Rebel Warlock's Wizard Mate: M/M Gay Fantasy Romance

by J B Black

  “You’re all ridiculous. Can’t you just get over yourselves? This is why there are almost none of you in the Americas,” William proclaimed, gesturing wildly around the pub.

  Tilly rolled her eyes. “Europe’s where the history is anyway.”

  “Forget Europe, if it weren’t for my father, I’d be studying in Kyoto,” Petra informed the table. “Asian wizards are a whole other breed of reclusive.”

  The conversation shifted, bouncing from topic to topic as the students grew louder and louder. All the while, William leaned against Ælfweard, half-sitting on his lap as he excitedly conversed with those at their table. A sense of rightness settled over the wizard’s heart, and when the time came, he hated letting go.

  “You better come to the dining hall,” Petra demanded, wrapping an arm about William’s shoulder. “I’m stuck with boring idiots all the time. You are my new best friend.”

  Taki scoffed. “Everyone is your best friend when you’re drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk. Ladies don’t get drunk,” Petra retorted, but she smirked, leaning in to Ælfweard to whisper in an utterly too loud voice. “I’m absolutely smashed.”

  “How are we going to teleport back?” Ælfweard asked, frowning at all the drunk stumbling from the wizards around them.

  Tilly bopped up beside them at that moment. “Everyone!” she called out, “Circle up!”

  Sure enough, the stumbling bunch of wizards huddled together, and those who were more sober directed the teleportation. The group arrived back at the academy, and as Petra pulled William into a tight hug, Ælfweard surveyed the hall, looking for the familiar flash of copper hair. At the other end of the hall with Wulfric, the other wizard stood. Just like in the pub, the pair shuffled off into a corner, murmuring to each other in low voices as Wulfric’s muscular form nearly obscured the other wizard from view. Satisfied the wizard was safely back — and unwilling to step in when Wulfric actually managed to make Gilroy tolerable, Ælfweard caught William as he almost tripped over the hem of the robe he wore.

  “Damn it,” the warlock murmured. “It unshrunk.”

  Sure enough, the smell keeping it fitted no longer clung to the fabric. Now the full size difference stood clear as the dark robe swallowed the warlock despite his own broad shoulders. Holding up his hands, William rolled up the sleeves rather than take it off, and something prival stirred in the wizard’s belly.

  Swallowing back the emotions building in his chest, Ælfweard whispered, “I could shrink it for you.”

  “No, it’s fine. We’re just traveling up a few flights of stairs,” William replied, and Ælfweard released a slight breath of relief that the warlock wasn’t trying to argue he could teleport them in his inebriated state. Hoisting up the hems of the robe, he marched forward only to stumble and fall into Ælfweard’s waiting arms. “The castle is sideways.”

  Laughing, the blond wizard scooped the warlock into his arms. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

  If sober, the man might have protested, but he wrapped his arms around the blond’s neck instead, playing with the soft curls at the base of the other’s neck. Humming, William rested his head against Ælfweard’s shoulder. The soft whisper of his breath against the wizard’s neck left a flush on the man’s tanned skin. His touch aroused a wanting deep inside. A burning in Ælfweard’s core which threatened to overtake him with an unspeakable longing. It was the sort of wanting which inspired poets to write and bards to sing. Songs of desperation came from these moments. The aftermath wove itself tight around them, and in the veil of the new understanding between them — soft and precarious and sweeter than anything Ælfweard ever knew before — the blond carried the dark-haired warlock up the stairs to their room.

  “This was fun,” William hummed as Ælfweard set him upon his bed.

  The wizard smiled. “Yeah, it was.”

  Kicking off his shoes, William undid the sleeves of the robe and pulled it off, but rather than hand it over, he held it up to his nose, inhaling. “It smells like it’s mine.” With his face still half buried in it, he whispered, “Do you want me to spell it clean?”

  Ælfweard froze. In bare feet, he stood with his own robe in his hands, and his heart thundered, racing in his chest. Half of him wanted to answer no. He wanted the chance to breathe the warlock in before he cleaned it along with the rest of what he had worn, but he dared not say that aloud. After William finally had a good night after so many bad days, Ælfweard refused to objectify him. To show the cards that he tore apart again and again only to see them reform all the stronger as the want built in his core.

