The Entanglement of Rival Wizards (Magic and Romance, #1)

by Sara Raasch

To everyone who found themselves at a DND table

Lock up your kids, Sebastian Walsh might come along and tempt them to fall upon the sacrificial altar of student debt.

What’s the point of magic if you don’t get to use it for silly shit anyway.

A huge chunk of skin—muscle?—falls off his body and plops onto the floor. I grin. “Perfect.” Orok gags. “You need help, Seb.”

Then he bends and licks the desk, leaving a good amount of his tongue behind. Orok gags again. I grin again. “Good boy, Sten,” I say in a cutesy voice.

“Did you think I was trading sexual favors for a dead body?” “Like you haven’t done shit more reckless than that.” His accusation holds. Intensifies. “You’ve been more … unhinged lately.”

Crescentia sizes me up and sips her beer. “Actually, pass. You’re always giving off high-maintenance vibes.” My squeak of offense is swallowed in music blaring from the kitchen. “Fuck you very much, I am not high maintenance.” “Eh.” Orok rocks his hand back and forth.

“This is the last time our codependency cockblocks me. You are whatever’s the opposite of a wingman.” “A thigh-woman,” I say without missing a beat.

“Because I’m the picture of motherfucking innocence?” I give him my best syrupy smile.

“Hardly,” he growls. “It’s because I know you’re not good enough to have broken my ward, like you’re not good enough to win that grant tomorrow. Are you, sweetheart?” The fucker pats my cheek.

“Wait. Are you asking me to go raw, then blast a load with you?” I tip a cheesy grin at Orok and Crescentia. They share a long-suffering look.

“You went almost half an hour hanging around my teammates without making a rawball joke. I’m pretty proud.”

Enacting pranks: a good way to burn off stress. Going to parties: a bad way to burn off stress. But actually burning things? The best way to burn off stress.

TRAFFIC ALERT: Troll warning at the South Street Bridge. Travelers advised to seek alternative routes even if they believe they can answer the troll’s riddle. Adventure party dispatched. Expected time to all clear: two and a half hours.

No charisma potion, like I suspected, but it does have a quad shot of espresso added to my regular drip coffee. I’ve only been poisoned by caffeine and my own neuroses.

“No, Seb’s not been going to church with me,” he tells her and smirks at me like he’s tattling. “He’s still a heathen.” Asshole, I mouth. “You’re right, he is puny!” he says brightly. “That’s what I said yesterday.”

“Have you told your mom you got kicked off the rawball team yet?” Orok’s eyes peel wide a beat before I hear his mom shriek “WHAT?!” through the phone. He hasn’t been kicked off the team. Shit-stirring is my love language. I smile sweetly as I close the door.

“Elethior won’t be able to take your joint project. You both own it equally. If you don’t want it to end up in his family’s hands, it won’t. He’s probably just as concerned that you’ll try to get your joint project to go up online for free.” My smile is sinister. “Oh. Oh, that’s a lovely idea.” I was already planning on pushing this project out for free, so Elethior stewing is icing.

“Go fuck yourself, Walsh.” “I will, and I’ll think of you while I do it.”

“It’s not his fault his owner is a stubborn asshole who thinks invisibility is funny.”

“I told you.” I sit on the edge of my desk. “He likes being invisible. An ex-girlfriend got pissed at me and cursed him, but joke’s on her, because he was thrilled.

“What if I want to talk about it,” he repeats, “because I can’t stop thinking about it?”

Kissing Elethior Tourael should be as catastrophic as the worst thing I’ve done. And it is. But it’s not a bad catastrophe, and I never knew, never fucking knew that calamities could be wondrous, too.

“Another of mine is that I don’t share. Even if this is only physical, I won’t be fooling around with anyone else. And I don’t want you to either. For safety reasons, and because I’m a possessive fucking bastard.”

“I’ll help you forget, I promise. I’ll fuck you so good you won’t remember your own name beyond me calling you baby. But I can do that and still respect you, so look into my eyes and tell me you want my mouth on your cock.”

“Thio.” My words trip over themselves, tongue flicking against my teeth. “What?” He shrugs. Totally chill. “I’ve had your dick in my mouth. Figure you can call me Thio now.”

“Baby boy, you keep standing there, I’m going to pull you onto my lap.”

Players and fans alike do not appreciate it when “Feel the sting” is followed up with “of going raw.” Ask me how I know.

“Please,” I relent, tugging at his arms, his neck. “Please, Thio, fuck me. Fuck me, own me, ruin me—” He kisses me to silence. Eats the last few garbled words. “Oh, I’ll ruin you,” he tells me. “But you’re mine, so I’ll always put you back together again, too.”

We’re both broken, though. And our jagged pieces don’t exactly fit together, but we know how to move around the sharpest points of each other’s, how to adjust and make space so no one bleeds.

What good is living in a world with magic if I can’t use it to make him happy?