Root Rot Academy: Term 3

by Rhea Watson

  At peace.

  Until the front doors slammed shut, and I closed my eyes with a sigh, bracing for another teen couple sneaking through the conservatory’s overgrown walkways for a quick fumble in one of the few private places on campus.

  A barrage of silky tongue clicks greeted me instead, followed by a low, dangerous chuckle.

  “Professor Corwin…” I smelled him before I saw him, Gavriel’s expensive tastes giving him away. Agarwood. Patchouli. A hint of cedar and a touch of spicy saffron. I could lose myself in that scent; it wouldn’t be the first time. “Whatever are you doing in here all by your lonesome?”

  A hard, sinewy body pressed against my back, his hips especially focused on my ass, his lips trailing up my neck with teasing hints of teeth.

  “Sneaking around in the shadows,” the fae murmured, then nipped sharply at my earlobe as his arms coiled around me.

  “I’m a legitimate chaperone here on legitimate chaperone business,” I remarked haughtily, still enraptured with the fireflies even as he licked the delicate shell of my ear, “you fucking perv.”

  “Oh, yes.” He cupped me without warning, delving between my thighs and cradling my sex just right so the base of his palm ground over my clit. It definitely didn’t help that my summery green maxi dress was thin enough to really feel him, to succumb to even the lightest caress. He chuckled again, this time dragging his teeth down my throat and nibbling on my shoulder. “Be mean to me, fury.”

  “Oh my gods, stop,” I ordered weakly, tempted to surrender but so not willing to get caught like Michael and Mildred—because with Gavriel, it was never just kissing. Whoever found us would be walking into something much darker and a lot more naked. I dug his hand out from between my thighs as soon as it started its delicious assault, then whirled around in his arms, giggling, and delivered a chastising tap to his nose alongside a frown. “You’re out of your quadrant.”

  “I don’t have a quadrant,” he growled, scooping my cheeks and yanking me into a biting kiss that made my belly loop and tighten—made my heart sing and my toes curl.

  Almost by way of apology for everything that had happened, the high council had actually sponsored tonight’s event, providing a top-notch catering crew, a band, the works. Technically, staff didn’t have to work, but we volunteered anyway, without prompting, because Headmaster Caulder was a good dude who could use all the eyes available to him with this crowd. Jack had broken the campus into quadrants; clearly Gavriel gave zero shits about the one assigned to him.

  Cupping my ass with two greedy hands, Gavriel hauled me into a kiss so deep, so desperate and passionate I swore he could taste my soul. As soon as those hands drifted back to my face, however, cradling it despite the ferocity of our mouths, stroking my skin tenderly with his thumbs, I remembered the scars.

  Most days they escaped my mind.

  Weeks ago, a Clemonte coven healer had dulled the pink stripes across my face—but I refused his offer to remove them completely. Easily coverable by makeup, I… kind of liked them.

  They reminded me of how far I had come.

  Reminded me of the struggle and the heartache, the fear and the fury.

  I needed to remember that stuff so I never took this, the happy, in-love bubble I suddenly found myself in, for granted. Ever. What I had with Gavriel, Jack, and Bjorn wasn’t a given. It wasn’t easy. It took work, and if some sicko was determined enough, we could lose everything in a heartbeat. Nothing in life was guaranteed, but I had worked my ass off to get here: a great job, a stable career, friends and found family, and a whole heart pieced together by three unexpected wonders.

  After a lifetime of struggle, peace.

  There was light at the end of the long, winding tunnel: you just needed the grit to find it.

  So, the scars were here to stay, though they got a daily foundation once-over so they didn’t freak out the kids.

  “Okay, okay,” I mumbled, both our bodies resisting even an inch of separation when I pushed at his chest. Gavriel broke the kiss almost begrudgingly, but then latched onto my neck, determined to leave a mark I’d need more than a dusting of foundation to hide. Moaning, I twisted and squirmed, head tipped back and eyes on the fireflies again. “We are not having sex in here—not right now, anyway.”

