Ozma Read online

  Ozma

  Candace Robinson & Amber R. Duell

  Copyright ©2021 by Candace Robinson & Amber R. Duell

  Edited by Tracy Auerbach

  Cover Design by Covers by Juan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book may not be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  For SiriGuruDev

  Chapter One

  Ozma

  Two Years Ago

  Pumpkin innards slid through Tip’s fingers as he swirled his palm around the carcass. He ripped the guts out, threw them in the grass at his feet, and pressed his digits back inside. The pungent odor wafted into his nostrils.

  “I can think of a better use for your hands than that,” a deep voice said from behind him.

  Tip rolled his eyes and turned to face Jack with a grin. “The pumpkins are keeping them a bit pre-occupied at the moment.” But they were itching to be somewhere else, on someone else.

  Jack walked around Tip until he stood in front of him, his orange hair damp from his bath in the lake, his hazel irises greener than ever. Any lingering scent of Tip after they’d made love in Jack’s hut had been washed away. Tip still needed to bathe himself, but why bother when he was required to gut pumpkins? Mombi had to make her pies for the market so there wasn’t much time left.

  They were well hidden on the side of Jack’s hut, diagonally across the field from the one Tip shared with Mombi. Both were the only homes within the witch’s magic barrier, and Mombi’s spells kept Tip and Jack from escaping. Tip had tried running away before, on numerous counts, and it was impossible.

  Not taking his gaze from Jack’s, Tip slowly pressed his hand inside the pumpkin. Jack swiped his tongue against his lower lip, took the fruit from Tip’s hands, and set it to the side. Then Jack caged Tip against the hut and nudged Jack’s nose gently with his own. Blood rushed straight to Tip’s cock.

  “Again?” Tip asked, inching closer to his lover.

  “Again,” Jack whispered, softly licking Tip’s lips before pressing his mouth against his lover’s in a starved kiss.

  Greedily, Tip kissed Jack back and pulled him down to the ground. Bits of pumpkin smeared Jack’s wet hair as he gripped it, making him dirty all over again.

  Their mouths glided over one another, and Tip felt the firmness of Jack’s back as he slid his hand up his tunic. A groan escaped Tip as Jack reached between his legs and stroked him over his pants. The rush, the feeling, he needed him.

  “Turn over,” Tip rasped, bringing them both forward.

  “I like it when you’re demanding.” Jack grinned, kissing Tip right below the jaw.

  Tip preferred when Jack mounted him, but there were moments, like these, where he needed to be inside Jack, desperately.

  As Jack got onto his knees, he reached to unbuckle his pants and stilled, a glazed look appearing in his hazel eyes.

  No. Not again. Tip sighed. He already knew there was nothing he could do to prevent Jack from leaving. Mombi enslaved his mind whenever she needed Jack to cross the barrier, and it terrified him and Tip.

  “Jack, just be careful,” Tip urged.

  “I always am.” Jack smiled, but it wasn’t his real smile.

  “I love you.”

  Jack didn’t return the sentiment as he scowled at the patch, hurrying to gather some of the pumpkins they’d collected that morning. He then placed them into a crate, his body twitching with the need to perform Mombi’s tasks.

  “We’ll get the fuck out of here one day,” Jack finally said, peering over his shoulder. He released a heavy breath and headed off in the direction of the red-flowered trees, toward the barrier, to freedom for a little while. But Jack wasn’t free, just as Tip wasn’t. Jack had told him that he may be able to get out to run errands, but it didn’t mean anything, because he was still a slave while doing it. As soon as he crossed the barrier, he was compelled to finish Mombi's tasks. He couldn't remember things clearly—it was as if his mind was in a fog.

  Tip groaned as he sat up—his length had softened, but he still missed the feel of Jack’s touch. He shoved his hand back into the pumpkin and finished cleaning it for Mombi. But his worry for Jack wouldn’t relent, so he focused on the one memory, years ago, that had changed everything between them.

  Tip picked a few small pumpkins from the patch and set them aside. A thrashing of footsteps caused him to glance up and catch a head full of bright orange hair. He stilled and watched as Jack entered the pumpkin patch, his lips red and swollen after running errands in town. Again. Tip wasn’t as confident as Jack, always feeling like he didn’t fit in his body, so how could he expect Jack to find him attractive when he didn’t feel it himself? Blood coursed through Tip, and he felt it pumping at the vein on the side of his neck. He was angry. Hardly anything could make him truly angry. Not even Mombi. Not when she slapped him across his face, or when her nails bit into his flesh until he bled. Yet Jack’s swollen lips once more had Tip’s fists tightened and his jaw clenched.

