Rebel Academy: Crave: A Paranormal Academy Romance Series (Wickedly Charmed Book 1)

by Rosemary A Johns

  What had I expected from an academy run by witches?

  Thank Pan, I’d followed a strict gym routine and workout regime, even if I’d only been able to watch Hartley jogging around the formal gardens each evening.

  Liar, liar, prickly pants on fire…

  Okay, more like I’d danced like a kitten on fire to James Brown every night because this cat had soul.

  Now, I stumbled in the portrait gallery, dizzy. Lights danced in front of my eyes. Bask’s and Sleipnir’s anxious voices sounded far away as if through sheets of ice. Gentle hands helped me down to the floor, resting my head against the stone wall. Fingers carded through my curls, and I leaned into the touch.

  Maybe I’d better start a training routine that was more than shaking my furry ass to James Brown…? Not that I was going to give that up because that was how my whiskery self got down.

  You haven’t seen true dancing, until you’ve watched a cat with a crooked tail getting funky to “Super Bad”.

  I blinked, and through my blurry vision I made out the Immortals’ concerned faces, as they crouched in front of me. Only dad had ever looked at me like that.

  My throat was tight, and I swallowed with difficulty. “I’m f-fine. I’m just…taking a b-break to look at the pictures,” I slurred.

  “Uh-huh.” Bask raised an unimpressed eyebrow, even if he continued to pet my hair. “Does it usually please you to faint, fall to the floor, and then look at paintings resting on your arse?”

  “It’s better than looking at them out of my ass.” I shrugged.

  Wow, had that been a bad idea. I blinked back the wooziness.

  Sleipnir slouched to his feet, crossing his arms, as he leaned against the wall. His hair this morning was aquamarine like his eyes. Had his lip been pierced with that glittering stud before?

  Was he pierced anywhere else…?

  “He’s okay, aren’t you, champ?” Sleipnir drawled. “Seriously, why don’t we run another lap?”

  I’d rather tie my dick in a black bow and deliver it to Damelza as an early Halloween gift.

  “Why not make it a race? The winner chooses the forfeit.” By my weight in jewels, stop talking mouth, stop talking… “I know, who’s up for a marathon?”

  When Sleipnir burst into laughter, I stared at him. “Valhalla! I’m a god, and you’re hot but kind of out of shape. Remind me to never let your lying ass get into a bet with the Princes because they’d wreck you.”

  Bask tapped the end of my nose in reprimand. “Didn’t anyone teach you that fibbing will get you in trouble?”

  “Well, Pinocchio had it coming for being such a dumbass…literally.” I rubbed my nose. “It’s the truth that’s dangerous.”

  When Bask pulled away from me, wandering across to the portraits, I peered at them. Then my eyes widened.

  “Wait, what is my gorgeous self doing in that portrait, and why’s it moving like a GIF?” I demanded.

  Bask grinned, running his hand over the gilt frame of a portrait of me dangling in Hecate’s embrace, as if he was caressing me. I found that I wouldn’t mind that, especially if Rebel Ghost got in on the action. “They’re like the school photo of every Immortal. You must’ve been added here because you belong to us.”

  Sleipnir licked across his lip piercing as he tapped my shoulder. “Hey, wicked entrance to the academy.”

  I pinked. I hadn’t had my photo taken since I was a kid and now, I was immortalized in the arms of Hecate…? That was a wizarding world of wrong.

  “Oh, the best,” I gritted out. “Who’s that kid next to me?”

  Both Bask and Sleipnir stiffened.

  Inside the portrait, a dark-haired guy who looked younger than me stuck two fingers up as he snarled with a rage and despair that vibrated through me. Yeah, he was more the type of rebel that I’d expected to meet in the academy.

  And by expected, I meant feared…

  Bask’s eyes glinted with tears, before he swiftly turned away. His voice was small and echoed with the same loss that I recognized, “He was ours, and now he’s gone.”

  Truth: My friend died, and I couldn’t save him. Please, not again, not again, not again…

  The intensity of Bask’s grief hit me through Confess, but worse was his despair that he wouldn’t be able to save me. I’d expected to see tears trailing down Bask’s cheeks, but he was dry-eyed, which was as much a lie as my marathon bluff.