  Not with the entire academy outside, spread across the north grounds, the scene ripe for voyeurism and scandal.

  “Why not?” he demanded, his gravelly growl making it that much harder to be an adult, and just as I sucked in a breath to explain, he pounced, stealing my lips again, kissing me hard and deep. Those wandering hands went about their sordid work, and I had to consciously picture Michael and Mildred and their terrible face suck to claw my way out of the fae’s seductive lure.

  “Because—” I fisted his hair and hauled him back, barely keeping the beast at bay. “—I literally just caught two students frenching on that bench—and it’s kind of a boner killer.”

  Gaze darkened with lust, Gavriel still managed one of his over-the-top eye rolls and a scoff that blew the little feathery wisps from my face.

  “You are beyond dramatic, fury.”

  Eyebrows up, I hurled a scoff right back at him. “Says you.”

  As if sensing this was a battle he was destined to lose, Gavriel and his prominent erection cut me loose, and I sauntered around him with a triumphant grin—then landed a hard, stingy smack on his perfect ass before hurrying out of the greenhouse, the fireflies chasing after my giggles.

  June was beautiful in the highlands. A clear, starry sky stretched on forever, the moon full, the horizon steeped in possibilities. My flora thrived in the warmer temperatures, no longer tended by magic, allowed to bloom with their natural cycle. Outside the new academy ward, the long greenish-yellow grasses whispered in the breeze, and the air had that thick, beautiful summer smell to it all the time, the land sun-kissed and alive.

  It just made sense to host our final sabbat celebration outside. Beyond my kingdom of greenhouses and gardens, about a dozen small bonfires dotted the athletics field, around which the students gathered. Dressed in their comfies, they sat on rough-hewn wood benches, draped in blankets and laughter and conversation. They toasted marshmallows and made s’mores; many of the shifters had put in special requests for raw meat from the caterers, which they could then char to their heart’s content over the fire.

  The first and only band to ever visit Root Rot Academy for a student event performed on a makeshift stage surrounded by twinkling light orbs, playing an assortment of indie hits and mellow tunes.

  All in all, just a good vibe out here tonight.

  One made even better when I spotted Bjorn. While he hadn’t settled at any of the fires, he had his own bench away from the crowds—and at his feet, two newly turned orphan vampires. They arrived the night before the rest of the student body returned, twins who had lost their family to a gang of rogue vampires, mercilessly turned and left to starve. A coven in Oslo had shipped them here as soon as they located them hiding in a forest, and they had imprinted on Bjorn immediately, just a pair of lost ducklings who followed him everywhere from sunset to curfew.

  And they craved his stories, this Viking vampire, a hero of their Norse heritage. They wanted everything, all he had to offer, and for the first time all year—and in his six very long, lonely years at Root Rot—he had an eager audience.

  He was in his element. I could tell that from a distance, but as I casually strolled by the trio, I heard it in his voice, his timbre soft and warm, his cadence excited. A man who grew up with storytellers, not the written word: he was made for this.

  I resisted the urge to steal a big bear hug from behind, really bury my face against him and breathe in deep. Even though my relationships weren’t a secret from the staff, we had decided not to be too obvious in front of students. Still, as I drifted by, scanning all the wandering den mothers like I barely noticed these three vamps, I walked my fingers across his broad shoulders. Whispered them over the nape of his neck. A few paces o
n, I glanced back and tripped deep into those icy blues, just as earnest and affectionate as his tone.

  Gods, he was so getting mounted later.

  Like, the second we shut the door to the suite—boom, pants off, raunchy belated Beltane sex party on.

  Across the field of flickering bonfires, the silhouette of Root Rot’s new assistant headmaster loomed, dark and ominous, regal and handsome in one of his classic black suits. As per usual, my Sir watched the festivities from the sidelines, hands clasped behind his back, keeping an eye on all the comings and goings—even more intense now that we had such an airy-fairy headmaster… who had been leading a drum circle for the last half hour at the big bonfire in the middle of the artificial turf. Casually ambling along, I sauntered in Jack’s direction, returning greetings to the kids who offered them, smiling at old colleagues and new, campus cozy and peaceful tonight.

