What’d happened to the vampire who’d once crawled behind the Princes?
Fox peered around Midnight. “Yeah, karma for the Boy Who Cried Wolf, right? I don’t know, okay? Flu, side effect of being used as magical guinea pig, exhaustion from my rather busy start to term, or I don’t know, being walled up alive. Could we concentrate on the ball? I’m not more tired than Midnight.”
I glanced at Midnight. “If I could take the hex from you and suffer it myself, I would.” I scrunched up my nose. “Nobody should lose their beauty sleep.”
“Why?” Midnight asked.
“For even skin tone without spots, brighter eyes and—”
Midnight laughed; it was a beautiful sound. “Bones and blood, I meant: why’d you suffer it for me?”
I blinked. “You’re an Immortal now, which means that you’re mine. I love those who belong to me.”
Midnight’s gaze was open and fragile. When he attempted to duck his head, Fox caught him by the chin.
“He means it. He’s obsessive like that,” Fox said.
“Obsessive romantic,” I corrected.
“I hadn’t realized that this was the Love Committee,” Lysander drawled. “One believed that we were the Ball Committee and oh yes, we have to put it on tonight for our professors, families, and patrons.”
Magenta clapped her hands. “There’s a Love Committee? How charming! Can we get swapped onto that?”
Lysander took a shuddering breath. “Titus would be happy if we honored him with a traditional fae style ball.”
Instantly, Magenta’s eyes darkened. “And I should be miserable.”
“Do you still hate all things fae?”
“Not all fae.”
Fox raised his hand. “Are we still talking about balls?”
Sleipnir chuckled.
Lysander’s blush deepened. “Fae balls are spectacular and not all bad. As a child, I was expected to attend. My noble self was bored and despised the formality but still, it was my Court. It was a gilded cage, I understand that now, truly.” He licked his dry lips. “But it was home.”
Willoughby rubbed his shoulder. “We shall allow you this.”
When Willoughby arched his brow at Magenta, she nodded.
“Tell me, what shall we expect from a fae ball?” Magenta asked, gently.
Surprised, Lysander caught her gaze. “Feasts, stars inside, fireworks, ice sculptures, dancing…”
“It is the Yule Ball at Hogwarts!” Fox spluttered, indignantly.
“Why do you keep talking about warty boars to me?” Lysander leaped up, beating his wings.
“He’s ill,” Magenta explained. “It’s probably the fever making him spout nonsense.”
“It’s times like this that I have to ask myself What Would Harry Do?” Fox shoved himself to his feet. “Then I ask myself again, What Would Hermione Do because I’m more likely to survive that way.”
“See,” Magenta sighed, “nonsense.”
A burst of sickening sweet lavender flooded the café. I choked, wrinkling my nose.
Then I gasped in shock as a spray of cold water rained from the ceiling. Princes and Immortals scattered, diving up in shock. Sleipnir broke off his song with a twang of wrong notes. Mist squealed, flaring his nostrils, as he shook his wet mane.
“My hair,” I wailed, “my already way below acceptable levels of shininess hair.”
I stared around at the other drowned rebels, shivering. Then I slipped my comb out of my pocket (because I never leave my bedroom without it, obviously), and brushed my hair frantically.
“Serenity,” Sleipnir growled, “what in Hel’s breath was that for?”
“Just calming the tension,” Serenity’s welsh voice crooned from the walls. “I’m your Stress Counselor, after all. How about you get out of those nasty, cold clothes and into these nice, hot soapy bubbles?”
The center of the room dipped, transforming into a vast marble bath with bubbles that you could get lost in.
It was tempting…
“Let me make this clear,” Sleipnir counted off on his fingers, as Mist snorted agreement on each word, “we’re not stressed, tense, anxious or in need of your relaxation, calm, or therapy.”
Serenity hesitated, before the bath disappeared and the walls changed to pictures of gushing rivers that made me desperately need to piss.
I crossed my legs, hoping that nobody noticed. I covered it by slipping my comb back into my pocket.
Bad dick, you haven’t embarrassed me by wetting yourself for…well, awhile now…in front of the Princes isn’t the time to take up the habit again.
“Carry on, you’re a little stressed,” Serenity sulked.
“Nope.” Sleipnir snatched up his blazer, using it to wipe dry his guitar.
“You’re always stressed.”
“Not this time.”
“Stressed enough to need chocolate…”
“Don’t answer her.” I dived up, slamming my hand over Sleipnir’s mouth. How long had it been since I’d eaten chocolate? I’d be able to give some to Magenta and Fox. I hated that they had to eat the slop, which they fed us Immortals at the academy. “If it pleases you, Serenity, my shoulders are feeling a wee bit tense. What’s this about chocolate?”
“Chocolate is high in magnesium to help you relax,” Serenity said, slyly. “It also raises your endorphin levels. Do you know what else raises your endorphins?”
My slinky self had scored full marks in the theory part of my sex education in the incubi harem. Both that and the practical side had been thorough.
Rule 42 of the Incubi Night Code stated: You can never have too much pride in your sexual knowledge or prowess.
“Screwing.” I preened.
Then I glanced around expectantly, crossing my arms.
Why wasn’t petting tribute coming my way as reward? In the incubi harem, I’d have received at least two strokes for getting the correct answer.
“That’s right: admit to your needs!” Serenity said, brightly. Oh, Lysander so didn’t just send me a judgey look. “And when you combine chocolate and screwing you get…chocolate body paint.”
Something dropped from the ceiling.
I yelped, stumbling into Lysander, before I caught the large bottle of chocolate paint.
“Come closer to me with that, incubus, and I shall cover your balls in it, before I bite them off,” Lysander hissed.
“Unfriendly.” I stroked along his cheek with my gloved hand, and his eyes widened. “Here’s the thing, I was going to lick it off your wings…” Lysander’s eyes became glassy, and he melted into my touch. “But since I value my balls, I’ll lick it off Midnight’s wings, instead, as long as he desires it.”
I glanced up to meet Midnight’s gaze, and by the way that his pupils dilated, his prick did a happy twitching dance, and his wings spread wide in welcome, he desired it.
I walked Midnight backward towards the couch, pressing him down onto it (and there was definitely increased incubi mesmerizing power in my MTT powered fingers). To be fair, Midnight threw himself excitedly onto the couch like a willing sacrifice. When I stroked through his outstretched feathers, he shuddered. I couldn’t help the wince, however, because I remembered his wail, as Damela had broken these stunning wings and how sensitive they were.
I unscrewed the jar, shuddering myself at the vanilla infused scent of chocolate.
Come to my licky licky tongue…
I crawled over Midnight with a slink of my hips. Midnight’s soft eyes widened.
Silly vampire, didn’t he think that he was looking at another predator?
I dipped my thumb into the gooey, warm body paint, before drawing it from Midnight’s wingtip to his shoulder, tracing the line of his feathers. The long line of his neck arched back like he was begging me to bite.