  Yet what was the danger? The professors? These Princes that I hadn’t even seen yet?

  Rebel Ghost…?

  My eyes narrowed. “Term starts tomorrow, and I know that this is a castle, but even so, where’s everybody hiding?”

  Sleipnir exchanged a troubled glance with Bask. Well, that wasn’t good.

  Sleipnir slipped his hands underneath my shoulders and helped me to my feet. Then he rested his cheek against mine in a way that was more tender than anything he’d yet done. But it made me tremble because when he drew back, he had the same look in his eyes that dad always had just before he delivered the news that mum had demanded I be whipped.

  Whipping boy was just a name, wasn’t it…?

  “My dad would call this the chaos moment but then, look where that’s got me: taken hostage by a cursed academy.” Sleipnir’s gaze darted to Bask who nodded, before it settled back on mine with a steely determination. “There’s only you, me, and Bask. Then there’s the Princes and their whipping boy.” He tilted his head and his bright hair fell into my eyes. “Huh, I sort of think we should add our Ghost Immortal to the head count, even if we can’t see her.”

  All of a sudden, I was hit with a yearning that made me shiver and a burst of Heart’s rock ballad “Secret” that was so schmaltzy, I almost longed to scoff chocolate ice-cream in front of a weepie.

  Almost.

  My powers of Confess told me that Sleipnir was hiding something, and with his change from nu metal to ballad, I’d say that it was to do with love.

  Aquilo had always refused to watch weepies or any type of romantic movie with me. He’d told me that he didn’t believe in any of that nonsense because men were property to be bred, and one day, his family would choose who he married, so why pretend that he lived outside the covens?

  Mage’s balls, I hoped that Aquilo was okay. I’d been the one stuck in an attic, but I’d made it my mission to keep Aquilo happy.

  Back in the House of Jewels, when Aquilo had been allowed to visit me, I’d discovered that he had two weaknesses: he’d never hug and he was seriously ticklish. Dad had once asked why Aquilo squealed with laughter every time that he entered the attic. I’d told dad that I was perfecting my Harry Potter comedy routine. After all, that’d been Aquilo’s favorite book.

  Dad had scrutinized me; his lips had twitched. “You always try every trick in the spell book, cub. What’s your room…the Chamber of Secrets?”

  I’d gaped at him and then snorted with laughter myself. Dad had always surprised me like that because ironically within witch Houses Harry Potter (who was a wizard success story), was as feared as Voldemort.

  Yet Dad had read the books as well…? Maybe he’d been trying to convince himself that I wasn’t a monster, even if the books were all lies. I understood because I’d done the same.

  Now, I was surrounded by both love and lies.

  “You’ll be the one sleeping on the floor if you don’t include our Sexy Spirit,” Bask huffed.

  I rubbed my nose against Sleipnir’s. I couldn’t help the kitteny urge because despite what he was hiding, I was one sunbeam away from shifting and snuggling into his arms. “Hey, interesting fact: Damelza’s also clever at omitting the truth because I can’t sense that, only lies. Does it suck to discover you’re as sly as a witch?” I winced. “Ow, I’ll admit that was below the belt. Okay, does it suck to learn that you’re helping to cover up the academy’s secrets, as well as the spook’s?”

  Sleipnir sighed, before snatching my arm and dragging me staggering after him down the corridor. He pointed at each portrait in turn
. “This one…this one…this…”

  Bask clutched at my sleeve, trying to pull me to him, but Sleipnir was too powerful. After all, he was the son of Loki.

  “Please, I want… not like this… please let me,” Bask begged.

  “All of these are the students…prisoners…of the Rebel Academy.” Sleipnir hauled me to a stop at the end of the corridor in front of a mirror.

  I stared at the three of us, panting and flustered but united in the reflection: Rebels.

  “So, they’ve each cast Invisibility Spells?” I scoffed.

  Sleipnir’s lips pinched at Bask’s stifled sob.

  My shoulders hunched. What had I said?

  Sleipnir clenched his jaw. “That’s kind of hard to do since they’re dead.”

  By the witching heavens, what had killed so many students?

  I’d known that this academy was dangerous but not that mum had been sending me here as a death sentence. But what if that was exactly why she’d gained me an invitation?

