Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

Tears chased down my cheeks. Where was a whole pail of milk when you needed one? Lysander no longer looked amused.

He grasped my chin, tipping up my face. “Allow me to help you…?”

I nodded.

Then between the waves of pulsing heat, I was aware enough to feel the way that Lysander’s thumbs were hooking open my mouth and his tongue was pressing inside.

So, help was what the fae called it…?

The cool of Lysander’s tongue, however, against the inferno of my tongue was blissful. Both Lysander and I groaned into the pleasure of the mingled hot and cold.

The distraction of Lysander’s wing feathers caressing my shoulders, as his thumb swept behind my ear like I could break at any moment, which matched the sweeps of his tongue, tamped down the burning, until it became a blurred pain-pleasure that prickled a flush through my entire body. My dick thickened with thoughts of pulling the fae onto it, just as right now he was riding my tongue.

Then Lysander pulled back with a final affectionate stroke of his wings (and I wasn’t imagining the affection), and I blinked up at him like I was drunk.

“The hex was never lifted from my bedroom by my guardian,” Lysander explained. “One is truly disappointed if you believe that I was never caught out swearing.”

“Who kissed you?” I blurted; my tongue felt heavy… burned .

Lysander’s expression shuttered. “But it appears that you do believe I was alone and unloved. Now that is disappointing.”

Despite everything, when he drew back, standing as stiffly as before, I felt cold at the loss of him.

Midnight’s pupils were dilated, and his grin was both sappy and over-excited like a kid who’d just walked in on his divorced parents kissing on Christmas morning. Brilliant. Now I had pressure to play nice with the fae prince who’d probably only kissed me to recreate the memory of some first love.

Since I’d experienced no more than a handful of kisses in my furry life, that hurt. But then, how many had Lysander had?

Sleipnir arched his brow at me, but I only shrugged.

“You, madam, are an eye-offending, mother bucketing horny toad with a fudging god-complex.” Sleipnir winked at me. “Creative enough?”

Bacchus caught Pocus’ tail hard enough for him to yowl. “It wasn’t an invitation for you to swear as insultingly as possible in my lesson.”

“Wasn’t it?” Sleipnir drawled.

“Holy hijinks!” Magenta clapped her hands.

“Caesar’s ghost!” Bask yelled out.

“Insert swear word…?” Willoughby ventured.

The elf was trying. Us Immortals would have to work harder to corrupt him.

“Squib!” I hollered. When everybody looked at me blankly, I blushed. “My dad would’ve laughed.”

“Enough.” Bacchus rapped her thyrsus against the floor. “Do none of you understand that it’s not a contest to get as close to triggering the discipline as possible?”

Magenta tried for outrage. “Holy daughter of a contemptible badger, of course we fudging do.”

“Don’t take the cat pee.” Bacchus smirked. Wait, had Bacchus just beaten us at our own game? Then she snapped her fingers, and the purple silk melted away that held Midnight and me together. “Stand up.” I pushed myself up, holding out my hand to pull up Midnight as well. “How about we move from hexes to spells. It should be clear enough to you all how powerful words are now.”

Lysander marched to stand next to Magenta, shoulder to shoulder, just as I stood next to Midnight. I no longer felt like any of us were on rival teams.

“My royal personage lost the Rebel Cup, remember? My guardian cannot become angrier at me, and nor can I fall lower than a Dunce. Your threats are hollow.” Lysander’s emerald eyes steeled with resolve. “How do you propose to motivate me now, professor?”

He had to ask…

“Through my rewards that aren’t hollow.” Bacchus glanced at Midnight. “Sleep deprivation is a punishment often used in my cult against its enemies. Have the tremors started yet? The paranoia or hallucinations? So many other delightful surprises that I’ll leave for you to discover.”

Midnight whimpered.

“I would strongly advise you to stop speaking, unless you wish me to kick your witchy fraking behind.” Magenta’s mists coiled around her.

“I was merely offering a reward . If you both cast the Mind Control Spell, then I’ll allow you to use it to let Curse sleep after class for a full, refreshing hour. The spell has such power that if there’s a bond between the puppet and their master, then it’s stronger than the strongest hex or potion. Don’t you want this reward?”

“ Yes ,” Lysander whispered, “I want it, please.”

My chest was tight. Magenta didn’t answer, however, only glanced at me.

How could I see those smudged shadows under Midnight’s eyes and even hesitate?

I waggled my eyebrows at Lysander. “Control me, baby.”

Magenta paced closer to Midnight. “This is your choice.”

“Then let me sleep.” Midnight peeked at her from underneath his eyelashes. “You have my permission, see, and I’d allow you anything…”

He snapped his mouth shut like he’d said too much. By the sudden flicker of conflicting emotions across Magenta’s expression, possibly he had.

She carded her fingers with the same tender care that I would’ve done through his waterfall of hair. “Then let me in.”

I startled at Lysander’s equally gentle touch to my curls. “May one be trusted with this honor?”

My breath caught. I’d expected this spell to feel like a violation. I’d also never imagined that Lysander…or anybody …would think it an honor to take over my mind.

I was a mage, and weren’t we there to be taken by force?

Pan’s balls, Lysander wouldn’t be able to see inside the Wank Bank, would he?

Lysander’s brow furrowed in confusion, as I offered him a weak smile. “The honor is all mine.”

Then the world fell away, and it wasn’t a violation; it was a revelation, which was scented with cherry blossoms. Lysander was inside me, but I could feel him . He was a protective, possessive, pining presence, winding through me.

On instinct, I tried to reach out and drag him into a desperate hug. Nobody deserved to suffer alone such emotions and yet hide them.

But I couldn’t lift my arm, move my leg, or even turn my head to look at Midnight to discover if he was as paralyzed as me. The only thing that I could move was my hardening dick, which looked like it was trying to hug Lysander in its own unique manner.

I bit my lip, willing away my hard-on. Nope, even the rising panic of being trapped in my own head with Lysander’s sweet love wasn’t working.

“One step forward,” Magenta ordered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Midnight taking a step.

Pan’s balls, I’d been turned into a Mage Puppet.

At least I had a hot vampire puppet friend. Except, that just made the inappropriate hard-on situation worse because now I was having hot puppet show fantasies and okay…could Lysander tell…?

“Why don’t you stop your whipping boy waving his dick at me?” Lysander drawled.

Yet now that I was watching for it, I didn’t miss the way that his lips twitched.

“He’s waving to me,” Bask pouted.

“Only if you promise that your whipping boy greets me with his soon. It’s quite delicious,” Magenta shot back.

Aquilo had taught me that I was never the one without the power. Even if I was trapped in a frozen body with an out of control dick. I just had to use it…the power, rather than the dick…I could follow the letter of Lysander’s orders but not the spirit.