statue in the bailey and declaring my undying love for Lysander. Big fat zero. “The number of wins a day is added up, until Thursday. Then the overall winner becomes the Champion of the Rebel Cup. Of course, the student who’s behaved the worst must submit to the Memory Theater if a professor orders it.” There was something in the way that Ezekiel shifted from foot to foot and stared hard at the ground, which told me that would be less fun than fighting Lysander. “So, work hard.”
I stared at him. That was the pep talk?
Well, I was one motivated Immortal.
“I know that I’m new here,” Magenta sparkled with magic, which thrummed through me; she was more dangerous than any of us, even if she sounded as polite as if she was asking for directions, “but why are we training as warriors in the first place?”