  After all, she blamed me for dad dying.

  In a blur of dark hair and alabaster skin, Bask clung to me, warm and as close to breaking down as I was. Had he loved the boy in the portrait? When had he died?

  I shook my head. “But I was sent here to study spells, potions, and the arcane.”

  “Son of a witch, you truly do believe your own lies.” Sleipnir’s intent stare made me squirm. “You’ll take classes taught by the most powerful witches in Britain and you’ll also be taught to survive.” Then he clung to me just as tightly as Bask, so that I was caught as the mage filling in an Immortal sandwich. “I won’t lose anybody else.”

  “Yeah, that’s touching.” I stilled because hello, inappropriate hard-on that I couldn’t will away... I blamed the way that Bask was nuzzling against my neck, slinking up and down me, as well as remaining untouched by anyone for all those horny years… I’d be milking that one for a good while yet. I bit my lip. “But why…?”

  Then I gasped. Rebel Ghost was kissing down my neck, and I arched into her touch, as she trailed her hand around and over my aching dick. My breath hitched, but then Bask shivered, hugging me tighter, before Sleipnir widened his stance and groaned.

  When I glanced into the mirror, I was shocked. Oh sweet mage, I’d never even imagined that I could look so bewitching caught between the alluring beauty of an incubus and the commanding hotness of a god.

  It was only an ego trip lie though that our sexy image in the mirror had summoned Rebel Ghost; I thought that it was our pleasure that had called to her.

  “You do this often then?” I rested my head against Sleipnir’s shoulder, as he held me. “Did you position this mirror so that you could watch, whilst the spook fondled you?”

  Bask snickered. “Away with you, she was never strong enough to touch until you arrived.” I jolted. Why was the ghost becoming more powerful through her connection to me? “I’ve spelled this mirror to look like a portrait to any non-Immortals.”

  I blinked. “It’s a magic mirror?”

  Bask nodded.

  “That’s a thing?”

  Sleipnir snorted with laughter.

  “But why…?”

  Bask smiled against my neck. “I might be a wee thief.”

  This was where Rebel Ghost’s portrait had hung.

  “You wanted her to be safe, so you hid her above our bed…?” I questioned.

  If there was one thing that I understood, it was the drive to protect even something like a portrait because Rebel Ghost hadn’t felt dead…she wasn’t. Even if she was hanging in this gallery. And if she wasn’t, then it meant that we all had a chance at life as well.

  When Bask drew back and touched his gloved thumb to my cheek, I quivered at the joy in his gaze, as well as the need. “Our bed…?”

  On the oath of a liar, it’d just slipped out. It hadn’t meant anything, right?

  The tips of my ears became hot. Distract, distract, distract… “Why’s she hanging amongst all these rebels anyway, when she’s a witch and—”

  “Do you want to hear a ghost story?” Sleipnir grasped my curls, wrenching back my head. His breath was hot in my ear.

  “Shouldn’t we get the campfire and marshmallows going, before we move onto the scary?” Mage’s balls, why had my voice cracked on the last word?

  “Chill out,” Sleipnir ordered, “you’ve been in the scary since you arrived. I suspect that the ghost of this magical castle is more dangerous than anything else, however, and that includes me.”

  He flashed a grin that wasn’t at all reassuring.

  My brow furrowed. “Why though, when she’s trapped just like me? All I was ever desperate for was someone to free me.”

  Truth: But they never had.

  Bask’s arms tightened around me like he’d heard the unspoken truth anyway.

  Sleipnir bristled. “For someone who was locked away by his asshole witch family, you’re kind of slow at seeing the dark side of the House of Crows. Think about this: what did our ghost do that was so unforgivable that she became the only ever witch Rebel?” His lips pressed to my ear with each word. “She’s the original wicked witch who cursed the academy.”

  A bitter wind blasted in protest down the gallery, knocking us to our knees. Bask sheltered me against the wind’s howl, and Sleipnir battled onto his feet. Sleipnir’s eyes flashed with furious fire.

  Suddenly, the mirror frosted as if with panted breaths and then froze with pink icicles from its corners inward. My eyes widened at its spiderweb beauty.

