“Dad’s not like that,” I whispered. “He only seeks—”
“The chaos moment.” Bacchus sprang up, and Pocus drew back, startled. “Let me tell you a story.” She prowled closer, and my heart thudded in my chest. I blanked my expression, however, because I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of knowing that she was getting to me. “Once upon a time, a certain God of Mischief did a great wrong to my god, Bacchus. Luckily for Bacchus, the God of Ecstasy, he had his cult and could choose his most dedicated followers to transform into immortals. He named each one Bacchus, giving them a single task: hunt and hurt Loki.”
Bacchus prowled around me, leaning down to stroke my hair. I flinched. “And I love to hurt him. How much do you think it hurts him every day to be separated from you?” I bit my lip hard. “To know that you’re trapped in here with me, and that I could be doing anything to you? Don’t you think that he must be in agony?” My eyes burned. I wouldn’t cry… Then she tightened her hand in my hair as she whispered, “It’s weird though that he hasn’t tried to save you yet. Do you think it’s because he doesn’t truly love his monster kids?”
Finally, a tear tumbled down my cheek. I hated the wet sensation as it trailed down my skin, its coldness, and the way that I was helpless to stop it. I hated…everything.
Bacchus wiped the tear onto the tip of her finger like she was collecting a payment. “Every tear is one more drop of justice for Bacchus. Cry, son of Loki.”
“Remove your hands from him, now.” Magenta’s voice was low and dangerous.
To my shock, her mists were wrapped around Bacchus’ neck, and her magic lit the entire classroom like fireworks. The room vibrated; a single spark could send us all sky high.
It was kind of hot to have someone defend me with such intensity.
“This is why a wicked witch like her should never have been admitted,” Lysander spluttered.
Yet Bacchus only grinned. “Such frenzy! I wear a charm against your powers, or had you forgotten? But it’s far more interesting for me to see them for real. Lesson Number One: Transfiguration works best through emotion. That’s why you’re both my subjects this class.” She glanced down at our hands, which were still clasped together. “Your fierce angst is perfect for transfiguration.” Then she tapped her thyrsus on the desk sharply. “Just chill out on the strangulation.”
Magenta hesitated, until I nodded. Then her mists faded, and the dancing pink lights dimmed. Yet they didn’t disappear.
Bacchus rubbed her neck. “Seriously, you’d think that I was all bad. But look, I even brought you a gift.”
When Bacchus drew back her thyrsus and waved it over my head, I flinched, expecting to be turned into a chair again or a pumpkin, but instead, something cool settled around my neck. I reached up to touch the silver, and my eyes widened.
I stroked over the plectrum with shaking fingers. Just one moment longer, before I had to part once again with the final link to my dad…
“Take it back.” I couldn’t help the way that my other hand broke away from Magenta’s to clench around the plectrum. “This was a sacrifice to…”
“Hecate appreciated the gesture, but do you truly think that she needs trinkets?” Bacchus asked.
“It was my blood that raised Magenta,” Fox murmured. He raised his fingers to his cheek, where the feather had sliced him. “I’m officially hating that it’s always about blood.”
Bacchus waltzed back to her bone-white throne, throwing herself into it. When Pocus crawled around her, settling between her spread thighs, I held my breath. If the second part of this lesson included Pocus’ tongue, then I was noting this as a war crime against hostages.
“Lesson Number Two: transfiguration is stronger if you create or change the item, whilst thinking of the person with whom you have a strong emotional connection.” She stroked Pocus’ hair, settling his head against her thigh. I let out my breath in relief, and Bacchus studied me slyly. I flushed. “The spell is even stronger if you enchant something that belongs to them.”
Why was she staring at me?
“You’re her pair of dim-witted favorites,” Lysander shot at me under his breath. Favorites? I blinked. “Get on with it and fail this class already.”
I bristled. Every class counted towards the Rebel Cup. I refused to fail Fox. “I’m a hostage; the witches stole everything of mine. Unlike you, Prince of the Assholes, I don’t have my vintage porn collection, golden fairy statuettes, and secret pantie collection, hidden away in my luxury wing of the castle.”
Willoughby cocked his head like he’d been daydreaming, but had just caught my last sentence “How do you know about the panties?”
