I froze myself because I knew what it was like to wait in fear of punishment. In the Duchess’ Court, I’d known little else. How could I’ve let him think that I’d ever whip him? I was descended from the ancient lineage of Night, and just as I knew that I could never have shiny enough hair, so I knew that I’d do anything to protect and look after those who belonged to me.
And this mage belonged to me. If he let me, I’d love him.
I touched Fox’s cheek with my glove, which to an incubus is a more intimate greeting than a kiss and means safety, reassurance, and love. Fox’s breath stuttered, and he flushed.
The thing of it was, here in the Rebel Academy we were all the abandoned, but it didn’t mean that we couldn’t make it our home.
My brow furrowed, when I noticed Fox’s shivering. Humans weren’t as naturally hot as incubi (of course, snicker). I bustled around Fox, pulling off his damp suit jacket and gathering his possessions from his suitcase to place at the bottom of the wardrobe. After all, it was now his wardrobe as well, and that made me glow with joy. It’d shattered me to have to clear out Hector’s belongings at the end of the summer term after his death. The room had seemed so empty.
But now we had Fox.
I slunk back to Fox, winding his hair around my finger. “I can care for you, protect you, love—”
“I don’t care what the freaky statue or the psycho principal said: I don’t belong to you.” Fox disentangled himself from me, backing away and wincing as his arse was scorched by the fire, which shot up like the room itself was insulted. My eyes flashed with hurt, before I carefully masked it. “Even if my name’s fox, I’m not a pet.”
“But I am.” I prowled towards him. My eyes glittered. Did he think that I wasn’t a predator? Silly human. “Don’t you want to pet me?”
When he reached out his hand, stroking my silky black hair, I sighed and bowed my head.
At last, Sleipnir looked up. “Incubi require touch because they kind of feed through the giving of pleasure, and in the case of our Lord of the Cuddles here, the taking of it too, which makes him seriously demanding—”
“Does it please you to be cursed only to be able to sing Brittany Spears songs?” I raised my head, narrowing my eyes.
Fox snatched his hand away from my hair like he’d just realized that he’d been stroking a grizzly that’d disguised itself as a plushie.
I smirked. Pettable arse, shiny hair, and predator vibes all working. I was on fire.
Sleipnir almost stopped playing, before he masked his alarm. “Did I say demanding? I meant pettable, trust me.”
I snuggled back onto Fox’s shoulder with a sigh like I’d just won a war.
Fox tilted his head as he studied Sleipnir, who sprawled across the bed, as if he owned it as well as the academy. “Are you a jinni?”
Sleipnir broke off his tune with a twang of broken notes that set my teeth on edge. Then he gaped at Fox. I tightened my hold on Fox just in case Sleipnir decided that he was in a spanking mood and not the fun kind.
My arse was made for spanking, stroking, and kissing. Well, it was versatile. Fox’s arse belonged to Voyeur Ghost; it was why he was anointed with her scent.
And why I loved him.
Sleipnir frowned. “I’m a rock god.”
I spun towards the bed, launching myself onto it and crawling towards Sleipnir, who smelled like the sun on hot mountain pebbles. “Can we be groupies, please?”
Fox crossed his arms. “I’m no one’s groupie. I’m a shimage.”
For the first time, Sleipnir’s expression softened, and his eyes flashed with something close to pity. “Odin’s spear, stop kicking your own ass. I’m certain that you’re not a shit mage. I can be a bit of a prick but I’ll still help you discover your talents…”
Fox gritted his teeth. “Are all immortals this…?”
“Alluring?” I waggled my eyebrows.
“Awesome?” Sleipnir suggested.
I bounced to my knees. “Adorable, angelic, and assalicious.”
Fox spluttered with laughter. That was a fine sound.
Sleipnir shrugged. “Only Bask here,” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and I preened, “and me.” He held out his hand like suddenly he’d remembered his manners and was the one doing Fox a favor. “I’m Sleipnir, the son of Loki.”
Fox shrugged, before strolling to the bed and shaking the hand of the god like it was only polite.
I rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you just say Loki’s son?”
I’d never doubted that his da was Loki, the Norse god of mischief and mayhem. I still didn’t know who his ma was though.
Sleipnir’s fingers squeezed Fox’s, as his candy pink eyes danced with laughter like he was sharing a secret joke with him. Fox shook with the shock of the new connection like he’d never had anyone offer him friendship before.
Had he been as lonely as me?
When Fox wrenched back his hand hurriedly, Sleipnir raised his eyebrow in surprise.
Then Sleipnir flicked my forehead. “You have no style.”
Oh, he so didn’t just insult my honor…
Rule 18 of the Incubi Night Code: If someone attacks your sense of style, attack them where it hurts.
My lips curled in a way that would make even a god’s balls shrink back inside them and wave the white flag, before I straddled Sleipnir’s lap. “I have plenty of style, Slippy.”
Yet when I ground down on Sleipnir’s lap, it was Fox who groaned.
Perhaps, he had been as lonely as I’d been, when I’d been trapped with no one but the Duchess and the other bonded incubi, because the way that I conquered Sleipnir with just my arse (an incubus must use whatever weapons they have handy), made him cross his arms in a poor attempt to hide how his hands shook.
Sleipnir gripped my hips, stilling me, before he assessed Fox. “Hey, talking of style, I take it that you’re a Goth?”
Fox blinked at him and then glanced down at his black suit. “Did my copy of The Satanic Bible give it away? Or did the porters bring up my coffin? I mean, tomorrow I have plans to slaughter someone…or myself, I haven’t decided yet, but it’s in my diary for between 9 and 9:30.”
“Whatever,” Sleipnir scoffed. “So, you want to lie that today was your mom’s funeral as well?”
“Why would I do that when it was my dad’s?” Fox replied, softly.
My breath hitched, and I tumbled to sit cross-legged next to Sleipnir on the bed. My eyes smarted with tears, but I didn’t let them fall because crying was ugly, and it’d been beaten into me enough that I had no right to make myself ugly.
No one loved an ugly incubus.
I missed ma. It’d been three years since I’d last been allowed to see her. Now that I’d been shamed (so, the truth of it was that I’d shamed myself by failing to please the Duchess, and even thinking that felt like a boot to the balls), and sent away to the academy, I had no right to see my family ever again.
My hands fisted in my lap.
Sleipnir’s expression became stricken. He laid down his guitar, before tugging Fox to perch on the bed next to him. I curled my hand around the back of Fox’s neck again.
“I’m sorry,” Sleipnir whispered.
Fox blinked away tears.
Then Sleipnir grinned. “The asshole witches are going to hate you. You’ve more of a silver tongue than my dad, and hey, I’m only here because they’re trying to capture his ass.”