I melted against Fox, as he stroked circles against my inner thigh, clasping me around my waist like he was frightened that I'd be stolen from him if he let go.
I knew how he felt; I was possessive like that with Nile. It was this whole thing. But then, I was enthralling (of course, snicker).
Yet I couldn't slip my own gloved hand down Fox’s pants like I was aching to and return the favor (incubi are generous lovers), because any moment the Princes would arrive for the Stop Game.
Why had I suggested it again?
Here's the thing, I'd planned the Stop Game to bring out the Princes’ hidden secrets and desires. At first, I'd thought that I wanted to...not wreck...but break open Lysander and Willoughby. It was the quickest way that I knew to crack through their haughty princely selves because you couldn't keep up your mask during the game.
If Willoughby truly loved Magenta, then it'd bring him over to our side.
At the Succubus Court, the bonded had played it as a hidden way to love each other, when that was forbidden. It'd also had a darker side, however, because it'd been used as an extreme hazing of new harem members. I shuddered at the memory of being the youngest and terrified on my first night. I'd been blindfolded and told the consequences if I forfeited by saying stop during the Stop Game...
Stop. Stop. Stop.
I shivered but raised my chin. I'd faced down a pissed off Duchess. I wasn't broken anymore. My slinky self knew how to play the game now because I was the one in charge.
Rule 46 of the Incubi Night Code stated: You can never have too much power or too much hair product.
Have you ever seen a king without well-groomed hair?
Only, that was the world, which ma taught me. It was one of intrigue and scheming. I didn't know if I wanted power over the cute elf but I did want to love him.
But power over Lysander sounded brilliant.
Sleipnir paused in his kissing to rub his finger over two initials that'd been carved looping around each other into the wood:
MR
"MR who?" Sleipnir asked.
"Is that a new kids’ book?" When Fox cocked his head, his curls fell across his eyes. "Mr. Who and his Tardis, like Mr. Rude or Mr. Nosey, only he ends up getting killed and regenerating as Little Miss Who."
Sleipnir rapped his knuckles against the wood. "Hey, I was just asking who was up here and claiming this Dreaming Space as theirs?"
"That would be me." Magenta traced across the initials, following the same path as Sleipnir. When she bit her lip, I wished that I could suck it between mine and take away the sadness that'd settled around her like a shroud. My bones ached with it. "M stands for—"
"Magenta." Sleipnir covered her hand with his larger one, catching her surprised gaze with his.
"Who's the R?" I demanded.
Not a lover... Don't love the past more than me... Please, I'm not invisible...
"My best friend." I didn't miss her fleeting glance at Fox. "He died because he said always, rather than stop."
That's why she'd insisted that I promise not to say always. Not that I had promised. I was getting the hang of battling my own instincts and training.
She'd lost someone like I'd lost Hector: This R.
Magenta pulled her finger away from the carved initials of her dead childhood friend. Why could I feel the ghost of him in this tiny room where they must've played as kids?
Magenta smiled like she loved feeling close to him.
No one stole my Magenta, especially not a memory.
"Does it please you to remember that we're still alive?" I stroked my gloved hand down Fox's cheek. His breath stuttered, and he flushed. Cute. "We're yours, and we'll please you."
"Sweet Hecate, you already please me, and I'm yours as much as you're mine." Magenta's expression softened.
Pleasure flooded through me at her approval. It fed my power. I shuddered, and my toes curled. But then, not only wasn't my sexy self invisible, but I was the incubus who Magenta scrutinized with such sharpness that I might as well have already been naked.
I furrowed my brow. Should I strip? It was bound to happen in the Stop Game, after all, and why deny the others the view? When I reached for the buttons on my pants, however, Fox batted away my hands with a laugh.
His loss. Perhaps, mages were masochists?
I glanced at him from underneath my eyelashes. I could have some fun with that. Fox froze, swallowing like I was the wolf in the hunt and he'd been caught.
Silly foxy...
I squirmed in anticipation of testing out my theory (I could start by treating myself to a squeeze of his sweet nipples, gentle bite on his pale throat, or quick squeeze of his balls), and see if he deliciously moaned or pinned me down inside.
Both were fine options.
I latched my lips to Fox's throat, but before I could do more than press my teeth against his skin, he froze. "Have your turned into a Vampire Incubus? Pan's balls, was this whole thing a ruse to get me up here and eat me? Look, my blood'll taste terrible like an unholy cocktail of vinegar, lemon rind, and gin. Try Sleipnir’s, instead. His probably tastes like honey and milk."
Sleipnir snorted. "Huh, at least I know who'd be eaten first if we were stuck on a desert island."
"Admittedly, there’s the most meat on you." Magenta assessed him, speculatively.
I drew back from Fox's neck in outrage, licking over the hickey in apology. Incubi were better at sucking than biting (startling discovery), but we'd proved in the Dick Contest who had the most meat on them.
Fox cleared his throat. "Bitey, don't say it. Anyway, my cunning plan would be to eat myself and then let you heal me. Then no one would have to die, even if there was a honeyed god to scoff."
He said the sweetest things.
Magenta grimaced. "Well, I'd wonder where such macabre thoughts came from, if I wasn't a Ghost Witch, this wasn't a magical academy that imprisoned us, and if tomorrow we weren't likely to all die."
Fox's lips quirked. "And that, ladies and gentleman, is how a Victorian gets a party started!"
All of a sudden, coughing spluttered from the tunnel.
Then a disgruntled Lysander (wow, he pulled off disgruntled and cute), crawled out of the low gap into the Dreaming Space, followed by Willoughby. The Princes’ smart uniforms were smeared with dust and cobwebs.
That was a fine sight.
I smirked, as Lysander knelt up. He stared with a disgusted expression at his dirty hands. Then reluctantly, he wiped them down his uniform trousers, before shuffling closer to us in the circle.
As an incubus of the ancient Night Lineage, I knew the importance of appearance, as well of being prepared. I'd brought a comb, handheld mirror, and wipes with me. I glanced over my immaculate uniform and shiny hair, licking over my kissable lips.
I was sizzling.
My rivals, on the other hand, were rumpled and stained.
Advantage the Immortals.
Plus, as Lysander's suspicious gaze swept over us, he appeared to know it. Was the Fae Court much different to the Succubus one, even for a prince?
Willoughby edged closer to Magenta. He ducked his head, pulling his knees up under him. Magenta exchanged a glance with Sleipnir, before shuffling closer to Willoughby and sitting next to him, cross-legged. When their knees touched, Willoughby jumped, glancing up.