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

by J B Black

  “He left her, taking the child with him like any wizard of standing would do. As your mother was supposed to do,” Malcolm announced.

  William shook his head, scoffing, “You are disgusting.”

  “Why? They would have been paid handsomely, and Ælfweard would have had a much better life ahead of him,” Nicholas replied, staring the warlock down as if willing him to understand this was the best path. “Hell, considering both Radcliffe and Grey’s mother had a fated mate, they could’ve agreed to further children and kept their mates around.” Nicholas’s eyes jumped to meet Ælfweard’s, turning condemning as he added, “Pity that didn’t happen. Radcliffe’s wife doesn’t have a mate, and you know how women like that are. She’s probably the one who killed the damn witch.”

  Eyes widening in shock, William glanced up at Ælfweard as if questioning if the blond wizard had known Gilroy’s mother was a witch, but Ælfweard could only stare at Nicholas in confusion.

  Nicholas sighed, running hand through his hair. “Not that this isn’t fun, but we’re heading to London to assist Wizard Workneh in a show of his spinning to investors of my father’s company.” His gaze met William’s, and the muscles in his jaw jumped before his eyes narrowed. “You ought to be careful about the company you keep. Be a shame to see our first warlock have to drop out because an Irish breeding bull caught him.”

  “How many siblings do you have again, Grey?” Malcolm added with a sneer. “Gods, be careful, Belmont. You’d end up with a litter if you spread your legs for that bastard.”

  The three chuckled to themselves, thinking they had won. Their voices echoed down the hall as William flipped them off, grumbling about arrogant jerks. However, all Ælfweard could focus on was the heat of William pressed against his side. For the first time, they had been on the same side. A team against those who intended to attack them, and it left the blond wizard’s heart racing.

  Dressed in a sky blue knit pull-over sweater, William was everything soft and beautiful in the world. His grey eyes shimmered like silver, and the self-satisfied curve to his lips begged to be kissed. It would be so simple. If Ælfweard leaned down, he could brush their lips together. Feel the heat of the other man’s breath and taste the sweetness of his tongue. Maybe William would reciprocate. If only the warlock’s smile meant more than friendship. If only William wanted him too. Terrified and excited and desperately unsure of how he could be falling for someone so quickly, the blond wizard reached out to set a hand upon the other’s shoulders, and as his eyes came back to the knitted blue, his heart jumped in his chest.

  “Is that my jumper?”

  William flushed. “What?” he huffed defensively. “It’s comfy.”

  “No...it, ah, it looks good on you,” the blond murmured, blushing as he glanced away unable to bear to see the warlock in one of his jumpers without touching him.

  William pouted, but his lips curved into a smile as he elbowed the wizard. “Oh, shut up, you jerk. My magic’s still a bit off due to the hangover, and every time I tried to summon a sweater from my bottomless bag, pants flew out.”

  “Pants?”

  “Trousers,” the warlock quickly corrected. “You’re the weirdo with a color coded closet of knit-wear.”

  “My mother knits to relax,” Ælfweard offered in a way of explanation. “I don’t mind you borrowing it.”

  Ears turning a bit pink, William ducked his head and ran his hands through his bedhead. The result left him looking even more recently fucked, and the sight made the wizard’s heart ache as his cock pulsed with interest, which he quickly struggled to suppress. Even if the other man placed himself between Nicholas and Ælfweard, his actions indicated nothing more than friendship. Whatever else seemed implied existed likely only to further combat Nicholas’s unwanted flirting. Ælfweard struggled not to read into it. Fought against the way his mind wished to jump to conclusions and draw connections between them which didn’t exist.

  “Do you think Gilroy’s mother really was a witch?” William asked, crossing his arms once more over his chest.

  Ælfweard shrugged. “Does it matter? He’s a wizard.”

  “Is he though? Not like he would have had a chance to explore magic in another manner, right? He could be a warlock forced to approach magic as a wizard, and even if that wasn’t the case, all children of witches can carry,” the warlock informed his roommate as he started back toward their dorm room. “It’d be hell to find out after he slept with Wulfric.”

