“Just our asses?” Sleipnir asked coolly, even though his gaze darkened. “What about our ears or our dicks…?”
When Ambrose gripped Sleipnir hard by the chin, I realized that I was shaking with rage in a way that I never had before because this fury wasn’t for my own mistreatment but for Sleipnir’s and for the dragon shifters’.
Prickles jabbed beneath my skin, and I rocked from foot-to-foot. Bask tightened his hold on my neck.
Any moment, Mr Fierce the hedgehog would burst out, and I wouldn’t be held responsible for any bloodshed, smackdowns, or even (no matter how much my kittenish side mewled in protest), pricked wings.
I was going Hedgehog on the pretty fae because that was how I rolled.
“If you don’t, then I’ll sling all of you…asses, ears, and dicks…into detention with Professor Bacchus again.” When Ambrose’s lips curled back, I recoiled.
Ambrose’s teeth were pearly white and as sharp as fangs.
Why had no one told me that fae were part vampire?
I didn’t miss Sleipnir’s shudder or the way that he bit his lip. He still rolled his eyes. “Huh, threatening me with the witch who kidnapped me. That’s the type of messed-up dickishness that I’d expect from a jerk ex-Prince turned professor.”
Ambrose snarled, tossing Sleipnir backward into a snow drift, where he landed with an oomph. My eyes widened. Sleipnir was taller than Ambrose — and a god — but Ambrose was one badass fairy.
I often became confused between the tales that dad had told me of the real supernaturals and the ones that I’d read in my novels written by non-magical authors and the Disney films that I loved.
Aquilo had sniffed in disdain when he’d caught me watching Peter Pan, but he’d still settled down to watch it avidly with me because most witch Houses didn’t allow TVs in their homes. Witches protected non-magical humans but had no interest in their true lives.
Dad must’ve bargained…sacrificed…something major to ensure I had that entertainment.
Yet now all I could imagine was Ambrose’s emerald military uniform transforming into a short green dress and slippers with white puffs. Maybe I had a secret cross-dressing fetish hidden so deeply that I’d never realized it until now because okay, who hadn’t wanked over that naughty but seductive Tinker Bell?
What, just me then…?
Even the vision of Ambrose with pixie dust erupting from a wand that was definitely not Disney approved, couldn’t stop the flush on my cheeks being from anger at Ambrose’s attack on my new student friend, rather than arousal.
Truth: it was a heady mix of both. Sue me.
With a pop of glitter, I transformed into an albino hedgehog. Hex my balls and call me a witch, Mr Fierce was on the rampage.
Berserker rage flooded my mind. Kill, kill, kill…
My ghost white bristles stood out like spears, as my red eyes blazed. I let out my warrior high pitched squeal, before tucking my head down and rolling through the snow to hit Ambrose’s foot.
Feel the hedgehogy wrath…
I emitted a furious clicking sound as I jumped up and down because if the professor didn’t fear me after this display, then maybe I’d pull out the big guns and start with the biting.
Ambrose gawked down at me. “Would one of you care to explain why the new student is making sweet love to my boot?”
Worms and prickles, he’d done it now.
I hissed, uncurling and biting Ambrose’s toes through the leather. Any minute, he’d be screaming… Any minute…just a little longer…
My little black nose whiffled in disgust. Yuck, how long would I have to lick Ambrose’s boots, before he broke?
Bask giggled. “He’s a shimage.”
Ambrose shot Bask a censorious look, hooking his hands on his waist around the whip in a way that should’ve been intimidating but hello, Tinker Bell wank bank fantasies. “I know that he’s nothing but a ball of prickles,” hey, I resented that anti-hedgehog prejudice, “but will you leave off insulting your fellow Rebels.”
“A shimage,” Bask repeated more slowly. “Who right now looks like his inner shifter has a problem with you.”
Ambrose shook his boot, and I fell backward with a grunt. “Respect my position. You swagger around forgetting that once I was a Rebel just the same as you. I was one of the few to survive, however, and I earned this professorship.” His gaze slid to Sleipnir’s who suddenly pinked. “How long do you imagine that I’ll survive if my dragons keep escaping?”
Was that a flash of guilt in Sleipnir’s eyes? Was this freeing of the dragons one of his campaigns and would Ambrose pay the price?
My fury died down to a bubbling simmer.
I knew what it was like to suffer in fear of witches. How long had Ambrose been imprisoned here, under the control of the House of Crows, even if he was a professor?
And survive…? I knew that this academy was dangerous, but the Seelie was simply being dramatic, right?
Sleipnir tilted his chin up defiantly; the wolf tattoos snarled. “Whatever. I can only count one escaping right now. Are you certain that you graduated if you can’t count, professor?”
Ambrose’s wings arced out in golden glory, before he dropped over Sleipnir, caging him with his arms. “If I can prove that you broke Marcus’ collar to free him…?” Then he took a shuddering breath, calming himself. When he continued, his voice was quiet but even deadlier, “The principal in her infinite kindness hasn’t granted me permission to fly until term begins. But then, wasn’t that part of your plan?” And there went the flash of guilt in Sleipnir’s eyes again. “Maybe you want me to suffer or perhaps, all you care about is mayhem and mischief like your dad.”
Sleipnir became ashen. “Don’t talk about my dad.”
Ambrose huffed with laugher; it blew across Sleipnir’s cheeks like dragon mist. “Aye, right because he’ll appear any moment and spank me. Oh, wait, he won’t because he’s abandoned you.” Bask hissed in fury at the same time as me. Ambrose glanced around at all of us; the moonlight shone on his fangs. “Recapture Marcus or you’ll be punished. Then this term, you’ll have more to fear than the Princes. You’ll discover why the fae are the cruelest warriors.” His eyes flashed dangerously. “If you make me your enemy, I swear that it’s a battle I shall win.”
Truth: You’re leaving me no choice. Obey me or suffer.
When Marcus roared above us, swooping towards the stables, Ambrose didn’t even flinch. My nose twitched, however, and I curled into a ball. Rebel Ghost’s cool breeze cocooned around me.
What kind of ever-witching choice was that for a hedgehog?
I either captured an enraged dragon or turned my fae professor into an enemy who’d make it his mission over the next term to see me suffer.
As a fox shifter trapped in an attic for over a decade, I’d dreamed of hunting many things: crows, reality show contestants, and Jiminy Cricket. But even I hadn’t been able to trick myself that I’d get the chance to stalk a dragon.
Rebel Academy — offering new hunting opportunities since 1870.
I’d have to drop that in the Suggestion Box for Damelza. Maybe she’d give me a gold star.
I lowered my head in my Arctic fox form, slinking through the snow around the stables. My cream coat camouflaged me. I hesitated in the stables’ shadows. My eyes stung in the smoky mists.