That was right: treat the incubus with the respect he deserves.
Willoughby continued to massage my arse with tender strokes, rubbing lower onto my thighs. I stretched out in his lap like I was the cat, widening my legs to tempt him to dip his hand between them to my aching balls.
Come on…
“Now you have me for what you desire,” I panted, “you don’t need to go looking for clone love.”
The Rebel Café could produce clones. I had one of Lysander called Andro, who was submissive. I could summon Andro whenever I had the urge be in charge. I loved him, and in his own way, he loved me. It’d devastated me when Lysander had discovered about him.
Okay, it’d been a wee bit devastating for Lysander as well.
Now I was intimate petting buddies with Willoughby I understood because Willoughby had conjured a clone of me.
Could I help it if I was jealous of my own clone?
When Willoughby stopped touching me, I forced myself to halt my desperate humping. It was only polite.
“You know about Bas?” He asked with an iciness that made me wonder if this sexy spanking might turn into the type of thrashing that’d end up with Magenta disappointed in my bravery.
At the thought of her displeasure, my dick wilted.
“Lay off, I’m the one over your lap. You’re one of us now, and we don’t keep secrets.” I huffed.
When Willoughby’s fingers carded through my hair, I startled. “I beg your forgiveness. I’m truly grateful for your welcome and petting opportunity.” I rubbed my head against his hand to show that his apology had been accepted. “But Bas is… I love him, and it matters not that he’s a clone. He’s not less worthy for it. Andro isn’t the same as Lysander to you, surely?”
I snorted. “Would Lysander kneel and suck my dick?”
Magenta laughed. “Only in my wicked dreams.”
Willoughby’s fingers tightened in my hair. “I know that Bas isn’t you.” His voice suddenly became anguished, “Please don’t think that I want you only because of him or do you wish to make me choose between you?”
I wrenched my hair away from him (ouch), and sat up, straddling him. I placed my hands on his cool cheeks, and stared into his eyes.
Wow, they were so blue.
“Listen here, pointy ears, there’s no choosing because here’s the thing, love isn’t like punishment and reward points that get shared from one side of the board to the other. It doesn’t work in the way that the bad bastards in this academy want you to believe, where you need to pick one side and then that’s all you can have: Princes or Immortals, clones or non-clones, Rebels or Magenta…” When I glanced at her, she floated her mists towards Willoughby and me, catching us in their embrace. We clutched onto each other, as she held us, and I shuddered. Now this was where I could live forever. “We’ll never ask you to choose. You already have us, if you desire?”
Willoughby’s gaze caught Magenta’s, and his smile was soft. “I desire.”
Yet I knew that this couldn’t be forever. I belonged to the Duchess. But first, I’d make sure that this Prince escaped with the Immortals.
He was ours now, just as much as our whipping boy.
All of a sudden, Fox let out a wail and dived towards his snowcat, which had fallen over to the side. Its mouth had blurred into a frown, its ears had melted, and its nose had dropped off.
Fox patted it sadly on the shoulder. “Farewell Leader of the Abominable Snowcat and last of your kind. You were once a good mate but soon, you’ll be nothing but a puddle and then, I’ll enjoy jumping in you.”
Sleipnir straightened from his slouch. “Nothing melts here.”
Magenta’s eyes widened, before she glanced at the way her mists curled around Willoughby and me.
Willoughby’s love must be breaking the Membership and the academy’s curse.
Would it be enough…?
Yet the rest of the grounds were still deep in snow, and the snowflakes still drifted from the clouds.
“I would say a few words to mourn your friend’s passing,” Willoughby said (I kissed the tip of his nose just because I loved to hear the easy way that he now bantered without Lysander guarding him), “but we’re all meant to be gathering in the Rebel Café.”
Magenta cocked her head. “All as in Princes as well as Immortals…?”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Sleipnir growled.
Willoughby clasped his arms around my middle. “Juni ordered us to join you in a final hour of Compulsory Relaxation before your mission. I was meant to find you and tell you after my skating.”
“Why do I feel that relaxation is a euphemism for torment,” Fox said, wiping his damp hands down his coat.
“Oh no, we’ve already had Torment Thursday,” Magenta said merrily. “I’d imagine that this will be more like a terrifying chore with some angst mixed in. After all, Lysander shall be there.”
“Midnight as well,” Fox added.
There was one Prince and his whipping boy to tempt to our side, and I’d already proven that my arse was tempting.
“Giants and dwarves, a whole hour trapped in that crazy café,” Sleipnir gritted out, “with the prince who’d win a contest for the Least Relaxed Asshole ever, and I mean that both ways.” I snickered. “Honestly, I’m stressed enough about the mission that we’ll end up killing each other way before the hour’s over.”
“Surely we can use the time to learn more about each other.” Magenta exchanged a glance with Sleipnir, and his eyes glittered with understanding. Did she mean to discover ways to wreck them or to love them? It wouldn’t hurt to treat ourselves to a wee bit of both…? “In case I haven’t been clear: we’re all surviving.”
Yet why did the witches want to lock us together for an hour? My incubi senses prickled that there was something more dangerous planned than hot baths, dancing, or sucked dicks.
When I rested my head against Willoughby’s chest, I could hear his heart thudding a beat that was as rapid as mine.
What secrets would the next hour reveal and would we survive?
Chapter Eighteen
SLEIPNIR
One thing that the son of Loki didn't do well in the face of danger was relax. On Tyr's ass, this hour of Compulsory Relaxation with the princes was going to suck.
Jormungand, my brother, was always better at indolence and napping. Fenrir burned with hot-tempered protectiveness. It didn't matter that they both lived inside me because right now, I was myself.
Plus, I feared for my lovers, despite Fenrir's howled excitement for the wild risk of the mission.
The thrill vibrated beneath my skin, but I held it inside because I also ached with grief. I missed Hector. I hadn't loved him in the same way as Bask because I kind of didn't think that I honestly could feel like he did.
Omens and runes, I swear that Bask laid his heart on a silver platter for every monster to devour.
Including me.
Now for the first time I did love, however, and I was terrified that death would claim the other Immortals on this mission.
Yet if it did, I'd break through the veils and resurrect them. After all, my magic had already worked once on Magenta. I wouldn't lose any of them.
Wasn't that love?