Rebel Academy: Curse

Chapter Twenty-Two BASK

Was it possible to be at supreme pettability level but at the same time suffer hair limpness because of stress?

No incubus of the ancient Night lineage had ever sacrificed so much hair product in the line of duty.

I deserved a medal but I wouldn’t demand one. I was just that much of a hero (snicker, of course).

I snuggled with Magenta on the couch in the Rebel Café, treating myself to a nuzzle of her sweet neck. My dick thickened, and my balls ached. Her wild woods scent coiled around the room, and her magic sparkled like dancing fairies along the roof.

Talking of fairies, it was a fine thing to watch Lysander sprawled on the floor, which had softened to carpet, as if he was no longer too proud to lie at the Immortals’ feet.

Adorable.

Willoughby clasped his arms casually around Lysander like their cuddling wasn’t as surprising as the way that it was their whipping boy who now curled on the couch with his beautiful ash wings wrapped around Fox.

Why was Fox so pale? He looked as tired as Midnight.

Note to self: Magenta’s slinky ass (or had it been her gorgeous tits?) was enough to overturn hierarchies.

Even my sexy little body hadn’t turned prince into pauper and pauper to prince.

I pouted, sending up an apology to my incubus forebears for failing them.

Perhaps, it’d increase my powers if I touched Magenta’s Talisman Tits…?

“Would it please you if I touched you…here?” I hovered my hand hopefully over Magenta’s MTT (which was what I was now calling them).

Magenta’s lips quirked. “Please do. Who knew that a Ball Committee could be both boring and deadly.” I stretched my fingers, before stroking them in circles over the MTT. Magenta sighed and arched. “Now that’s what was missing. All committee meetings should have an incubus in attendance.”

“My versatile arse would be in demand, obviously,” I smirked.

Magenta’s pleasure flooded through me in sparkling bubbles, and my eyelids fluttered. I bit my lip, struggling not to rub my dick against her.

This café was meant to be for relaxation, but Serenity (the magical AI who ran it), was kinky enough not to mind if I turned it into a Screw Café.

Except, she’d watch, and the thought of that was like ice down my pants.

Still, there was always time for a quick incubus pleasure feeding.

Through the pulse pounding in my ears, I could hear the drone of Lysander and Willoughby discussing decorations, music, food…oh, and not dying. Despite sitting on the floor, the Princes had taken the lead. Cute. Did they realize that we were letting them? It wasn’t just that the rest of us hadn’t even been to a ball. Away with you, it wasn’t that at all.

Their posh arses knew what bastard Titus wanted, unless Fox’s suggestions of a Hogwarts, Happily Ever After, or Alice in Wonderland ball won out.

I voted for Hogwarts, since Titus would make a brilliant Voldemort. Lysander simply sneered at me and vetoed all Fox’s plans.

Yet Immortals and Princes were finally united in the Committee. I felt odd. There had to be something against making peace with your rivals in the small print of the Incubi Night Code. Unless, achieving it through love was the exception to the rule?

Surely, the Membership was now broken?

Sleipnir slouched against the far wall. He’d tossed his blazer across the sofa, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing shimmering serpents that coiled up and down his arms. His hair fell in candy pink waves, and he strummed Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are a Changin’” on his guitar.

Guys should play more protest songs because I craved to lick every demonstrating inch of godliness.

I was so his groupie.

Mist danced at his feet, shaking his mane and tail and stamping his paws.

Lysander hissed, “What do you believe you’re doing? This isn’t the time to play…”

Sleipnir grinned, “Hey, I’m working. I’m the ball’s entertainment.”

Willoughby pushed a strand of hair behind Lysander’s ear, who startled like he hadn’t expected the public gesture. “It shall need to be a grand feast.”

Fox waved his hand, dismissively. “Pfft, details.”

Lysander’s jaw clenched. “Details that’ll lead to your whipping boy behind being punished if we don’t get this right.”

Midnight’s wings curled more firmly around Fox.