  No matter how Gilroy acted, Ælfweard loathed the thought of the copper-haired wizard finding out his heritage only when he was caught. “But can’t you control that? If he doesn’t want it…”

  “If he’s a warlock, then yes. He would, theoretically, already have some awareness of his body wanting to conceive, considering how close those two were, but if he thought it was a kink or something? I don’t know. I’ve never heard of a warlock being raised without knowing, and if he was a wizard born of a witch, then it actually isn’t under his control at all,” William explained as they climbed the steps of the tower. “Fuck. I never thought I’d have to help that jerk.”

  Ælfweard sighed as he paused on the stairs to turn and glance back at William. “I can do it. If you want me to.”

  Shaking his head, the dark-haired man sighed. “Better we do it together. He’ll probably believe you more than me.”

  The pair continued to ascend in silence, but the gears of their minds moved faster, grinding through all that Nicholas had said, and Ælfweard’s heart continued to pound faster and faster as he remembered the way William felt pressed against his side. As they walked by the warlock’s old room, Ælfweard’s eyes locked upon the handle. Wards kept it from being unlocked, but the world behind seemed like another realm. One to which William would one day return. A promised land that allowed no visitors and gave up its secrets to no one. Behind that door, the warlock would disappear.

  Half of Ælfweard believed their newfound friendship would dissolve in that second. He feared the unlatching would destroy whatever they had and return William to his old self-destructive habits. However, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself his desires were altruistic, Ælfweard saw the truth in his own mind. Yearning for William to stay at his side, the wizard longed for the warlock. Longed to spend every day at his side. The closeness they had now was almost enough. If William allowed Ælfweard to dote upon him, then perhaps the blond could be at peace, but whatever mysterious string bound them, it thrummed delicately and fragile as if the slightest sharpness might sever them.

  “Fuck this,” William grumbled, grabbing Ælfweard’s sleeve when they had reached their room. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “What?”

  “Gilroy,” the warlock retorted. “They were in their own little world last night, and I don’t remember him coming back to the tower with us.”

  Ælfweard frowned. “He was Wulfric still when we headed up.”

  “And what if last night was the night?” William asked, cursing as he ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe we’re lucky. Maybe Gilroy’s a top all the way.”

  Though he wanted to reassure the warlock, Ælfweard could not find the words. His understanding of sex between two men had its limits, and though he found himself straying to books which had more to do with warlock anatomy in the main library than alchemy as of late, he wasn’t confident he could judge those things on sight. Frankly, the diagrams in some of the texts heavily favored men like Wulfric being the one to penetrate.

  As if reading his mind, the warlock let out a pitious groan. “There are potions for this. If he’s worried about that, I’ll whip something up.” Throwing his hands in the air, William continued on his way up the tower, cursing and grumbling as Ælfweard followed close behind. “Damn wizards. The day started out so good.”

  Biting his lip to hide his smile, Ælfweard flushed at the indirect praise. “We could hit the baths afterward. Enjoy a good soak before I fetch us lunch.”

  “We? You alre
ady bathed,” William reminded him with a smirk over his shoulder. His grey eyes sparkled, seeming all the brighter when so close to the blue of Ælfweard’s knit jumper.

  The blond shrugged. “I could do your hair.”

  “Could you now?” the warlock hummed.

  Without a good answer on hand, Ælfweard remained silent, ducking his head to hide the flush, but William’s knowing gaze sat firmly upon him until they reached Gilroy’s door.

  Rapping his knuckles against the wood, William tapped his foot impatiently. He barely waited a quarter of a minute before raising his hand to knock once more, but the door opened, and Gilroy glared out at the pair. His pale fingers tugged at the collar of his robes, which did nothing to hide the livid marks which formed an altogether different sort of collar about his neck.

  “What do you two want?” the copper-haired man huffed with a frigid glower.

  William set his hands upon his hips. “Nicholas Blythe said your mother was a witch.”

  At first, Gilroy’s eyes widened, but they narrowed to a piercing glare quickly. “And what? You wanted to come and see if that spoiled brat was telling the truth? He’s a Blythe. He’s obviously lying.”