Lysander reddened, gripping Willoughby’s chin hard. “You shall not talk about the Prince’s illustrious self.”
“Am I not a prince too?” Willoughby asked with the iciness of a winter breeze.
“You own one thing.” Bacchus met my gaze.
So, that was what it was like to be punched in the dick.
The thought of taking off the plectrum and sacrificing it for a second time was paralyzing. But then, I met Fox’s concerned gaze from across the room, and I remembered the feel of his curls, the surging power of his freed magic, and the beauty as he hunted as an Arctic fox under the moonlight. And it was the easiest thing in the world to rip the cord necklace and hand the plectrum to Magenta.
Magenta took it with a wink. “How much I desire to kiss you now. The angry way in which you tore this from around your neck has made me quite hot and bothered.” I smirked. “So, I simply imagine something and this silver changes form…?”
Bacchus shook her head. “I’ve cast an enchantment on it already.” My skin prickled at the thought of that: her magic on my plectrum. “It’ll work alongside your own magic. All you have to do is channel your emotion about the person who it belongs to. Love or hate: it doesn’t matter. But the more powerful the emotion, the better the transfiguration. Indifference won’t spark magic.”
The look that Magenta cast me, as her fist closed around the plectrum was anything but indifferent, but I guessed that this enchantment would test the theory.
I understood why Bacchus had chosen us, as well as riled us up, even if I wished that I didn’t.
Magenta lay her hand on the desk, allowing her mist to coil out of her and around her closed fist. Her brow was furrowed with concentration. Then she opened her hand, and her palm was veiled in black mist that coiled as if alive. I drew in my breath, as it took shape and changed color into a tiny red horse. When he snorted, smoke coiled out of his nose like fire.
No way… On the World Tree… Don’t let it be…
The Mist Horse neighed, stamping his hooves, as he circled on her palm. Except, he wasn’t truly a horse. My heart sank. Of course, if the creature had sprung from me, he couldn’t be.
I’d been dumb to think that I could hide it forever.
Magenta laughed with delight, as the horse wound around her hand. “He’s so soft.” Perhaps, she would love him, after all? But then, she jerked back, and the Mist Horse tumbled onto the desk with a pained grunt. I winced. “Ah, I did it wrong. It was my first attempt, after all. Poor little thing; he’s all misshapen like he was born wrong. I believe that he has eight legs. Let me try again, and I shan’t create a monster this time.”
The Mist Horse squealed in distress, floating as much as galloping to the back of the desk.
Monster…
I kept up the mask that I’d worn since I was a kid, and Loki had taught me why I could never have friends, but I couldn’t help the way that my shoulders stiffened. At least I now knew now that I should allow the others to have their love, but that I had no part in it.
Bask gasped. “Slippy, she’s wrong, see, he’s beautiful.”
I jumped at the scrape of a stool being shoved back, before Willoughby stalked out of the room without a word. The door banged shut after him, and Lysander paled.
Magenta stared between us all and then back at Bacchus, who was
smiling smugly. “Was it something I said?”
Bacchus leaned forward. “All Loki’s children are monsters. Don’t you recognize his son in his shifter form? I’m impressed with your magic. Your transfiguration was perfect.”
Mist Horse’s ears flicked back and forth in distress. His long tail was tucked in his hindquarters like he was showing the emotion that I was desperate to hide. When Magenta ghosted her fingers across his back that was stiff with tension, I swore that I could feel them as well. Mist Horse relaxed, and the same calming sensation flowed through me.
Magenta’s eyes widened with understanding and a crushing compassion, before they sparked with rage. Her sparkles blazed to full brightness around the room again. “These Rebels belong to me. If you ever hurt them through me again with such calculated cruelty, then I shall impress you with a demonstration of how my magic is powerful enough to curse an entire coven.”
Bacchus’ eyes flashed an answering amber. “And if you ever threaten me again, I’ll show you that my power can curse worlds.”
Fox slapped his hands together. “If you’re done with the I’m the Most Badass Witch Contest, then can we get to the deciding who won the lesson because it’s us, isn’t it?”
Lysander fluttered his wings in agitation.