Fox sat up straighter, although I could tell that it cost him. “Just call me the Details Man.”

“What’s wrong?” I blurted, pulling my hand back from MTT. Magenta groaned in frustration. I must be worried about my foxy, if I’d missed how close I’d driven Magenta to her peak. I’d make it up to her later with my tongue, dick, and arse: together they were a talented team. “I love you, but your curls are lank, your skin is ashen, and you have circles under your eyes.”

“Wow, your compliments really need some work. You do know how to make a boy feel special.” Fox winked at me.

“Huh, he’s right.” Sleipnir narrowed his eyes. “Omens and runes, I swear that I won’t lose anyone else. So, no more lies. Just tell us what’s going on.”

“Don’t accuse my king.” Midnight’s eyes burned, as he shielded Fox.

It was both hot and terrifying, which was impressive from the only naked person in the room.

What’d happened to the vampire who’d once crawled behind the Princes?

Fox peered around Midnight. “Yeah, karma for the Boy Who Cried Wolf, right? I don’t know, okay? Flu, side effect of being used as magical guinea pig, exhaustion from my rather busy start to term, or I don’t know, being walled up alive. Could we concentrate on the ball? I’m not more tired than Midnight.”

I glanced at Midnight. “If I could take the hex from you and suffer it myself, I would.” I scrunched up my nose. “Nobody should lose their beauty sleep.”

“Why?” Midnight asked.

“For even skin tone without spots, brighter eyes and—”

Midnight laughed; it was a beautiful sound. “Bones and blood, I meant: why’d you suffer it for me?”

I blinked. “You’re an Immortal now, which means that you’re mine. I love those who belong to me.”

Midnight’s gaze was open and fragile. When he attempted to duck his head, Fox caught him by the chin.

“He means it. He’s obsessive like that,” Fox said.

“Obsessive romantic,” I corrected.

“I hadn’t realized that this was the Love Committee,” Lysander drawled. “One believed that we were the Ball Committee and oh yes, we have to put it on tonight for our professors, families, and patrons.”

Magenta clapped her hands. “There’s a Love Committee? How charming! Can we get swapped onto that?”

Lysander took a shuddering breath. “Titus would be happy if we honored him with a traditional fae style ball.”

Instantly, Magenta’s eyes darkened. “And I should be miserable.”

“Do you still hate all things fae?”

“Not all fae.”

Fox raised his hand. “Are we still talking about balls?”

Sleipnir chuckled.

Lysander’s blush deepened. “Fae balls are spectacular and not all bad. As a child, I was expected to attend. My noble self was bored and despised the formality but still, it was my Court. It was a gilded cage, I understand that now, truly.” He licked his dry lips. “But it was home.”

Willoughby rubbed his shoulder. “We shall allow you this.”

When Willoughby arched his brow at Magenta, she nodded.

“Tell me, what shall we expect from a fae ball?” Magenta asked, gently.

Surprised, Lysander caught her gaze. “Feasts, stars inside, fireworks, ice sculptures, dancing…”

“It is the Yule Ball at Hogwarts!” Fox spluttered, indignantly.

“Why do you keep talking about warty boars to me?” Lysander leaped up, beating his wings.

“He’s ill,” Magenta explained. “It’s probably the fever making him spout nonsense.”

“It’s times like this that I have to ask myself What Would Harry Do?” Fox shoved himself to his feet. “Then I ask myself again, What Would Hermione Do because I’m more likely to survive that way.”

“See,” Magenta sighed, “nonsense.”

A burst of sickening sweet lavender flooded the café. I choked, wrinkling my nose.

Then I gasped in shock as a spray of cold water rained from the ceiling. Princes and Immortals scattered, diving up in shock. Sleipnir broke off his song with a twang of wrong notes. Mist squealed, flaring his nostrils, as he shook his wet mane.

“My hair,” I wailed, “my already way below acceptable levels of shininess hair.”

I stared around at the other drowned rebels, shivering. Then I slipped my comb out of my pocket (because I never leave my bedroom without it, obviously), and brushed my hair frantically.