  “Great, then if your mother isn’t a witch, I don’t need to worry about telling you that all children born of witches are capable of conceiving and carrying children,” the warlock retorted.

  When Gilroy’s glare smoothed into an expressionless mask, Ælfweard stepped in, “We’re not here to mock you or spill your secret with anyone.”

  Nodding along, William added, “I could teach you a spell or two that would prevent conception.”

  “I don’t need your help with spells,” Gilroy calmly said. “Any wizard worth his salt knows spells to prevent conception.”

  “Except regular conception spells don’t work on male witch-borns or warlocks,” William informed the other man, who stood too perfectly. His perfect posture screamed his unease.

  Ælfweard set a hand on Gilroy’s shoulder, weathering the furious glare as he told him, “William could test. Just to be sure.”

  “And why should I believe either of you?” Gilroy spat.

  “Because my excitement at having another warlock in the school would only be matched by my disappointment that it’s you,” William retorted darkly.

  Ælfweard frowned down at the dark-haired warlock. “Or you could believe us because we’re the two people with absolutely nothing to gain because we’re the top two in the course and have no connections you couldn’t absolutely wreck if you wanted.”

  “Fine.”

  Gilroy opened the door, gesturing for the pair to come inside. Unlike William’s previous single room, the room didn’t have a single chamber but at least two. The area which the two entered was a study with a roaring fireplace to one end. Books lined a built in bookcase with a reading alcove in the far wall, and a door marked the copper-haired man’s bedroom. Dark eyes glanced toward it as he shut the door as if he expected something to come tumbling out, but no noise came, and Ælfweard had no intention of pushing the wizard who was already on edge.

  “Well?” Gilroy demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “What now?”

  William held out his hands. “We can do this standing, or we could sit on that nice couch by the fire.”

  “Just do it,” the copper-haired man grumbled, offering his hands as he pointedly looked anywhere but at the two other men.

  Closing his eyes, the warlock focused his senses onto Gilroy’s aura. His magic spun. Though magic flowed around any magic user, the way it moved hardly suggested anything without careful consideration, so the pattern of movement or color meant nothing to William when he glanced at it out of the corner of his eyes from afar, but with Gilroy’s hands laid on top of his own, the press of skin against skin gave him a more intimate view.

  In many ways, the greatest differences between magic users came from their physical relationship to the chaotic source of their powers. These variances appeared in the way auras responded to each other, so when William’s magic brushed against Gilroy’s own, the warlock expected the other’s aura to respond like a wizard’s. As long as the wizard wasn’t William’s fated mate, their magic would come at the natural water-like flow of William’s spellwork with an analytical methodology. Blasts of flicking responses which would seek out the weakness and push William back to prevent the invading magic from threatening Gilroy.

  But Gilroy’s magic didn’t move at him like that. It came at him like a raging fire. The force with which it struck, forced the warlock back, and the tidal wave which followed from William’s powers in response failed to suppress the fire which responded unnaturally, seeking to spread like Greek flames. Water only served to spread the oil.

  “Oh…” William whispered, letting his hands drop as his eyes slowly opened.

  The defeat in Gilroy’s face shook the dark-haired warlock to the core. For all his fury, William never suspected the other was a warlock too.

  At their side, Ælfweard shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What is it?”

  “I’m a warlock.” The weight of each word hung heavy in the room as Gilroy crossed his arms once more as if to fight back the cold of what was likely a realization he had already had. “Which isn’t going to leave this room.”

  Fighting back his shock that the other wasn’t a wizard, Ælfweard swore, “Neither of us will say anything.”

  “I guess you don’t really need spells to prevent conception. You should be able to prevent anything from sticking,” William murmured, but his brows furrowed as the protective fury of the fire settled strangely in his mind.

  Gilroy stepped backward, closer to his bedroom door. “You have your answer. If you could see yourselves out…”

  “Did you not know?” William asked, ignoring the other’s request. “You don’t seem surprised, but —”

  “Not every mystery is one for you to solve,” the copper-haired man snapped, and the gloom settling over him said more than enough.