  Jack’s gold-flecked black gaze slid my way briefly when I entered his eyeline, but always the professional, he quickly went back to his study, jumping from group to group, eyes slightly narrowed, nostrils flared like he could sniff out trouble.

  Two weeks ago, that imposing warlock had told me he loved me while whipping me in his London town house’s playroom. The loft had been converted into a kink room years ago, but I’d been the first submissive to use it.

  And he told me he loved me there.

  Out of nowhere—a slip of his careful control.

  I had whispered it back during a very cuddly, soft aftercare session, the kiss that followed spoiled by catcalls and hoots coming from the bottom of the stairs, Bjorn and Gavriel the absolute worst when they had nothing to do during all that nebulous downtime.

  Of course we loved each other.

  I loved all of them.

  What we had been through this year…

  That kind of shit bonded you—always and forever.

  I sidled up beside Jack, innocently surveying the grounds, arms crossed, and pushed my luck when I knocked my hip into his thick, muscular thigh.

  He barely moved.

  Didn’t even acknowledge the breach in PDA decorum except for a twitch in his cheek.

  I smirked.

  “Mister Clemonte.”

  He sniffed and offered a stiff, formal nod. “Professor Corwin.”

  His gaze soon landed on Stephen Caulder, looking more fantasy-book warlock than headmaster tonight in grey traditionalist robes, his long white hair loose and free, his beard braided with a few baubles for, you know, visual interest. Jack’s eyes slit when the new Root Rot headmaster motioned for all the students around him to start the next round, a weathered drum between his knees, and I hastily smothered a giggle.

  As eccentric as he was, the new headmaster was good for Root Rot. Tempered by Jack, he had vowed to continue the rehabilitation philosophy for the next generation of misfit kids. There were already plans to convert the dungeons into kitchen storage, and he had found a way to turn Fort Dàn into the student retreat Jack had always envisioned.

  Sure, that meant we lost our play space, but that didn’t matter anymore.

  Because not only was Stephen Caulder a good influence on the academy, but he had been pretty cool about my newfound relationships. Polyamory might not have been the norm in the supernatural world, but it was more widely accepted than with humans. When we had explained our situation to him, the new headmaster sacrificed his huge suite so Gavriel, Bjorn, and I could room together, and then gave Jack Iris’s old flat next door.

  That way, we each had our own room, our own personal space—our own sanctuary. Sure, I slept with my guys most nights, but it was nice knowing there was a bed just for me that I could hog whenever I felt like it—with no man judging me in the morning for my bed-stealing antics.

  At first, I hated the thought of Jack being separate, but Gavriel had insisted he would be such a downer as a roommate…

  And Jack agreed.

  The warlock was a fiercely independent workaholic; it made sense that he needed his own separate space. Sure, he’d hung out in our flat every night since we’d been back, but he had been more than happy to retreat to his own at bedtime.

  Or stay up chatting with Bjorn when Gavriel and I retired, then return to his flat. Either way, it worked for us.

  “You know,” Jack started casually, “a furniture delivery arrived today.”

  “Oh?”

  “A bench,” he remarked, still studying the festivities. Interest darted through me, my belly squirmy at the implication.

  “I see.”

  “Tonight, when this is over, I intend to strap you onto it.” Jack dusted a bit of nonexistent fluff from his suit jacket, casual as sin. “There are restraints for your wrists and ankles. Italian leather—cost a fortune, but I believe my pain slut is worth it.”

  I swallowed thickly, arousal warming between my thighs. “You don’t say.”

  “Yes, little one, I do.” Expression relaxed, he looked like he was discussing the weather with an underling, hands clasped behind his back, gaze always wandering, always in control. So multifaceted, my sadistic Sir. “I plan to paint you the most exquisite shade of red. Stripes, of course, like a mewling candy cane, while the others watch.”

  The others ripped me out of the moment. “Oh really?” Jack never wanted Bjorn and Gavriel involved in our sessions. “You’re ready to… share?”