“Serenity,” Sleipnir growled, “what in Hel’s breath was that for?”

“Just calming the tension,” Serenity’s welsh voice crooned from the walls. “I’m your Stress Counselor, after all. How about you get out of those nasty, cold clothes and into these nice, hot soapy bubbles?”

The center of the room dipped, transforming into a vast marble bath with bubbles that you could get lost in.

It was tempting…

“Let me make this clear,” Sleipnir counted off on his fingers, as Mist snorted agreement on each word, “we’re not stressed, tense, anxious or in need of your relaxation, calm, or therapy.”

Serenity hesitated, before the bath disappeared and the walls changed to pictures of gushing rivers that made me desperately need to piss.

I crossed my legs, hoping that nobody noticed. I covered it by slipping my comb back into my pocket.

Bad dick, you haven’t embarrassed me by wetting yourself for…well, awhile now…in front of the Princes isn’t the time to take up the habit again.

“Carry on, you’re a little stressed,” Serenity sulked.

“Nope.” Sleipnir snatched up his blazer, using it to wipe dry his guitar.

“You’re always stressed.”

“Not this time.”

“Stressed enough to need chocolate…”

“Don’t answer her.” I dived up, slamming my hand over Sleipnir’s mouth. How long had it been since I’d eaten chocolate? I’d be able to give some to Magenta and Fox. I hated that they had to eat the slop, which they fed us Immortals at the academy. “If it pleases you, Serenity, my shoulders are feeling a wee bit tense. What’s this about chocolate?”

“Chocolate is high in magnesium to help you relax,” Serenity said, slyly. “It also raises your endorphin levels. Do you know what else raises your endorphins?”

My slinky self had scored full marks in the theory part of my sex education in the incubi harem. Both that and the practical side had been thorough.

Rule 42 of the Incubi Night Code stated: You can never have too much pride in your sexual knowledge or prowess.

“Screwing.” I preened.

Then I glanced around expectantly, crossing my arms.

Why wasn’t petting tribute coming my way as reward? In the incubi harem, I’d have received at least two strokes for getting the correct answer.

“That’s right: admit to your needs!” Serenity said, brightly. Oh, Lysander so didn’t just send me a judgey look. “And when you combine chocolate and screwing you get…chocolate body paint.”

Something dropped from the ceiling.

I yelped, stumbling into Lysander, before I caught the large bottle of chocolate paint.

“Come closer to me with that, incubus, and I shall cover your balls in it, before I bite them off,” Lysander hissed.

“Unfriendly.” I stroked along his cheek with my gloved hand, and his eyes widened. “Here’s the thing, I was going to lick it off your wings…” Lysander’s eyes became glassy, and he melted into my touch. “But since I value my balls, I’ll lick it off Midnight’s wings, instead, as long as he desires it.”

I glanced up to meet Midnight’s gaze, and by the way that his pupils dilated, his prick did a happy twitching dance, and his wings spread wide in welcome, he desired it.

I walked Midnight backward towards the couch, pressing him down onto it (and there was definitely increased incubi mesmerizing power in my MTT powered fingers). To be fair, Midnight threw himself excitedly onto the couch like a willing sacrifice. When I stroked through his outstretched feathers, he shuddered. I couldn’t help the wince, however, because I remembered his wail, as Damela had broken these stunning wings and how sensitive they were.

I unscrewed the jar, shuddering myself at the vanilla infused scent of chocolate.

Come to my licky licky tongue…

I crawled over Midnight with a slink of my hips. Midnight’s soft eyes widened.

Silly vampire, didn’t he think that he was looking at another predator?

I dipped my thumb into the gooey, warm body paint, before drawing it from Midnight’s wingtip to his shoulder, tracing the line of his feathers. The long line of his neck arched back like he was begging me to bite.

I wasn’t a cruel incubus. I didn’t make my lovers beg.

Much.

“Please,” Midnight breathed. “Bite me, please…”

I bit the juncture between Midnight’s neck and his shoulder.