Bask twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “Prince Willoughby did break academy rules by leaving…”
“And I made the beautiful horse!” Magenta held up her palm with the Mist Horse like a kindergarten with their first wonky clay pot. Then she shot me an apologetic glance. “He is beautiful, you know. I’ll name him Mist.”
I couldn’t help the shy smile, as Mist shook his flowing mane, transforming to aquamarine. I reached up to pat at my hair that had softened to match the same shade as well.
Mist flew up, settling himself in the pocket of my blazer.
“More like My Little Monster,” Lysander sneered.
Bacchus shot Lysander an inscrutable look. “The Immortals won. The new witch has style.” Bacchus’ lips quirked. “Go ahead: play the Punish or Reward Game.”
Fox bounced up, rushing over to Magenta and slinging his arms around her shoulders. “Let’s huddle.” Like I didn’t know that it was any excuse for Fox to sneak a kiss onto Magenta’s cheek. “Ever since Lysander hit Bask, I’ve been thinking up devilish ideas. Number One: the fae prince stands on a desk in only his underpants, singing “It’s Raining Men”.”
Lysander bit his lip hard enough to break the skin, clutching the edge of the desk like it was a raft in a stormy ocean.
Bask slunk across the room, eying Lysander as he passed him. It hurt that he didn’t drop onto my lap or kiss down Magenta’s neck like I knew he craved to. “As much as it’d please me to see that,” he cocked his head in thought for a moment like he was imagining the scene, “truly please me, I already hurt Lysander.” Bask’s gaze was anguished as it met the fae’s. “Here’s the thing of it, I didn’t know what the iron would do to you and so I shouldn’t have even been fighting with it. Ezekiel used me to hurt you in the same way as Bacchus used Magenta. You’re still a bastard, but I’m sorry.”
Lysander barely looked like he was breathing; he was mesmerized by Bask. Had anyone ever apologized to Lysander before, who hadn’t been motivated by fear alone?
“Reward,” I stated, glancing around at the other Immortals. “Giants and dwarves, I can’t believe that I’m choosing this, but let’s give the Princes a reward.”
Lysander wrapped his wings around himself, studying us in confusion.
The other Rebels nodded.
“The Princes’ whipping boy,” Magenta said, softly. Pocus lifted his head to stare at her, but the only sign that Midnight had heard was a twitch of his shoulders. “He’s knelt in the corner all this time. Such treatment is barbaric. Yet positive change is better than negative destruction. I wish to reward him with the rest of the day off.”
Bacchus rapped the thyrsus on the floor. “Done.”
“You can turn around now,” Magenta urged.
Cautiously, Midnight straightened and twisted, glancing at her from underneath his eyelashes. She flushed, and I couldn’t blame her. Midnight was hot in a smoldering vampiric way, with charcoal eyes that begged save me at the same time as his fangs and muscles screamed before I bite your throat.
Who could resist that combo?
Yet Midnight appeared as flustered as her. Had he been included in any reward since he’d arrived here? Huh, I didn’t even know how long ago that’d been. He’d already been the Princes’ whipping boy when I’d arrived.
Fox whooped. “Whipping boys on vacation go wild…”
“When we say that he gets the day off,” I wagged my finger at Lysander, and Mist snorted aquamarine flames at him as if to punctuate the point, “that means no crawling, answering to your bullshit orders, or any other whipping boy asshole duties.”
Lysander shoved himself away from the desk, marching to the door. “If you insist.”
“Hey, look at that, I do.”
“Gloating is unbecoming,” Lysander’s voice was dangerously low. “Shifter Training is this afternoon with Prince Ambrose. Us fae are formidable enemies, and you made a mistake to turn him against you. The torments of Seelie Fae can be creative and excruciating.” Lysander shuddered. Was he speaking from experience? “One was shocked to hear about the escape of my dragon, and how you Immortal delinquents were involved. Perhaps, now that I no longer have a steed, Ambrose will allow me to saddle you up…? It’s clear you need a good dose of my riding whip to break you. Are you capable of being trained, monster?”
When he laughed, slamming out of the room, I stormed after him. Magenta snatched for my sleeve, but I shook her off.
Mist retreated to the back of my pocket, trembling. But my own eight-legged horse reared inside me in distress at the thought of being ridden by the prince. Loki had taught me that shifting was a sacred power that mustn’t be forced but only ever be willing, but the professors treated it as something that should be controlled.