  It had never bothered the rest of us that he wasn’t as involved in the group dynamic; everyone moved at their own pace, and while he was fine with the additional romantic attachments, he had seemed keen on keeping kink just to ourselves.

  Until tonight, apparently.

  He nodded, slow and sure of himself. “In fact, I intend to have one of them fucking your tight little ass at all times so you won’t be able to sit for the rest of the weekend.”

  And just like that, back into the scene, into the promise of pain and a whiff of humiliation in front of men who loved me, who had my heart ten times over. Jack teetered into rough and growly territory, the cracks suddenly visible in his calm façade, the Dom who delighted in making me squeal clawing his way to the surface.

  “That sounds positively delightful,” I admitted, proud that my voice hadn’t wavered—and a little smug that I had managed to keep my shit together better than him.

  “Doesn’t it?” There he was, back in control, effortless and smooth, his gruff baritone softening to silk. “I do believe all three holes should be thoroughly abused to keep my little one happy, no?”

  Damn it. I’d been so proud that I held it together, but as soon as our eyes met, I crumbled, desperate to sink to my knees at his feet and go for his belt. Instead, I gulped and took a deep breath, struggling to shove the desire back in its box until later. “Oh, Sir, you always know best.”

  We settled into a tense quiet for a few moments, one that eventually cooled, our auras calm and complementary, the longer we watched the first successful sabbat celebration.

  “In the unlikely event no one has told you yet,” Jack rumbled suddenly, more warlock than Dom, more gorgeous man than stalking predator, his gaze warm and soft like Bjorn’s as it swept over my figure, “you look beautiful this evening.”

  My loose skirt fluttered as I shifted my weight from foot to foot, and I fidgeted with the daisy heads in my braid, then down to my mom’s wedding ring, which hung on a long gold chain my guys had gifted me with weeks back. When I’d first opened the blue velvet box, I hadn’t clued in to what it was until Bjorn explained its purpose—a simple piece to keep my parents close to my heart—and then I’d just burst out sobbing, instantly a hot mess, snot and all. I hadn’t gone a day without it since. “Thank you.”

  We swapped secret smiles, and I squeezed his arm subtly before wandering into the field of fire without fear. A few bonfires over, Gavriel chatted with a cluster of fifth years, not a hint of disdain in his expression. With a snap of his fingers, he turned the orange a beautiful, vibrant blue, much to the delight of the students, and then pointed his metal roasting stic
k at a half-demolished bag of marshmallows. On the far side of the field, Bjorn continued to entertain his little orphan ducklings, the twelve-year-old vampiric twins absolutely enamored with him, hanging on his every word.

  And behind me, Jack had zeroed in on a couple that looked too interested in the far back corner, the back gate padlocked and warded—but still a temptation, apparently. Scowling, he traipsed after them like a border collie about to herd a few wayward lambs back to the flock.

  I stopped in the thick of it, surrounded by fire and friends, lovers and soulmates, and realized I had never experienced peace like this before. Sure, work would always be chaotic and frustrating. Academy bureaucracy and competition and gossip wasn’t going anywhere just because we had a hippy headmaster. Bjorn, Gavriel, Jack, and I… We were in the honeymoon phase—it wouldn’t always be sex and sunshine, moonlit strolls and aftercare feasts. Laughter and snark and teasing and frantic make-outs in dark corners.

  Not all the time, anyway.

  But for the first time in a lifetime of bad coping skills, barely surviving the loneliness, wearing scars no one else could see, I didn’t fear the future.

  Yeah, it was still full of uncertainties, trials and tribulations, victories and defeats…

  Because that was just life.

  And I couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  First and forever, thank you to my editorial queen Amanda! You spot the holes in all my first draft nonsense with poise and tact, and no one gets me more excited to keep going when I feel like crashing — thank you. I’d be lost without you. Just like I’d be lost without the awesome proofreading skills of Sandra at One Love Editing, and my eagle-eyed typo-checker Linda. You ladies rock my world with every new release!!