Lysander made a choked sound. When I looked up, marking Midnight with a deep hickey (because an incubus had to mark his property), Magenta met my gaze with dark eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and she rubbed absentmindedly at her own throat.

Lysander coughed, before clasping his hands smartly behind his back and deliberately not watching Midnight and me. “Entertainment, that’s what…” He might not be watching, but the hard-on in his pants told a different story. “Fae balls always start with music, and most certainly not orgies.”

Magenta sighed. “Well, how thoroughly disappointing. That’s my Lady Godiva costume out then.”

Sleipnir chuckled.

My answer was to suck a path from Midnight’s neck to his chocolate treat of a wing.

The taste exploded through me: every rich taste that I’d been denied, all at once racing through my senses.

And drawing my balls up embarrassingly fast.

Hadn’t Serenity said that it created endorphins? Why didn’t they call it Cum Chocolate?

What a missed marketing opportunity.

Midnight writhed underneath me.

“I want in on this.” Fox stumbled to the couch, perching next to Midnight, before gripping his hand. “Chocolate Vampires have always been my favorite sweet.”

“That’s lucky, seeing as mages are mine.” Midnight drew Fox in for a lingering kiss, before Fox drew back to nibble at a feather.

Then his eyes shot wide and he covered his lap in the time honored hiding you’re about to cum in your pants move.

“Ehm, has anyone told you that you’re sex on wings?” Fox blushed adorably. “Or is it…?”

“Cum Chocolate,” I explained.

Lysander coughed again, and Willoughby patted him on the back. “The Committee business is music and not cum.”

“I can sing,” Willoughby offered.

“Nope, I have it covered.” Sleipnir swaggered to Magenta, strumming on his guitar.

When he serenaded Magenta with Tenacious D’s comedy rock “Fuck Her Gently”, she melted, mesmerized, as my Slippy unleashed his full godly talent on her.

“Ah, romance,” Magenta smiled.

Lysander, however, reddened and spluttered at each crude lyric of cock, ball, hump, which were all sung to the sweetest melody.

Sleipnir winked at me, as I attempted to smother my snickers in Midnight’s feathers.

Lysander pointed at Sleipnir in outrage. “Stop singing this instant! Are you serious? Is this what counts as courting to the non-fae? A love song about…?”

“Shagging,” Serenity supplied, dreamily.

“Do you take requests?” Fox called out. “How about “Barbie Girl”? “Who Let the Dogs Out”? “Livin’ La Vida Loca”?”

Willoughby’s eyes lit with hope. ““Let It Go”?”

Seipnir blinked. “A World Tree of no, but if you’re more of the rocking out kind…”

The serpents on Sleipnir’s arms coiled, and his eyes flashed. Sleipnir came alive like the café was his personal stage.

That was a fine sight.

He rocked us all to Skillet’s “Monster”. His voice became lower and gravelly. It did all sorts of funny things to me; my nerves were on fire from his voice.

I needed him to touch me, and yet, he was touching me with his music alone.

Sleipnir’s Soul was flayed by the song and each blistering word. Fox and I leaped up, dragging Midnight after us. I steadied them both, feeling their exhausted tremors. We headbanged, laughing as Magenta caught on and whipped her hair from side to side.

Near enough.

We chanted monster, monster, monster along with Sleipnir because if we said it, we were reclaiming it.

It was our word now. We’d changed it into something of our own.

Now it couldn’t hurt us again.

Willoughby caught Lysander by the waist, and the two Princes twirled around in what looked suspiciously like a waltz.

They looked beautiful together.

I cast them a cheeky glance through my long hair (for once, I only cared a little bit that my hair had the rocky bed hair look, rather than sleek perfection…carry on you, it’s true). Fox would have to teach them his moves.

Rebels knew how to rock.

Mist galloped around the room, neighing along and shaking his tail in time to the music.

“Take me, godling,” Serenity breathed, “just shag me silly.”

