Then the threads of my magic drew taut and with a twang that made me wince, began to snap.
Alarmed, I threw myself onto my back, wiping my sleeve across my face. My vision was blurry with snow. When my lovers were hurled through the air like puppets between my magic and the Gateways, I struggled onto my knees.
I wouldn’t be defeated by a rock.
I yanked harder, but then another thread snapped, two, three...
Then the last threads of my magic broke.
With a delighted snarl, the Gateway hurled Bask and Fox against the walls of the ruins.
I howled, slamming my fists into the snow. My pulse thrashed in my ears. If I hadn't already been on my knees, I'd have fallen onto them.
I stared at the still bodies of my lovers, who lay like shattered ice sculptures. Sleipnir snorted, standing over Bask, as if he could protect him. His whole body was tense and trembling; his nostrils flared.
I regretted to inform the universe that this was my story. I might be the wicked witch, but I'd become the heroine, and the Rebels who I loved wouldn't die in the cold...like so many students before them.
How many students had been killed on missions or by this Gateway? There was a whole gallery of portraits of the dead. It was an academy of ghosts, which was shadowed by its dark past.
No more Rebels would die, blessed be, no more.
I forced myself to my feet and staggered to Sleipnir, patting his flank to calm him. He pawed at the snow like a soldier, guarding Bask and Fox. He'd been frightened that I'd think his shifter form monstrous and reject him.
He was my beautiful monster, and I'd never fear him.
"You're an excellent guard for your lovers," I whispered, "but I can save them."
I didn't know what advancements this modern age had made in medicine (perhaps, they'd even discovered a way to look inside the body without carving it open or cured the common cold), but it wasn't pills or operations that’d heal my broken lovers.
It was magic.
In a blue spray of glitter, Sleipnir transformed back into his godly form. His hair was spiky and cinnamon red. In his distress, he was linked to his brother Fenrir. He wrapped his long woolen black coat around himself, but I didn't believe that it was because of the cold.
I pulled him closer, pressing his forehead to mine. "It's not your fault."
He shuddered. "Yeah, it is. They trusted me enough to ride me. Look what revealing my monster led to, right? Why do you think I trap it inside?"
“There shall be no more trapping. My lovers are wild and free. You’ve seen this Gateway before. Some warning that it intended to squash us would’ve been nice.”
Sleipnir huffed. “By the Norns, it didn’t act like an aggressive guard dog before. But then, your magic appears to have pissed it off.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How flattering. It believes me more threatening, a challenge, or…wicked.”
I dragged Sleipnir to crouch over Bask and Fox, who were tangled together like they were only sleeping back in our bedroom and any moment would wake up.
Except, I knew that wasn't true.
All of a sudden, I was shocked by the memory of Prince Lysander’s distress, as he’d crouched over Midnight. The vampire’s wings had been broken by Principal Damelza’s hex because the Princes had lost the Rebel Cup.
Lysander must love Midnight, just like I loved Bask and Fox.
The Immortals lay at the entrance to the ruins, which was a tumbledown stone house. The ceiling was caved in at one side. Almost five hundred years ago, this had been where the last Blessedly Charmed witch before me had been forced to live, isolated from everyone to keep her magic pure. Perhaps, her family had been afraid of her power.
Had mine…?
The hairs on my nape rose at the thought of her stuck out here alone, only able to stare longingly at the life inside the castle.
I'd take being wicked over that any day.
Yet I could feel her power, which reached out of nature like an echo. It was still trapped here. It wound around me, leeching into my faded magic and reenergising...strengthening...it. I ducked my head in case the Gateway realized the way that the new strength was bleeding back into me.
I pressed my fingers to Bask's lips; his breath ghosted across my skin.
Thank Hecate.
I shivered in relief.
Then I turned to Sleipnir, and my expression became steely. "Holding onto your mane, as we rode together through the snow, was the most freeing experience of my long, long life. Don't ever hide again."
Sleipnir flushed, clenching his jaw, but he saluted. He had excellent manners when he tried.
Bask's uniform of pink blazer and tie with black pants, was ripped, revealing his alabaster skin beneath. I itched to pet him like he loved. Instead, I forced myself to lean down, pushing his silky ebony hair away from his ear.
"You please me.” My lips grazed his ear on each word, and my magic that was imbued with the thrilling power of my Blessedly Charmed ancestor coiled out of the ruins and around him, until he was cocooned in sizzling pink. Pleasing your bonded fed an incubus' power, and I didn't care that the Duchess thought she had a claim over Bask; I was the one who'd save him from dying. "You shall always please me. Once, I told you not to say always but I was wrong because I shall always save you. Without you, there's no pleasure or life for me. You're my pleasure: my Crave. My immortal love."
Bask's eyes shot open, and his adoring ruby gaze met mine. My breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze, and the way that he raised his gloved hand to stroke down my cheek in a gesture that was deeply intimate for an incubus, before skimming it along my jawline. My pulse fluttered in my throat.
He was alive...
Sleipnir let out a choked sound, as he dropped to his knees in the snow and clasped Bask's hand. "Odin's cock, I'm sorry."
Bask's expression softened. "Let's not bring a bad bastard like Odin or his cock into it. Pet me."
I kissed his petal soft lips, and his breath against mine was life after death. He smelled of coco and almonds, and I wished to devour him.
Then Bask squirmed. "This isn't a comfortable pillow nest."
I blanched, grabbing him by the shoulders to still him. "I'll be certain to tell Fox when he...wakes up."
Bask's eyes widened, and he scrambled around, tumbling into Sleipnir's lap. "Fix my foxy," he demanded, gesturing wildly at Fox, who lay sprawled across the ruins’ entranceway. "And I don't mean cut off his balls because they’re important to me, as well as to him."
Fox must've hit his head on the corner; his forehead was bruised and swollen. I wished that I could just kiss it away, but his injury was worse than Bask's. I reached out a shaky hand, tracing the purple outline, as I cradled Fox. I smoothed his blond curls back from his forehead. He was so cold in his thin whipping boy uniform; his skin was like ice.
Yet I was even colder. How could I warm him?
Fox's face was pale. It was unnatural for him to be silent and still. Fox was a whirlwind of words and hyperactive movement. I never wished for him to be silenced again.
I couldn't lose my mage. Not like this...please, not like this, not like...
My magic burst out in a storm that buffeted the ruins in my grief. Pink snow swirled from the clouds, blinding me.
"Valhalla!" Sleipnir yelled above the roar of the storm. "We haven't lost him yet. Seriously, control yourself and remember that our incubus has the power to heal, if we feed him enough pleasure." Bask slipped over Sleipnir's lap, and his eyes glittered with a predator's light. "How about I command you?"