  “I can do it,” he offered instead. “You’re still pretty smashed.”

  With a huff, William tossed the cloak at Ælfweard’s head, laughing when he smacked the wizard in the face, but as the warlock rolled over and curled beneath his sheets still dressed, all the blond could think was how the robe still smelled like himself, which left a strange mix of disappointment and shy pleasure brewing in his chest to know the other had claimed the scent as his own. The smile which spread across his face remained even when he turned off the lights and sunk beneath his own sheets. His bright blue eyes sought William’s form in the dark, watching the warlock breath until slumber dragged Ælfweard under.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ælfweard woke with a smile on his lips. In the bed across from him, William laid upon his side with his blankets wrapped tightly around himself. His black hair sprawled, sticking up in all directions, guaranteeing the man would have wild bed hair when he finally woke. Considering the soft rays of late morning sunlight streamed through the window, they had both slept in far longer than either normally did, but it hardly mattered. The library remained closed. Without access, it made the whole point moot.

  However, slipping out of bed, the wizard quickly grabbed his clothes, heading down the baths. After a quick scrub, he headed down to the kitchens, picking up food before returning back to his room where William softly snored. Each light breath left Ælfweard fuzzy with adoration. Fondness swelled in his chest, and setting his own food on his desk, he fought with the desire to just watch the warlock sleep and the uncomfortable awareness of how problematic that desire was.

  “William,” he whispered, setting a glass of water and a plate of food on Ælfweard’s bedside table. “I’ve grabbed us some breakfast.”

  The warlock’s nose wrinkled. Blinking, he squinted at the wizard. “Turn the sun off,” William demanded, tugging his pillow over his head.

  Biting his lip to hold back a laugh, Ælfweard set a hand upon the other man’s back. “You’ll be upset if I let you sleep the day away.”

  “How are you so upbeat?” the warlock grumbled, peeking out from under his pillow.

  “I didn’t drink as much.”

  William’s nose wrinkled, but he sat up, taking the water when offered. He sipped slowly. “There’s a garden around here somewhere, isn’t there?”

  “The botany tower has a greenhouse at its top,” Ælfweard informed the warlock. “But if you’re after potion supplies for a hangover cure, there’s a pantry open to student access near the main dining hall.”

  With a slight groan, the dark-haired man gave a slight smile when his eyes lit on the plate at his bedside. “You’re a goddamn saint, Ælfweard.”

  “Happy to help,” the wizard said, returning to his desk and his own plate.

  Running a hand through his hair, William smiled as he took a bite of bacon. “Your siblings must hate that you’re here. No more doting big brother Ælfweard.”

  “My younger brothers fought over who would get my room. It wasn’t even for the space. They all just wanted to share with our brother Daniel,” the blond informed his roommate, smiling when the other chuckled. “You know, I forgot to grab tea, so why don’t I pick up the ingredients for a hangover elixir?”

  The noise which came from the warlock’s lips could only be described as a moan. Every inch of Ælfweard stood at attention, and his heart raced as he shifted in his sea
t. Worse, William licked his lips. His tongue trailed over his bottom lip, driving Ælfweard nearly to madness. Disheveled and hungover, the warlock smiled so beautifully.

  “You’re quickly becoming my favorite wizard,” William informed him, and the compliment settled strangely, heating the tight coils of desires in the wizard’s core.

  Quickly finishing his meal, Ælfweard ducked out of the room with his empty plate, carefully keeping his back to William who continued to happily eat his breakfast. Any hopes the wizard had of his feelings cooling to friendship seemed dashed now. Every moment at his side left Ælfweard all the more enraptured. His heart ached, yearning to wrap the warlock in his arms and kiss him. Even to simply hold him would be enough. To spend a life at his side, waking there in the morning and seeing his bright smile. If he continued to hide it, he would only sabotage their friendship in the end. Ælfweard needed to tell him.