When Sleipnir stumbled over the words, I grinned.

Who could blame the AI for her crush?

Sleipnir hurriedly finished the song. “And no encore.”

“To what end is all we’re risking?” Lysander asked, unexpectedly. He was still caught in Willoughby’s arms. “You laugh still, despite the danger you face, dance even. But tell me…”

Magenta pushed her tangled hair behind her ears, before carefully approaching Lysander. He pulled back from Willoughby, folding his wings around himself. Magenta placed her hands on both his cheeks, and his startled gaze met hers.

“I’ve spent decades weeping. I’m with the men who I love, and what we face, we do so together. I wouldn’t spend a moment longer crying.” Her thumb swept along Lysander’s high cheekbone. “You understand, don’t you? How many years have you grieved?”

Lysander let out a shuddering breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Magenta’s. “Too many.”

“The feather on your pillow…?”

I had the sudden memory of the silk pillow with a black swan feather sewn on the front that’d been on Lysander’s bed, which I hadn’t been stealing to make a nest with (honest, snicker).

What did that have to do with grief?

Lysander’s eyes fluttered shut like he couldn’t voice the words with them open. “One warned you that there’s always something or someone else that my guardian can take. After I’d refused to execute the Rebel tribe, but they’d been massacred anyway in front of me, and I’d been sentenced here as punishment…” I clasped tighter onto Fox because he’d jolted like he’d been ready to dive to Lysander and cuddle him, and Lysander was lost in the past right now. He needed to get whatever was festering inside out. Hadn’t I buried the darkness of the Duchess’ training and my brokenness for too long? “…my noble self was foolish enough to believe that I’d lost everything. Then they brought in my best friend, a shifter.” Now it was Fox clinging tighter to me. “As a prince, I was granted a sacred swan shifter, who grew up alongside me. He was my best friend and he’d only recently become the man who I loved.”

Finally, Lysander opened his eyes, and Magenta’s gaze was crushingly understanding.

“Titus took away my lover and best friend in the same way,” Magenta whispered.

Lysander swallowed. “He ordered… One was forced to watch the swan shifter, who I should’ve protected, kneel and offer his neck to the ax. My royal personage is a killer because I failed him. Isn’t it my worst fault to never take responsibility?”

“What dreadful nonsense!” Magenta’s pink wound around the walls, until they glowed. “Blame rests on Titus alone. In this academy, it’s always rested on the Principal. And we stop it tonight. I believe that they call it rising up, united in revolution.”

Fox clapped his hands together. “One for all, yeah? But first, what’s our theme because I feel a wave of subversion coming on.”

He grinned at Lysander, who grinned back nervously. “Why are you…?”

“You’re a proper Rebel now.” I shrugged. “If you’re bonded to Magenta, then you’re bonded to me, Fox, and even Slippy. We’re all bonded. Just no poking me with swords from now on.”

Lysander’s elegant eyebrow arched. “I’ll try to resist poking you with my…sword.”

Result.

Fox hopped up and down on the spot.

Perhaps, he was also trying to resist wetting himself?

“Oh, oh, please let the theme be Wizard of Oz,” Fox pleaded.

Bad, bad foxy…

“Wicked witches and wizards.” I counted each off. “Plus, Damelza’s head exploding because she’s forced to pretend that everything’s perfect to her guests. We’re doing it, end of story.”

Magenta cocked her head. “Do you know, this little shiver runs down the back of my spine when you become commanding.”

Brilliant.

Sleipnir leaned against the wall. “Our Oz will need munchkins, right? We can bring in Snow, Emerick, Ambrose, and Ty, even the dragons…”

Wow, they’d be the biggest Munchkins ever.

“We can make sure that everybody is saved.” Fox’s fingers squeezed mine.

Why was Magenta’s gaze suddenly so guilty, as she ducked her head? “Sweet Hecate, but who will be left behind?”

I stiffened.

Andro.

All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe. My chest was too tight.