  Reaching out to lay a hand upon William’s shoulder, Ælfweard pulled him toward the door. “You have your answer. Gilroy will be fine, and he knows the risks if he and…” The wizard shook his head. “He knows the risks.”

  But William shoved Ælfweard away, marching back toward Gilroy. “There are also spells I could show you in case something happens. Sometimes, if you’re drunk or cursed, you might conceive, but there are ways to undo it.”

  Straightening, Gilroy glared as his cold mask settled back into place. “I have no need for your help, Belmont.”

  “Well, I’m here if you ever change your mind,” William announced. His eyes scanned over the other’s face, but whatever question he had, no answer appeared in the placid pale visage before him. “You aren’t alone.”

  Ælfweard watched. His gaze jumped between the two, but he couldn’t get a read on Gilroy. The man stood stiffly, and he seemed just as distant as he usually did. In that moment, he seemed further than ever from the man who had waltzed into Ælfweard’s room before William had moved in and offered his side of the Blythe - Grey - Radcliffe story. As tangled as the web was, the mess only served to make Ælfweard all the more grateful to not be an active part of the elite wizarding community, but the pressure had to weigh heavily upon Gilroy, and whether known or not, the reality of the copper-haired man’s magical identity would have been enough to leave Ælfweard wrecked.

  Breathing in measured breaths, Gilroy glanced to the bedroom door, and the way his arms shifted almost settled his hands protectively over his stomach before his hands fell into fists at his sides. “Understood. Now — please — leave.”

  “Right!” William spun on his heels, and grabbing Ælfweard’s upper arm, he teleported them from Gilroy’s room to their own. With a groan, he threw himself onto his bed face first.

  Ælfweard stood, awkwardly putting his thoughts in order. “Do you think…?”

  “I do,” William spoke into his pillow.

  Falling back to sit
upon his own bed, the blond wizard let out a slow breath. “Well...that’s...I mean, I’m sure that...well, fuck.”

  “Maybe they’re fated,” the dark-haired warlock suggested, rolling onto his side.

  True enough, Wulfric stared at Gilroy as if he hung the moon and stars. His entire world centered itself around the other man the moment he stepped into view and even before if Petra’s teasings had solid ground. However, romance and love weren’t enough in the wizarding world. The Radcliffe family had no other heir, and if Gilroy’s father promised him to another, he had no siblings to take his place. Luckily, Wulfric belonged to an American family, and his mixed heritage likely ensured their acceptance of Gilroy and any child that he might or might not have been carrying. Whether any of that was a world Gilroy wanted to belong to was another matter altogether.

  Running a hand through his blond hair, Ælfweard sighed. “You’ve done what you can.”

  “More than I should, considering what a dick he’s been,” the warlock returned spitefully, but as he nuzzled into his pillow, his pout shifted into a furrowed brow look of concern. “He’s a warlock, so even if he slipped control and conceived, he could feel it.” Shiny silver eyes found Ælfweard’s bright blue. “Right?”

  Ælfweard offered only a shrug. “You’d know better than I would.”

  With one last sigh, the warlock pushed up, jumping from his bed. “You promised me a relaxing day, and I’m still hungover. You brew that hangover cure. When I’m done with my bath, I’ll down it, and then I’m going back to bed and pretending today never happened.”

  “Never thought I’d see a day where you didn’t study,” Ælfweard murmured in surprise.

  Gathering his things, William snorted. “I’ve had a trying day. Of all the wizards who turned out to be warlocks, why’d it have to be him?”

  Ælfweard offered his roommate nothing save a shrug, and with a huff, the warlock left their room behind, leaving the blond with only his thoughts. His mind tossed and turned around what Nicholas had said and the truth behind it. With their fingers in every pot, the Blythes had the resources to know any secret they wanted, and considering their personal connection to the matter, Ælfweard wasn’t surprised to learn Nicholas knew the truth about Gilroy’s mother. At the same time, that knowledge suggested something far worse about the community as a whole and the expectation placed upon those within it.