Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

Yeah, just as much as I’d enjoy Bacchus using my foxy tail as a fun clit toy.

I shuddered. Bad brain, the Wank Bank would be closed for the next week…okay two days…okay, for tonight…to wipe out that image .

Wait, did that mean that Midnight enjoyed Pocus’ claws?

The Wank Bank was officially open for business again.

Pocus shot me another smug grin.

Over Midnight’s shoulder, the Immortals and our Prince swaggered together towards us.

Mist rode Sleipnir’s shoulder; he was still high on the whole dominant thing. I’d better not coo then.

It was weird being bound on the floor. It made me realize how much I trusted all of them that I didn’t stiffen, but only grinned.

“You appear to have adopted a pussy,” Magenta pointed out.

Pocus bared his fangs, and his tail wagged, rubbing against my face again.

I spluttered. “Stop pissing off the pussy. And you’ve adopted a Prince.”

Magenta looped her arm through Willoughby’s. “He’s quite charming, don’t you think? I’m determined to keep him.”

Willoughby’s lips quirked.

I nodded. “Let’s sign the papers to keep the Prince, and my fellow whipping boy.” When Midnight’s eyes flared with longing and desperation, I wished that there truly were papers that I could sign to officially claim both Willoughby and Midnight. Although, by breaking the Membership, maybe that’s what we were doing. Adopt a Prince could become a popular scheme. “But this pussy isn’t housetrained. I’m sending him back, unless we…?”

I whispered snip, snip, snip in the hushed way that meant parting him from his manly bits.

And that’s what happened when you wrapped your tail around my balls...not that I was against it as a principle…I mean, my merrily swinging against my stomach prick wasn’t…

His fur had been so soft…

Pocus’ expression darkened. Then he twisted in outrage, and his claws extended over my manly bits.

I’m mage enough to admit that I squeaked.

“You’re lucky that Midnight said no scratching.” Pocus leapt off Midnight’s lap, flouncing with a swish of his tail back to the corner.

Sleipnir blinked. “Honestly, I’m more of a dog person.”

Bask snickered and then prowled to Midnight with a predator energy that meant he’d fed well on pleasure. He fluidly dropped to his knees behind Midnight.

Willoughby dropped his gaze, and his hair hung across his eyes like a gorgeous waterfall. “I regret like the numbing silence now inside me that I can’t heal you.” I could sense the truth of it: there was no perfect single violin note or the hummed lullabies of the Other World. Inside Willoughby, there was only a crushing silence. Damelza had cut him off from his last contact to his homeland and family. I vibrated with the need to slap that witch up. “Yet these Immortals forgive us our pasts and flaws. They trust us, and so we must trust them.”

There was no hesitancy in Midnight’s nod.

Willoughby raised his head, meeting Bask’s eye. “I owe you a debt, and if you’ll have me, I shall spend the rest of my life repaying it.”

My breath hitched. Was it just me or did that sound like the ding, dong of wedding bells…?

Bask winked, snuggling closer to Midnight. “I already have you, and although my arse is versatile in the spanking department, how about we start with you over my lap, pointy ears?”

Okay, that made my prick do an embarrassing dance of joy.

The tips of Willoughby’s ears pinked, but his expression became mock stern. “What did I tell you about insulting me with the pet name pointy ears ? For such a crime, it’s lucky that you do have such a versatile behind.”

Bask wriggled around as if to prove the point.

Magenta twisted Willoughby to face her, however, grasping him by the chin. “Do you awfully mind if you thrash Bask later? I’m certain that he’ll take it with great bravery.” Sleipnir choked off a laugh at Bask’s shocked gasp. “But it’s not a debt . You owe us nothing. Any kindness that we offer you may once have been an exchange or…” Her gaze flicked to Sleipnir, who raised his eyebrow, “part only of a plan, but now we offer it out of love .”

Willoughby raised Magenta’s hand to his plush lips and kissed the back of it.

Why didn’t I have the type of gracefulness that could take a single gesture and show such love and duty through it? Probably because I could pull off disgruntled hedgehog better than romantic gentleman.

Oh, but I made an epic hedgehog.

Bask worked his fingers around the leather that bound Midnight’s broken wings, unwinding it. Midnight bit his lip, and I gave him a head bump (code: I love you), which got me a judgey glare from Sleipnir and a tender gaze from Midnight.

Midnight’s ash wings fell free of the leather, hanging from his shoulders in a way that made every bone in my own body ache.

Bask wound his arms around Midnight. “Do you wish me to kiss and heal you?”

So, that was why Bask had been laid out like a sacrifice to screwing on the lab table: he’d been building his powers through pleasure just for this moment. At least, that was his excuse and he was sticking to it.

Why didn’t my power of Confess need chocolate or crisp sandwiches to work? Could I redesign this whole shimage thing? I mean, how about I got to transform into something dangerous like a bear, tiger, or rabbit?

Don’t mock the fox with the rabbit phobia. Sometimes, irony is cruel.

Willoughby swallowed. “I trust you.”

How could three words speak such worlds of hurt and new hope?

Bask leaned forward, kissing up the side of Willoughby’s cheeks and encouraging him to turn his head. He licked across Willoughby’s lips, before he opened them. It was breathtaking to watch the way that ruby sparkles passed from Bask’s mouth and into Willoughby’s. I couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy at their kiss, even though I knew it was to heal him.

Plus, the way that Bask’s black hair mingled with Midnight’s dark waves was beautiful.

They were beautiful together.

This greedy foxy wanted them both.

Midnight gasped, and his wings spread. Their wingtips pulsed with violet light. His feathers gleamed like polished gems, as he beat his wings.

He was stunning, and he was healed.

Bask gave Midnight’s lower lip a final satisfied lick, before settling back.

“Thank you,” Willoughby breathed.

Pocus looked up from where he was curled in the corner. “Pocus thanks the sparkly incubus too.”

Bask pushed himself to his feet. “Incubi don’t sparkle.”

I smirked at Pocus. “Yeah, that’s vampires .”

Pocus snarled at me.

All of a sudden, the classroom shook, and a rumble rolled out like thunder. I wrinkled my nose at the intoxicating scent of mulled wine.

At times like this, my Mr. Fierce side begged me to roll into a ball, but that only toppled me to the side, taking Midnight with me into an embarrassing tangle of naked limbs and feathers. My breathing was too ragged, and my pulse raced.

Sleipnir crouched over me protectively at the same time as Willoughby.

Magenta’s magic burst over me in pink brambles. How could Magenta’s connection to nature make me feel so safe, while Bacchus’ roots reminded me with every touch that I was the enemy mage?

But I’d never be Magenta’s enemy.

Out of the floor next to Pocus, coiled sinuous purple vines. The ivy tangled into the outline of Bacchus, the Immortals’ Tutor and brilliant but scarier than Hecate in a rabbit costume, American professor. In her class, you never knew where she’d appear: on a throne, out of the walls, or from the floor.