Please, no…

Andro was my clone of Lysandro, who was sweetly submissive, when the dominant side of my nature that craved to take pleasure, as well as give it, needed feeding. The café had created him for me, but the love he felt for me was his own, just like my own love for him was real.

How could I escape and leave him behind? I’d be murdering him…

“I can’t.” I shot a panicked glance at Willoughby who marched to me, gently easing me into his arms. Fox and Midnight collapsed together onto the couch, but I hardly noticed around the thunder of the pulse in my ears and the dangerous burning of tears in my eyes. “I can’t, please don’t make me, I can’t…”

Crying was ugly. Nobody loved an ugly incubus. Why had I encouraged Andro to love me?

Willoughby’s expression was as grief-stricken as my own. “It’d be dishonorable to abandon them. It must be their decision.”

Sleipnir straightened, “Hey, I don’t think so. Who said that clones had rights?”

Magenta glowered at him. “I do.”

Willoughby kept hold of my hands, and we sank to our knees.

In front of us, a green mist formed, bleeding into the golden wings and emerald hair of Andro, who was also on his knees facing me. Unlike Lysander, he was naked and his expression was soft and open. His gaze was so adoring that I flinched.

Andro’s brow furrowed with confusion, and he dipped his head.

I stroked along his back, between his wings, before pulling his head to rest against my chest, and his relieved breath gusted along my collarbone. He peeked up at me from underneath his long eyelashes, licking his lips in a way that would’ve looked innocent if I didn’t know him better.

Flirt.

Lysander watched, as pale as snow.

Ruby sparkles lit up in front of Willoughby. Here’s the thing, it was freaky to see my own naked clone, Bas, materialize from the sparkles to straddle Willoughby in an excitable tangle. He was gorgeous (startling discovery), and I fought to stop staring at his arse.

Now I knew why mine was so pettable.

Bas was also definitely not submissive, unlike my Andro.

Bas kissed Willoughby like he’d die without the taste of him, before breathing against his mouth. “Pet me. I ache for you; I’ve missed you so badly it hurts deep inside.”

Willoughby soothed his hands down Bas’ shoulders, but his anguished gaze met mine.

How could we tell Andro and Bas?

I tucked a strand of hair behind Andro’s ear. “You know that I love you…?”

Andro mouthed at my neck. “I love you too.”

Because that made this so much easier…

“It’s like this, see, if we had a chance to leave the academy, would you wish us to take it?”

Andro shot up, resting his shaking hands on my knees, while curling his wing under my chin to force me to look at him. “Y-you’re l-leaving m-me?”

Bas’ shoulders slumped, and Willoughby held him even closer. “I’m an idiot. You called us to say goodbye, right?”

Willoughby shook his head, fiercely. “You have the choice.”

Bas laughed but it was actually a sob. “Wise up! That’s no choice. Of course, leave. If you love someone you always want them to be free, even if…”

So, that was what I looked like broken with tears. Except, Bas didn’t look ugly wrapped in Willoughby’s arms with tears chasing down his cheeks.

He looked beautiful.

It took clones to be the true heroes and show what love meant. The witches would never understand that.

“Where will we go without you? Will we fade away or cease to be?” Each of Andro’s desperate, whispered words branded my skin; I’d never be free of their mark.

It broke every incubus code to be honest. An old adage went that it was better to sooth with pretty lies, than hurt with ugly truths.

But then, I’d thought that crying was ugly and I’d been wrong.

“I don’t know.” I wrapped my fingers through Andro’s hair, gently pulling him back so that I could look into the glistening emerald pools of his eyes. I had to face him for this. “What do you desire me to do?”

Andro’s smile was the bravest thing that I’d ever seen; I wished that it never had to fade. “Live, be happy, and don’t forget me because if you remember me, then I’ll still exist, won’t I?”

Magenta rose from the ground, and her black mists whipped around her; she vibrated in full out wicked witch fury. “No more portraits of dead students on the walls, ghosts, or lost lovers,” she snarled. “After the Enchanted Ball, I’m ending Rebel Academy.”