The mages weren’t the only ones damaged by the witches.
Echo was terrified of being forgotten and alone. It shook me that I couldn’t be certain that when I escaped the academy, the crows would also be able to escape. Yet their magic was woven with mine.
Please, let that be enough.
“I could never forget the most loyal familiar with the unique singing voice,” I insisted. Echo preened. Then I glanced at Flair. “Or his rude twin with the wickedest sense of humor.” Now it was Flair’s turn to preen. “I was merely distracted.”
“Pluck my feathers and call me a bitch, of course you’ve been celebrating that you saved your special mage. Your cock lane has been distracted by his…cock.” Flair winked.
He threw himself onto his back, cycling his legs in what was a remarkably accurate imitation of Fox in his sexy pose.
Had they been playing voyeur?
Of course they had. They were sensual vampires, who’d been transformed into my familiars and then ghosts. Who’d deny them such simple pleasure?
Well, possibly the rest of my lovers…
Perhaps, I should talk to Flair and Echo about not being quite so creatively insulting to them?
Yet I understood being possessive, and my familiars were already sharing me. Politeness would be pushing it.
My smile was tight. “We failed the mission, and he was walled up alive.”
Flair’s legs stopped kicking in the air with comical slowness. He lay on his back, staring at me in shock.
“Well, shit,” he breathed.
I always wished that I had Flair’s succinctness of speech.
Awkwardly, he shuffled back onto his scaly feet.
“He’s your mage,” Echo said, “but if he fades, so will you. We were with you every painful moment after the last one was murdered. As I have Fallen, I thought that I’d lose you.”
“If the world was fair, I’d wear all the Rebels’ balls as baubles.” Flair flapped around my head. “But since you love him… Save him, boss.”
“Save him, save him, save him,” Echo sang in his offkey unique singing voice.
I winced, rubbing my finger over his head, but my eyes flashed, as I glanced at the study door. “On my Wickedly Charmed magic, I swear that I shall try with every last drop of blood.”
“How about just giving it hundred percent effort?” Echo rubbed his head against me.
Despite myself, I smiled, lifting Echo off my lap and onto the sill. “Hundred and ten percent effort and my blood.”
Echo and Flair cawed their satisfaction before swooping out of the window.
“Talking to yourself, witch?” Lysander’s sneering voice called down the corridor. I twirled around in shock. “Are you mad with grief already? Plus, to save your blushes from making such an elementary mistake again, there’s no such thing as a hundred and ten percent.”
Lysander marched towards with me with a stiffness and guarded expression that I now recognized for what it was: a mask.
It wasn’t real.
Was Titus monitoring Lysander in this part of the castle near Damelza’s study more closely than elsewhere?
Even so, such coldness from my fae hurt.
When had Lysander become mine?
Prince Willoughby strode at Lysander’ shoulder and Midnight followed behind. For the first time, I realized that they looked like a team, as much as I was with my lovers. They truly cared for each other.
Prince Willoughby sought out my gaze. His sky-blue eyes that matched his hair, which was snatched back by curling ribbons, were sharp with predatory danger like he was battling to control his deadly power. I didn’t fear him for that because I understood the struggle only too well. The glimmering royal blue silk, which was cursed by his brother, wound around him tighter than I’d ever seen it.
How could he breathe?
I paced in front of Lysander, cupping my hands in front of his nose. “Look, here’s my teacup of care. My word, it’s empty.”
To my surprise, Lysander’s guilty gaze met mine. “My apologies. One…doesn’t handle loss well.”
My expression gentled. “That makes two of us.”
“Three,” Willoughby said, softly. When his hands clasped around mine, caressing along their backs, my skin tingled. “What happened to the whipping boy and professor isn’t worthy. We shall make it right.”
I blinked in confusion. Bonding over Fox’s punishment certainly hadn’t been part of my win over the Princes plan, but I was adaptable.
Was their outrage enough for them to rebel even against their own families and kingdoms?
“Four,” Midnight murmured.
Midnight hunched his shoulders like he expected Lysander to snap at him to silence his tongue, insolent whipping boy.
Perhaps, a week ago he would’ve done. Yet now, Lysander stiffened but he didn’t threaten punishment.
Ah, progress.
Midnight was as beautiful — and naked — as ever. I studied the way that his dark hair fell in waves over his pale skin to his waist. Stars above, did he realize what a perfect frame his hair created for his pretty prick?
Surely, if he’d been carved from marble, his creator would’ve fallen in love with him.
How easy it’d be to love this gentle vampire.
By the anguish in his charcoal eyes, I was certain that Midnight adored Fox. Yet why was he shooting me such quick glances from underneath his eyelashes, as an adorable blush spread across his cheeks?
Then I noticed the way that his ash wings were folded back in a system of leather straps, and I blanched.
Damelza had broken his wings with a hex to punish the Princes for losing the Rebel Cup to the Immortals.
Sweet Hecate, the way that he’d screamed…
How could Damelza not have allowed Willoughby to heal him?
I reached out, stroking Midnight’s cheek, and his eyes widened. “On my word as a witch, I wish that I could’ve saved your wings.”
“My royal personage told you that I was fighting for Midnight’s wings more than once,” Lysander’s voice was cold and hard, “but you wished to save your mage. One shan’t allow that to have been for nothing now because you failed a mission.” Lysander marched to the study door; he vibrated with anger. “Being a Prince means that I take precedence.”
Not on my witchy behind.
When Lysander raised his fist to knock, I melted my legs to mist and floated next to him, brushing his hand out of the way. He hissed in outrage. I rapped on the door loudly enough to wake, well, the dead.
Lysander’s eyes flashed, and I smirked.
When he raised his hand again, I clasped mine around his.
I didn’t think so.
My mists wrapped around Lysander, yanking him back and forth. Willoughby sighed, attempting to dive between us, as Midnight sided with me. The accidental press of his prick, as it hardened from the friction of our scuffle, was pleasant against my hip.
Actually, this was all surprisingly stimulating and exactly what I needed.
Then the door fell open, and we tumbled in a heap into the study.
Haunting, mesmerizing music wound through the study like a victory song. It was the type of popular music that Bask and I should’ve stripped and made sweet love to, but it’d be forever spoiled by the image of Damelza dancing to it like she commanded each note to play.