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.”
Chapter Sixteen
FOX