Princes of Paradise: An Academy RH Bully Romance (M.A.G.E. (Magical Academy of Gods and Elementals) Series Book 1) Read online

  I approached, only slightly reluctant to leave behind

  the flames that had so transfixed me. “Mr. Cutter...” my

  mother began.

  “Antonio,” he smiled broadly, looking me up and

  down with a jovial air.

  “Antonio, I don't believe you've met my daughter

  yet.”

  “Miss Mackenzy Evers herself?” Antonio held out a

  hand to shake mine. I did so as politely as I could, my cheeks

  turning furiously pink. I had always done my best to stay out

  of the hair of my mother's employers – as the child of a single

  mother, I had learned early on that concierges and bell-boys

  made the best (and often only available) baby-sitters, and

  that my unofficial “day care” would continue as long as I

  avoided the glances of the higher-ups, who tended not to

  look so favorably on twelve-year-olds trading stories of

  celebrity sightings with the regular staff. But Antonio did not

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  look at me, as my mother's old bosses had, as an unfortunate

  imposition, a blot on the otherwise impeccable record of the

  finest Event Planner the West Coast hotel industry had ever

  seen. Rather, he even looked pleased to meet me.

  “She's just as pretty as you said, Rose,” Antonio said.

  “And looks just like you.”

  My mother laughed. “Just the Asian side,” she said.

  “The Italian hair and those green eyes are all her father's.”

  Her laugh died out suddenly. She looked me up and

  down with a sudden concern, as she always did when she

  slipped up and mentioned my father, as if searching me for

  signs of childhood trauma. But there were none to be found.

  I had long come to terms with the story of my conception –

  a somewhat romanticized account of my mother's brief affair

  with an Italian financier who had passed through a Roman

  hotel early in her career – and although I knew little about

  him beside his green eyes and penchant for midnight gelato,

  I was perfectly content with the idea that my mother and I

  constituted a family all our own.

  “I'm glad you've come, Mackenzy,” Antonio said.

  “Are you enjoying the dance?”

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  KAILIN GOW

  “Oh, very much, sir!” I exclaimed.

  “No 'sir,' here,” Antonio shook a mock wagging

  finger at me. “We like to keep things simple here, informal.

  I always tell my staff – what makes a luxury hotel isn't the

  fine napkins or the glitz and glitter in the lobby, it's the

  people who make a great hotel what it is. And we at Cutter

  Imperial are a family. We all care about the hotel. We all care

  about our guests. And that's what makes us the number-one

  hotel in Aeros.” He laughed. “But I'm boring you, talking

  business policy. You should be off with kids your own age.

  With my son, as a matter of fact. Arrived back this morning

  – but of course I haven't seen him for more than a minute or

  two. He's probably gone out to get himself in trouble. Not

  that I blame him, of course. I did far worse at his age.” He

  chuckled.

  “I'd like to meet him,” I said shyly. I knew that it

  wasn't done for staff to mingle with the owners' children –

  but this didn't seem like an ordinary hotel. Besides, my

  senior year would be starting up in a couple of days, and –

  although I had been reasonably popular back home – the idea

  of finishing up my high school career alone and friendless

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  seemed ever more likely as the start of the new term loomed

  closer.

  “He'd probably like to meet you!” said Antonio. “He

  needs to make some friends before he starts school.”

  “But surely he must have...”

  “Nah,” Antonio shrugged. “I sent Chance off to Eton

  years ago – he's been boarding in England and learning to

  take tea with counts and dukes. Not my sort of thing, of

  course – but he insisted.” He sighed. “Any school that

  teaches fencing as a varsity sport is irresistible to the ten-

  year-old mind. Plus, he has family over there – I thought it

  would be good for him to get a proper education, things

  being what they are in the U.S...”

  The Erosion had massively weakened the American

  economy, as transport between the current American

  Archipelago had grown massively more difficult and

  agricultural production in the ocean that had once been the

  American Midwest had all but stopped. The best schools –

  the best everything, for that matter – were increasingly in

  Europe.

  “What made him decide to come home?” I asked.

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  KAILIN GOW

  Few who could afford Eton's sky-high fees would willingly

  choose an American school, although the town's Aeros

  Academy, to which I was being sent thanks to the death of

  an elderly and childless third-cousin, had a good reputation

  as one of the toniest schools in the U.S. A reputation that was

  growing more intimidating by the day.