  My mum and sister had thought that I was a monster because I could shift. Had this witch been trapped for centuries by the House of Crows, just because her type of magic hadn’t been what they’d been expecting from a daughter?

  After all, witch rules were dickish rules.

  I had to save Rebel Ghost. Yet what if that meant unleashing a wicked witch who could be crueler than even Damelza?

  My breath became ragged, as my heart pounded too rapidly.

  Then ice-blue eyes flashed in the middle of the mirror, before it could frost over. A black gloved hand reached towards me, tracing on the other side of the mirror, and in neon pink a word appeared:

  MAGENTA

  I gasped, soaring with joy, despite the roar of my pulse that deafened me.

  Rebel Ghost was called Magenta.

  A name had power, and Magenta had just given that power to me. Her need to touch thrummed through me. It ached as much as my need to touch her.

  But if I did, would it trap me forever or free her?

  This was my first morning in the Rebel Academy, and I was risking my life to save a witch, which was like a mage coating his dick in honey and then dipping it in a colony of starving red ants.

  Bask hissed, trying to pull me back, but I stretched out my fingers towards the first woman to kiss me, the wicked witch, and the original Rebel…Magenta.

  Magenta’s magic hung in the air. It was scented with the intoxicating aroma of the woods and prickled across my magic.

  Time for the ghost story to begin.

  I gasped, as my fingers touched the mirror…

  But then, Sleipnir yanked me back by my hair, and Bask’s hand clasped around mine, as I struggled.

  “Does it please you to have your foxy arse pulled through into some Alice Through the Looking Glass world?” Bask’s fingers were shaking, even as he squeezed mine. “This academy is death.”

  “But she isn’t.” The truth of Magenta’s life prickled beneath my skin. “Anyway, I laugh in the face of death. It really pisses him off.”

  Sleipnir traced over the brand on the back of his hand. I was surprised to see that his hair had softened to candy pink waves. “I respect death, but son of a troll, I respect every Rebel’s life more. I’ve kind of grown fond of you, so here’s a tip. No touching magic mirrors.”

  He let go of my hair with a shove.

  I flushed. Okay, as tips went, that didn’t suck.

  “Especially ones that send cryptic messa
ges.” Sleipnir’s jaw clenched, as he nodded at the mirror.

  Words had appeared as if traced through the ice:

  I’m the Wickedly Charmed Crow.

  Why did this feel like a first date? I mean, I’d never been out with anyone before, but if I based it on the movies that I’d forced Aquilo to watch with me, then we’d introduced ourselves and now Magenta was sharing more intimate details.

  Yeah, I didn’t understand those details, we were talking via a magic mirror with two other guys listening in, along with enough creepy vibes for this to be a horror movie. But still, romantic.

  When had I ever gone for the conventional?

  Truth: Please let somebody love me.

  I watched in fascination as a tree spread around the words in crackling pink-tinged icicles.

  “Beautiful.” Bask’s breath ghosted across the glass. “What do you want? Are you a sphinx?”

  Sleipnir snorted. “Not unless they also used to run the academy.” He vibrated with pain and disappointment. My feline side longed to rub against him in comfort. He waved his hand with a languid disinterest at the mirror that I no longer believed. “It means that Magenta’s from the House of Crows, just like Damelza. This is what comes of trusting a witch.”

  A blast of wind howled in outrage down the corridor. I clutched Bask, staggering under the freezing onslaught. Then the mirror shattered in a thousand shards, flying like ice crows from the frame to slice me bloody.

  Chapter Ten

  Rebel Academy, Sunday September 1st

  Bask

  I tweezed the last shard out of Fox’s palm; I winced, even though he didn’t. He’d only saved his gorgeous face by throwing up his hands in time. He hadn’t flinched or even cursed me out, during the whole time that it’d taken to rid his palms of glass. Maybe he’d been trained to take pain as well?

  Beg me to let you burn yourself…

  I shuddered, clinging to Fox and forcing back the memory of the Duchess. She didn’t have a right to haunt my sexy self any longer; now I had Magenta. But then, my Spooky Snookums had hurt Fox (who was studying me like he could see even the ugly parts of me that I usually hid behind my beauty), and my own love for her frightened me.