Just like me.
What if Ambrose forced me to shift?
I trembled as violently as Mist. The horse was small and no more dangerous than a toy. It was no wonder that the Rebels had accepted him so easily. But this afternoon, if I became Lysander’s replacement dragon, they’d discover that I was truly monstrous.
Chapter Fifteen
Rebel Academy, Monday September 2nd
Sleipnir
I stormed ahead of the other Rebels, avoiding them like I had between classes since the nightmare that’d been SHP. I huffed a breath into the freezing afternoon air. Storm clouds fled across the gray skies. I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my black woolen overcoat. Then I sniffed its collar, calming at the sweet scent that still lingered from when I’d bundled Fox into it for the Discipline Run.
Valhalla! I wished that whipping boys were allowed to train at Dragon Polo because if anyone could understand the struggles and shame of a shifter, then it was a shimage.
When I breathed in the faint aroma of raspberries, it was kind of like Fox was as invisible as Magenta had once been but he was holding me as tightly as I needed him to right now.
Was that friendship?
I stared up at the towering barred stalls of the stables. This lesson was going to suck dwarf balls.
Honestly, after Bacchus’ fun and games, the last thing that I needed was to face an irate fae who wanted my dick on a spike. Oh yeah, and this fae was a professor.
My breath sped up, and my hands curled into fists. Misshapen…born wrong…monster…
Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop…
I punched my fist into the stable wall.
Crack — in the fight between stone and bone, my knuckles lost.
I grimaced, shaking out my fist. On the runes, my brothers were right: I could be a dumbass sometimes.
Mist poked his head out of my coat pocket with a squeal, stamping his eight hooves in pain.
“Sorry,
” I stroked my finger over the flowing wisps of Mist’s mane, which curled around me like smoke.
Mist allowed himself to be petted, before nudging me with his head.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you start.”
My own eight-legged horse inside pawed at me to run. But on the Norns, it wasn’t truly Prince Ambrose that I was scared of but my own darkness. Every academy had its secrets, but so did I.
Prince Ambrose wouldn’t miss me for one lesson, would he?
I twisted on my heel, but before I could take a single step, Magenta materialized out of a cloud of pink and black mist that burst towards me, pinning me against the wall with my hands held above my head.
Woah, she could do that…?
Perhaps, I’d better save the impressed questions for after she’d flayed me because she looked pissed.
“I’d considered that gods may be arrogant, but do you not care that your behavior has the incubus believing that he’s displeased you, until he shakes like he’s been most soundly beaten, and the tender mage is close to tears?” Her eyes flashed, as she leaned closer. I didn’t struggle because how hadn’t I noticed the distress of the other Rebels? I’d been wrapped in Fox’s scent, but I’d allowed him to suffer. “Our emotions and our actions affect others. I’ve learned this in the harshest way. I wish yours to be gentler.”
My cheeks burned, and I couldn’t meet her gaze. “I wasn’t punishing them. I was…” Punishing myself. I bit my tongue hard to stop myself finishing the sentence, but Magenta appeared to have understood anyway because her expression gentled.
“I wish that you could see your merits as I do. Why should you require punishment?” When Magenta rested her forehead against mine, the intimacy of her touch suddenly meant that I trusted her with my shame.
It gutted me that I’d never had such a close connection with anyone outside my family before, and yet once she’d heard the truth, I was certain that it’d be shattered.
My breath hitched, and Mist trembled, sinking down into my pocket like he could hide from the words. “Dad’s Loki, this powerful shifter god. And mom…well, she’s even more powerful or that’s what dad said. She was a Seraphim, which are kind of the angels’ gods. It’s me who came out wrong.” My voice dropped to a whisper; forcing out the words was like birthing snakes. “Loki refused to abandon me, which was another black mark against him.” My gaze flicked to Magenta’s and then away. Her breath gusted against my cheeks, and the feel of her fingers encircling my wrists was real and anchoring in a way that I never wanted to lose. Only, I knew that I had to, and that wrecked me. “You don’t really want me. No one does. You should run from me like everybody else.”
Rebel Academy: Crave: A Paranormal Academy Romance Series (Wickedly Charmed Book 1) Page 20