  “Decide, kicked out – same difference.” Antonio

  spoke quickly, almost too quickly. “He got into a bit too

  much trouble trying to sneak girls onto school grounds. That

  ten-year-old swordsman didn't think too much about girls

  when he went up there – but by eighteen...ah, well. Some

  time in Aeros will be good for him. I don't trust the Brits,

  Rose – too formal for my liking.” Antonio grinned, but his

  smile no longer seemed genuine. It was plastic – almost

  forced.

  I smiled. I could sympathize with this mysterious

  Chance. Playboy or not – certainly he didn't sound like the

  class bookworm – Chance was likely to be as lost and alone

  on day one as I was. Perhaps we'd make friends, I told myself

  – perhaps, like his father, he'd overlook my lowly

  background as the daughter of “the staff,” and we could

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  team up against the cliques and challenges of senior year.

  “See, Mac,” my mother was telling me. “I don't know

  what you were so worried about. You won't be the only new

  kid in the senior class. You'll have Chance there. You two

  can help each other!”

  Antonio grinned. “I'm sure Chance will be glad for

  the company. He needs good, reliable friends. Perhaps you'll

  help keep him in check. God knows he needs somebody to

  do that for him.” Yet as he spoke, Antonio's smile vanished.

  He was no longer talking about a rakish playboy, getting into

  scrapes for seeing too many girls. His voice was too serious

  for that.

  In check? I looked up. Who was this mysterious bad

  boy Chance Cutter – and how could I manage to keep him

  from getting into trouble? I had my own problems to worry

  about – a new school, a new life, this new place – without

  worrying about someone else's? Yet something about

  Antonio's smile gave me a shiver. Did he know something I

&nbs
p; didn't?

  21

  KAILIN GOW

  Chapter 2

  The conversation between Antonio and my mother

  turned once more to business, and I took this as my cue to

  make a graceful exit. As much as I loved my mother, there

  was something about this place, this night, that made me

  want to be alone. Alone to watch the fire-dancers, the

  flickering of the flames. Alone to cast my eyes over the grass

  skirts and the fluttering flowers, the muscled chests of the

  shirtless dancers.

  The feeling of uneasiness I had about Antonio's

  Chance began to grow. I felt as if my body, my blood, were

  reacting to something in the air – like an allergy, a sickness.

  The fire, the music, the throbbing beat of the drums and the

  pulse of the melody, seemed to course through my body; it

  overwhelmed me. I walked closer to the bonfire, my body

  aching to feel the flames once again close to my skin, to let

  them singe and caress me so slowly, so gently...

  The music grew louder. All conversation subsided as

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  the drone of the music, punctuated by the ever-more-rapid

  beat of the drums, took over. I could feel my heart beginning

  to beat to the rhythm – the loud, long wail of the singers

  mingling with this passionate pulsing as the drummers struck

  their hands against the stretched skins of their drums, again

  and again. The flame at the center of the bonfire seemed to

  grow brighter; as I looked into its white-hot heart, I felt all

  at once that it was calling to me.

  Come on, Mackenzy, it seemed to be saying. Come

  here. Come join us.

  I took a step closer. I could feel the heat of the fire –

  so hot now that my skin was prickling and the hairs on my

  arm grew singed – and yet I felt no pain. I felt only a strange,

  dull pleasure in the heat – a pleasure that grew as the music

  grew louder still, echoing in my ears.

  Come on, Mackenzy. Come closer. Come with us.

  Without knowing what I was doing, I took another

  step towards the flame, shaking as I did so. All at once, I

  wanted nothing more than to throw myself onto the bonfire,

  to catch my clothing alight, to burn, burn with the fire and

  the passion and the magic of this music, of this sound. I

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  KAILIN GOW

  wanted it to envelop me; I wanted it to become part of me,

  to be one with the music and with the fire.

  I took another step closer.

  Suddenly, I was pushed back, coming back to my

  senses as a group of masked male dancers made their way

  onto the stage, their sweat-drenched bodies glistening with

  effort as they began leaping and dancing into the air.

  I looked around wildly, trying to figure out what had

  happened. What had come over me? As I looked at the spot

  where I had stood, so painfully close to the flame, so close

  to danger, I was overwhelmed at my own stupidity. Didn't I

  know I could have been killed? It would have been so easy

  for a misplaced spark, a stray gust of wind, to set me alight...

  And yet I had felt that force of desire within me, so

  strong, so overpowering. I had wanted to get closer to the

  flame. I had wanted to be burned. It was just exhaustion, I

  told myself – I hadn't even finished unpacking, and the stress

  of school tomorrow was making me nervous. I was just tired.

