An incubus, however, doesn’t have any modesty. Come on now, just look at my sexy self. How could I be so cruel as to deprive others of this view?
“Fine with me,” I smirked.
Magenta raised her eyebrow. “Echo says that these contests are modern duels. Although, he’s also excitedly chattering about adding to his Wank Count, so I find myself fascinated to witness how a duel can end in…self pleasure.”
I flushed, as Magenta’s tongue darted across her lips. She never broke her gaze from mine, as her black mists spread across the circle, surrounding me. I was drowning in her, and yet she hadn’t even touched me. Did she know? Her eyes sparked with love, and I smiled, willing her to understand how much I longed for her.
The Duchess had made me hurt for her, but I’d die for Magenta.
Fox edged closer to the center of the circle (don’t think you’re sneaking a pillow, foxy), before casually offering, “Okay, I’ve never played strip poker before, but I’m sure that I’ll get the hang of it. The loser has to take off a piece of clothing, right? Wow, it’ll be fun to find out if Serenity magicked you silk panties.”
Lysander’s expression darkened, as he shifted uncomfortably on his knees (he was enjoying the sensation of silk on his dick for definite). “Hmm, am I temped to play poker with the mage whose magical talent can tell if I’m bluffing…?” He cocked his head as if in thought. “Shockingly, I’ll pass.”
“Godling,” Serenity cooed, “as your stress adviser, I suggest that it’d be a fine way for you to relax if you took off all your clothes, so that I could take a closer look at your muscles… I mean, if you played strip poker.”
Sleipnir crossed his arms. “Like an Unseelie wouldn’t cheat at cards.”
Lysander pressed his hand to his chest in mock outrage; I smothered my grin. “Like a prince would ever be caught cheating.”
Sometimes, I thought Lysander was as much an incubus as me.
Magenta glanced between us. “As Prefect, I insist that the game should be fair and mustn’t risk any of my Rebels.”
“Are you pulling Prefect rank already?” Lysander sneered. “The same responsibility rests on my shoulders. Then how about magical Russian roulette?”
“Bullets have a tendency to risk death,” Magenta commented with a deadly coolness. Sparks lit the dim room, and Lysander quailed. “I died once, and I’m not quite ready to repeat the experience.”
“Magical,” Lysander repeated, clasping his hands tightly on his knees. “One is excellent at potions, remember? Each Wing chooses a challenger who takes two attempts to drink. So, four turns in total. Three shall be harmless and the fourth…”
“Please say: Turns you into a parrot, which can only be taught to squawk “Help! I’ve been turned into a parrot!”” Fox bounced up and down with excitement but stopped when we all looked at him. He shrugged, awkwardly. “What? That’s been a lifelong dream of mine.”
“It wouldn’t be fun if you knew what the potion did now, would it? But I swear that it shan’t cause death or any lasting harm.” Lysander’s smile grew.
Willoughby shuffled backward. “I don’t want to play. None of us should.”
“Honor dictates that we’re all part of this.” Lysander gripped Willoughby by the ankle, dragging him to the circle. “For your refusal, I think we have the volunteer from the Princes.”
I gasped, and my gaze shot to Willoughby’s frightened expression, although he masked it hurriedly with his usual haughtiness. But he knew Lysander better than us, and I’d learned at the Duchess’ hands that there was a brutal amount you could still do to someone that didn’t leave lasting harm.
What if the potion made me less pettable…?
Magenta’s expression hardened. “If you had any honor, fae, as Prefect you’d be playing yourself. I’d be delighted to try this game.”
I froze, horrified. There was not a chance that I’d let Magenta play against the Princes. I hadn’t saved Hector, and I might not be able to save Fox. If the Duchess took me away, then I wouldn’t be able to protect any of the Immortals like I’d sworn that I would. But I could now, even if it was only playing magical Russian roulette.
I wondered if this was how the ancient incubi had thought their warrior descendants would turn out? I’d say not…at a wild guess.
When I grasped Willoughby’s hand, his confused gaze met mine. “If it pleases you, let me fight for the Immortals’ honor.”
At the chorus of noes, I bristled.
“I’m not weak.” I shuffled, until my knees touched Willoughby’s, and we faced each other: opponents but not rivals. “I can’t touch you,” I glanced at Magenta, and she bit her lip, “but let me show you that I love you.”
Sleipnir shook his head.
I tilted up my chin. “I’m doing this. Let me feel something.”
Willoughby’s smile softened from his usual icy-cold. “You’re a worthy and brave adversary.”
Then I spluttered, as Lysander thrust his wing thwapping across my face.
“Let’s play this the traditional fae way,” Lysander said. “Serenity, infuse my feathers with Potion One.”
I blinked. I was meant to lick the first bullet from his feathers…? Yuck. I didn’t know where he’d been.
I wrinkled my nose, as my pulse pounded. Was this the harmless potion or the one that’d magically kick me in the balls and lose me the game? I took a deep breath, before licking.
Lysander wasn’t able to hide his shiver at the touch because a fae’s wings were as sensitive as an angel’s. He’d use any excuse to get my tongue on his privates.
Then I choked on the intense taste of sweet cherry blossoms. Somehow, I’d expected Lysander to taste sour.
The Immortals crowded closer in alarm, but I held my hand up to keep them back. After a long moment, I did a thumbs up.
Lysander thrust his wing to Willoughby’s lips. “Potion Two.”
Willoughby clenched his jaw, before licking. When he also nibbled, hard enough for Lysander to yelp, I grinned. Except, my heart beat too rapidly in my chest, as I watched Willoughby’s shuttered expression desperately for signs of pain, transformation, or…something.
Was I hoping that he took the bullet or that I did? I had to win or my lovers would be forced on the mission at the end of the week. But I didn’t want Willoughby to be hurt either. I’d barely thought about the elf before, but being massaged and touched by someone held importance to an incubus. He’d treated me like I was precious, and no son of Night could ignore the debt owed. It was this whole thing.
After a moment, the tension in Willoughby’s shoulders relaxed, but he gripped my hand tighter.
Lysander’s wing raised to my lips again. “Potion Three.”
I couldn’t look up at the other Immortals. The silence was poisoning. My pulse pounded, and I couldn’t swallow. There were fifty: fifty odds of this being the dangerous potion. I’d had experience of deliberately harming myself before for my love; the uncertainty was always worse than the pain.
I didn’t hesitate. I licked Lysander’s wingtip, but this time, a bitter taste like cabbage with just a hint of ginger, invaded my mouth. I gagged, sitting back on my heels. Instantly, I knew that I’d been shot with the bullet.
Helplessly, I curled around my aching guts. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I’d lost…forced us to go on the mission… I’d failed to protect my lovers…