Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

I reddened. Now I truly wished that Midnight had simply been a train enthusiast with an obsession for noisy steam trains.

Were non-magicals still obsessed with their mechanical means of travel? How sad for them not to be able to dematerialize or ride on monstrous horses.

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

Dark magic wove through that line, as much as Willoughby's cursed silk suit. It reminded me of an incantation or ancient Mind Curses, which Byron had once told me punished with mantras.

I shuddered at the thought of any of the mantras from the Principal's Book of Mottoes looping through my mind. If I wasn't crazy now, I would be after that. Yet what if the motto was negative...underserving of love...born to be a slave... cursed ?

It was appalling, unconscionable, cruel...and invisible.

How could I free Midnight? Sweet Hecate, I swore that I’d find a way.

When Midnight slipped into the bedroom, I patted at my hair. Although I was no Bask, who made love to the bathroom mirror every time that he styled himself in front of it (I had the distinct impression that he was tempted to ask it who was the fairest of them all ), my bonding with my Immortals had been special, and I intended to look my best for Midnight’s.

Even if I was curled in a dog bed.

Midnight ignored me, however, staggering to the curtains and pulling them across the windows, before smoothing down the sheets on Willoughby’s bed.

He made a beautiful naked butler for the Princes.

Yet his eyes were ringed by purple shadows, and his shoulders were tight with exhaustion. When he dragged himself to the counter, pulling open the drawer to select two pairs of pink silk pajamas, I glimpsed a flash of Lysander’s emerald panties.

I flushed hot and cold, crossing my legs against the mounting desire.

Surely, he’d notice me now at his feet?

Yet Midnight only turned and laid out Lysander’s pajamas on the gleaming black bed, caressing his hands along the arms tenderly. Then he shimmied into his own pair.

When he turned back to the counter, Midnight’s ash wings were gorgeous against the pink. How much more stunning would they look wrapped in my magic?

I longed for him, but a family of killer unicorns could’ve nested in Midnight’s basket, and he was so tired that he wouldn’t have noticed.

The Sleep Deprivation Hex was a dangerous thing.

What was the official etiquette for announcing your presence as a Blood Lover in someone’s bed without making them faint from shock?

I was new to modern courting, but even though stalking appeared popular, I still believed causing a heart attack wasn’t romantic.

Perhaps, a polite cough or an offer to mix a Bloody Mary…?

Then the door slammed open, and Lysander stalked into the bedroom, vibrating with repressed fury. “How long can my royal personage stand by and do nothing…?”

I stiffened with outrage at how Lysander manhandled Willoughby, dragging him after him by the neck.

Was he choking Willoughby?

Did I need to carve Nobody Hurts My Rebelsnext to the Don Lysander’s forehead?

Wait, was that a paradox?

My magic exploded over Lysander like a firework. He jumped, twisting to me.

Ah, not choking , rather loosening the choking silk. Also, not manhandling, rather helping to stand.

Had Darby punished Willoughby for hours?

Surely, mine was what they called an honest mistake? Fae prejudice was a difficult thing to shrug off in a day. I attempted Bask’s innocent look.

Lysander’s eyes twinkled with amusement, however, before he demanded, “Whipping boy, is there any reason why you’ve placed an Immortal in your bed? Is she your new plushie? Do we all get one?”

I didn’t miss the way that Lysander glanced at his own bed like he hoped to find Fox sprawled in his covers with his pale limbs gorgeously on display, before finding it empty and scowling.

Midnight dropped to his knees. He peeked at me from between the veil of his hair. His charcoal eyes were wide with exhausted shock.

“M-my apologies my princes and m-my queen.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Pull out my fangs, I didn’t p-place you in my b-bed, did I?”

My heart cracked for him. He couldn’t even remember?

Lysander lowered Willoughby to perch on the edge of his ice bed.

Willoughby winced (how tight was his suit now?), and caught my look. “The Sleep Deprivation Hex is affecting Midnight’s memory. By my ears, he could’ve bitten Juni and not know it.”

I pulled a face. “That’s dangerous and disgusting.”

Willoughby inclined his head.

“Why are you here like an unwanted puppy? As much as one enjoys discovering you in my room at night,” Lysander glanced significantly at the glowing Punishmentand PrivilegeBoard and then at the swirling roof of Willoughby’s bed, “one doesn’t .”

The way that his dick hardened in his pants called liar .

I understood. Titus was woven throughout the academy, especially in the Princes’ room, and Darby controlled the ice and Willoughby’s nightmares.

In here, the Princes had to mask their true feelings. I hated that he had to hide from me.

Luckily, I’d grown to love what Sleipnir would call Lysander’s fae assholeness .

Lysander pulled off his tie, throwing it to the floor. He didn’t break his gaze from mine, as he shrugged off his blazer. He undid his shirt deliberate button by deliberate button. My mouth was dry, as his chest was revealed.

It was perfect.

“I assure you that this is quite literally a punishment for me as well,” I forced out.

Oh yes, the sexy naked fae punishment. Quite the deterrent. Now, if only he’d take off those pants, I’d truly learn my lesson…

He took off his pants.

My breath caught, and not only at the emerald panties that he also shoved down.

I’d been right: fae were blessed . In fact, his prick was stunning.

A pretty pink spread up Lysander’s chest, but he tilted up his chin, boldly meeting my eye like a challenge, even though I knew that stripping like this went against everything he’d been taught as a Court Fae.

My heart thudded because he wasn’t hiding anymore. If he couldn’t use words to show me… he’d give me this.

I smiled softly, and all of a sudden, Lysander’s expression gentled. I’d only seen him look at Willoughby like that before.

Then the mask was firmly back in place, as he pulled on the pajamas that Midnight had laid out for him. He unwound the ribbon from Willoughby’s hair, which swung forward like a waterfall.

“You were sent to us by Damelza?” Willoughby asked.

I nodded.

Lysander twirled on the spot; his wings spread out in a dominant display . Oh yes, he had the predatory vibe.

He stalked to crouch over me. “So, you’re ours for the night?”

He stroked his finger along my jaw, and I leaned into the touch and his sweet scent.

“Tea would be delightful, thanks for asking,” I said. “After all, you do have seven different jars of it all to yourself.”

Did that sound too bitter?

Lysander sat back on his heels, crossing his arms. “Have you not seen anything else tonight that you desire more than damn tea?”

My brow furrowed. Had I been too harsh in my tea envy?

Willoughby’s lips quirked. “My favorite blend is delicious. Our guest is most welcome to it, as well as my Thunder cup.”

Lysander glanced around at him. “Are you sure, Will?”