  That was all it was.

  The men's dance quickly distracted me. This was the

  most skilled dance I had seen yet, an acrobatic set of jumps

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  and kicks, as the dancers flirted with the flames, their feet

  and arms lightly skirting danger every time their bodies

  passed through the fire. One by one, the dancers were

  reaching into the audience, pulling up women – mostly the

  other hotel guests – to dance. They came – some reluctantly,

  some (including one eminently flattered-looking woman in

  her late seventies) with glee – eager to participate in the luau.

  I tried to slink away as quietly as I could. The event

  with the fire had unnerved me, and although I normally

  loved to dance, I wanted to stay as far from the flame as

  possible, lest that strange desire overtake me again. I looked

  away, hoping no pairs of eyes would catch at mine from

  behind the mask.

  Yet one of the dancers seemed to fix upon me. His

  face was hidden beneath a wooden mask decorated with red

  and orange flames, but a look at his body alone was enough

  to assure me that he was, without a doubt, the most attractive

  of the men onstage. Even sparkling with sweat, his beauty

  was clear. His body was not the lifeless chiseled marble I had

  seen on so many Californian surfers – carefully sculpted

  abdominal muscles that looked as dull and dead as the stone

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  KAILIN GOW

  they resembled – but a powerful, dynamic thing, full of force

  and vigor. His power came not from hours at the gym, but

  from something more. Something deeper.

  It was the sight of this powerful body, so animal in

  its strength, so alluring in its sexuality that made me hesitate

  a moment before trying to get away. And this moment was

  all the man needed. In a single movement, he bounded over,

  taking my hands in his.

  In that instant, I felt a sudden spark, mingled with

  confusion. The strange feeling that had taken over my blood

  earlier seemed to rise up again, stronger this time, as if I were

  in the very heart of the flames themselves. I jumped back,

  surprised at my own reaction. But as I looked at the dancer,

  I felt not strangeness but familiarity – as if I knew this figure,

  knew his touch, knew how it felt to be worshipped by his his

  tongue, his hands, and his body as he made love to me over

  and over again. Had we met before? Certainly not – I had

  only been in Aeros a couple of days. But something about

  the way his fingers held mine...

  No, I was being silly, I told myself. It was just

  exhaustion; that was all.

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  “I should go,” I said. “I'm tired...”

  But the dancer would have none of it. He grabbed

  hold of my wrists and pulled me roughly into the circle,

  moving his hips in time with the music. I watched with

  amazement. Most guys I knew limited their experience of

  dancing to a reluctant grind or two to an R&B song, but this

  was different. This boy seemed totally in sync with the

  music, his body connecting with the force of the rhythm, the

  magic overtaking him. He wasn't just dancing; he was

  making the music with his body, taking part in creating it,

  his hips grinding so erotically to the rhythm, it felt as though

  he was making love to me with his dance.

  And I was moving with him. Even as I felt myself

  resist, I knew it was too late. My body was swaying back and

  forth in time with his. I could smell the sweat on him, his<
br />
  fierce animal musk. Our bodies were so close together that I

  could feel his hot breath on my face. As he held me close,

  his body pulsing with the beat, I looked up into his mask and

  saw two shimmering eyes filled with desire, brilliant and

  blue like the sunlit sky, eyes that seemed to bear deep into

  me, finding me out, knowing all my secrets. His gaze

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  KAILIN GOW

  frightened me. Could he see that deep, I wondered? Did he

  know about the fire – about how close I had come to walking

  straight in? About that feeling of connectedness – with the

  flame, with the music, with this place – that had come over

  me, that was now stronger than it ever had been before?

  I had to break this spell. I had to come back to my

  senses. I tried desperately to make conversation, hoping that

  talking to this mysterious figure, having something as stupid

  and banal as cocktail-party small talk, would break the

  power that the flame had over me, that his hot sweaty body

  had over me, making me clench with desire as his skin

  touched mine, and his hips with his hardness came

  dangerously close to my aching crotch.

  “So, uh, do these happen all the time?” I asked,

  feeling foolish as soon as I said it.

  “Me having a hard-on while I dance on stage? No,

  not often,” his husky voice said, almost mockingly.

  Embarrassed, I stammered, “No, these dances.”

  Again his tone was bored, defiant, like he was angry

  about something. “The hotel puts these on, if that's what you

  mean.” The voice was not what I had expected. It was light,

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  almost dismissive – certainly not American. The accent was

  tinged with the trace of something foreign, although where