  But a confession risked ruination. William only now opened to him. Forced together for the remainder of the semester, their friendship could collapse the second William regained his own space. The idea of the warlock once again self-destructing clawed at Ælfweard’s heart.

  After dropping off his plates in the kitchen, Ælfweard walked back, stopping by the storeroom where he grabbed the ingredients. Once William returned to his own private rooms, there wasn’t much Ælfweard could do to ensure the man retained a reasonable sleep schedule. He could bring about meals, and Petra’s friendship might ensure the warlock took time to go down to the dining hall more consistently, but he hated the idea of the other sinking back into himself and hiding away.

  Caught up in his head, Ælfweard failed to see the trio heading toward him until Nicholas’s familiar drawling voice interrupted his inner panic. “There’s our top first year.”

  “Bit embarrassing, isn’t it?” Thaddeus grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Radcliffe can’t even beat out a warlock and an Irish nobody.”

  Nicholas set a hand upon his friend’s shoulder, and his face fell into an exaggerated expression of sympathy. “Now, you’re just being cruel. Imagine if the warlock beat that no-name.”

  With a feigned shiver, Thaddeus shook his head, but whatever he planned to say to carry on the mockery never had a chance. Picking at his nails, Malcolm released a dramatic sigh. “You know, I heard something rather funny from a sweet little wizard last night.”

  “No one wants to hear about your latest conquest,” Nicholas replied, and where the wants of a Blythe usually controlled a conversation, Ælfweard saw the spark in Malcolm’s eyes.

  He had no intention of dropping the topic, and for the blond wizard, this meant the possibility of escape. However, any hope of that was crushed when Malcolm announced, “That sweet little wizard who mewed so prettily for me told me that Ælfweard Grey’s mother was a Blythe.”

  Immediately, Ælfweard tensed as Nicholas’s jaw clenched. This wasn’t a conversation Ælfweard could escape from, and whatever came from it would only be a disaster for him. The Blythes had disowned his mother. As far as they cared, she died long ago, and her family — too large and too poor for their tastes — had no right to the name at all. If word got back to them — and it likely would —, the days of being ignored would end, and only outright sabotage awaited. Blythes carried the money. They had the power, and their current heir grew furious at Ælfweard with each interaction.

  Thaddeus smirked. His eyes met Malcolm’s behind Nicholas’s head, and the joy found there underlined how powerful the Blythe family was. Normally untouchable and beyond reproach, anything the Blythes hid as their dirty little secret offered an opportunity to demand favors, and favors from the Blythes made careers in alchemy.

  “Everybody wondered what happened to Matilda Blythe,” Thaddeus drawled. “But this?”

  Malcolm nodded along, gesturing at Ælfweard. “The Radcliffes took a hit with that broken engagement, but it was Matilda Blythe running off with an Irish nobody.”

  “They were paid handsomely to take the fall from what I’ve heard,” Nicholas said, and both two wizards beside him stumbled at that.

  If they expected Nicholas to rise to his cousin’s defense, they never knew him at all. Whatever his family past was, Nicholas broke the mold. His eyes sparkled as the other two wizards, watching them shifting off-kilter. He rose to his full height. His perfect posture left him seeming to tower over the others, and the corners of his lips twisted into a cocky smirk.

  Caught alone with the three, Ælfweard glanced around, waiting for a moment to escape, but one never seemed to come. They had him cornered. This early in the morning, the majority of students still slept, and those who normally rose early — the top students in most courses — remained tucked up in their beds after a night of revelry. No matter how much more muscular he was, this wouldn’t be settled with fists. Wizards used words. Tore people down and built them up with studied perfection. But what could Ælfweard even say?

  Thaddeus recovered first. “No wonder Gilroy hates this bastard.”

  “Gilroy Radcliffe hates everyone,” Nicholas retorted. His eyes narrowed, darkening as he glowered at Thaddeus. “Besides, he wouldn’t even be born if Grey’s country-bumpkin of a father hadn’t bred his whore of a mother.”

  Rage flooded Ælfweard. Heat coiled bitter in his stomach as his fingers curled to form fists at his side, but before he could strike, footsteps caught all their attention. William turned a corner, and all anger drained out of the blond wizard at the sight of him.

  The warlock hadn’t even bothered to do his hair. Black strands stuck up in odd directions, and his half-lidded eyes screamed of a contented weariness. If anyone saw him, they wouldn’t be remiss in thinking he looked like he had just gotten up after a rowdy night, and if the oversized sky blue jumper which swallowed his lithe frame suggested that night ended in someone else’s bed — specifically in Ælfweard’s — the blond wizard completely understood the conclusion. Hell, he half-wanted that to be what everyone thought. The only difference would’ve been a mark, but the wizard could see it in his mind’s eye. A bruise just below the warlock’s jawline. High enough on his neck that nothing but the highest collar could high it. One which the knit jumper which hung about him would only serve to emphasize for the ill-fitted looseness around the warlock’s neck.

  “What?” Nicholas taunted. “No comeback? Well, if nothing else, the bastard knows his station.”

  Keen gray eyes honed in on the group, and storming toward them, William called, “Ælfweard! There you are. You know I hate to be kept waiting.”

  Immediately, all eyes jumped to him, and Nicholas’s face blanched and flushed, muddling his handsome features as the warlock sauntered to place himself between Ælfweard and the others. His lips twisted into a small smile, and Ælfweard’s heart skipped a beat. William had to know. The suggestions his voice made caressed the spite from Ælfweard’s heart, and if only it were true, the blond would melt in ecstasy. With bright eyes, the warlock gazed up at him as if there was no one else around. As if he was the only person worth acknowledging — the only one worth seeing in all the world, and the clear rejection of Nicholas spoke volumes.

  “Sorry,” Ælfweard whispered. “I got sidetracked.”

  And only then did William’s gaze flicker to the other three. “Oh, huh…” he turned, pressing against Ælfweard’s side, and the flushed rage overtook the blanching disbelief as Nicholas’s hands curled to fists. “You know, every group that’s ever studied fated mates shows that they result in stronger children.” Tilting his head, William offered Nicholas a wicked smirk. “Every single one. Funny, isn’t it? Privilege gets some to a point, but eventually, the children of fated mates consistently caught up and surpassed their peers.”

  “Wizards don’t generally abide by fate,” Ælfweard murmured.

  “Really? Then I guess there are so many non-fated mate couples around, you’d hardly have the sample size to compare then,” William announced, and the hard gaze he leveled on Nicholas softened as he smiled s
o sweetly up at Ælfweard. “Especially if they don’t let the children from their affairs with their fated mates attend the same schools as their own.”

  Thaddeus scoffed. “You must be desperate. Keep shoveling, slut, no one believes a thing you’re saying.”

  “Strings are tricky, but blood magic happens to be a hobby of mine,” William revealed as his gray eyes pinned the wizard in place. “A single drop of blood from you, and I could track down any half-siblings you have. If you’re so sure you don’t have any, give me your hand.”

  William held out his own, revealing a needle, and Thaddeus’s eyes widened as he stepped back. “Fucking crazy, bitch.”

  “If you keep calling him names, I’ll cut your tongue out myself,” Nicholas hissed, glaring at his friend, and the shock of hearing that from Blythe might have dropped the other wizard’s jaw, but the power of the threat had his jaw clicking shut as his teeth clacked together.

  Malcolm, seeing unfazed, shook his head. “Those are an awful lot of assumptions, Belmont. Thaddeus might have issues with his father’s numerous affairs, but I happen to be the result of fated mates. We weren’t taunting him for that.”

  “Oh? Then what is your issue?” William growled, and Malcolm smiled despite the glare leveled his way by both William and Nicholas.

  “Anyone with common sense knows, you find your mate, you get a child, you marry your betrothed,” Malcolm explained. “She should have had Ælfweard and come back to marry Radcliffe. That’s what he did.”

  Ælfweard tensed, and before he could consider the consequences, he replied, “Gilroy’s mother died in labor.”

  Laughing, Nicholas gaped at his cousin. “Is that what he told you? Gods, Grey, you definitely didn’t inherit any intelligence from the Blythe side.”