  Well, Tip was going to find a way out of his entrapment. And, when he did, Tip would be the only one making Jack’s lips red.

  “Here,” Tip spat, picking up the shovel and throwing it into Jack’s hands.

  Jack didn’t say anything, only narrowed his eyes at him. Tip had never let his emotions get to him this way, never been this harsh with Jack. But he didn’t care.

  Tip could feel Jack’s eyes burning into his back as he headed out of the pumpkin patch and away from Mombi’s hut. After a day of work, Tip always walked back to Mombi’s. For sixteen years, he always had—he wasn’t one to disobey. But now he would. He would break through her magic barrier somehow. That was a promise.

  After he stepped over the last row of newly bloomed pumpkins—still not yet orange—Jack’s hand clasped Tip’s wrist and tugged him back to his chest. “Where are you going?”

  “Out of this cage,” Tip said sharply.

  “Mombi’s barrier won’t allow it.” The tone in Jack’s voice was melancholic. Tip knew his entrapment bothered Jack because he had repeatedly said that Tip should be free to roam wherever he wished. Jack wasn’t truly free either, though. Yet Tip was still envious that Jack could leave. Get touched, caressed.

  Tip whirled around and pulled his arm out of Jack’s grasp. “I’m going to go and get kissed.”

  Jack lifted a brow, a smirk slowly spreading into a smile. “I don’t think so.”

  “And why not? You get kissed all the time when you run Mombi’s errands.” And who knows what else. He’d probably tumbled all of Loland judging by his rumpled state.

  “Even if you could leave, you’re too … innocent.” Jack’s smile still remained.

&n
bsp; Tip narrowed his eyes, his fists shaking. “Not for much longer.” He spun around and trudged toward the forest. “We can’t all get pleasured on our way home.”

  A low growl came from behind him. Then Jack appeared in front of Tip, placing a hand at his chest to prevent him from walking away. “When I leave the barrier, Mombi’s magic makes me forget—you know that. She can’t have me telling anyone about you. All I know when I’m out there is that I need to deliver pumpkins or get her supplies and come back. I never choose to go.”

  “And yet you can stop to fondle someone?” Tip’s voice came out high-pitched. “Every time?”

  Jack smirked again, his freckles glinting under the afternoon light as he took a step back. “Oh, I see now.”

  “What do you see?”

  “You’re jealous.”

  “No, I’m not.” Tip’s cheeks heated. He’d overreacted and had given himself away. With each passing day, it had grown harder and harder to keep his feelings for Jack hidden.

  Jack sighed and shifted closer, angling his face near Tip’s. “When I’m out there, and my mind isn’t clear, I search for dark hair and eyes as blue as the sky. No one’s eyes are as bright as yours, Tip. No one’s. I don’t know why I’m looking for this fae, when I should only be running Mombi’s errands.” He paused, his hazel gaze latching on to Tip’s. “All right, the first part was a lie, I know why. It’s not them I kiss. It’s you. It’s always you. But I’m not good enough for you.”

  Jack turned away and started walking back toward his hut, leaving Tip with more questions than answers.

  “You can’t do that.” He jogged up to Jack, grabbed his upper arm, and spun him around. Jack was at least a head taller than him as he peered up. Tip’s chest heaved and his hands shakily clasped both Jack’s cheeks, bringing him closer, their lips merely a hairsbreadth from touching one another’s. It wasn’t outspoken Jack who made the move first. It was Tip, innocent and shy Tip.

  He pressed his lips to Jack’s, more hard than gentle. Desperate. Hungry. Ravenous as his mouth moved over Jack’s. Tip had known he loved Jack as soon as Mombi had first brought the orange-haired fae home when he and Jack were both younglings. There had never been anything brotherly in their relationship. Only a strong friendship, a bond, and whatever this was.

  Together their lips caressed, together their tongues danced. When Tip pulled back, Jack’s eyes were glazed and looked to be full of stars, just as his own had to be.

  “All the times I’ve dreamt of that kiss, it was nothing like this,” Jack rasped.

  “Me either. This was much better.”

  Tip smiled at the memory and finished the second pumpkin. He took the fruit into his arms and walked them across the field to Mombi’s hut.

  As he entered her home, the scent of spices hit his nostrils, along with several rotten things. Possibly a dead faerie she’d let decay for days. Who knew what else she kept behind the protected barrier of her bedroom—no one could get through the door but her.

  The strong smells signaled that it was another potion for the Wizard to pass off as his own creation. Mombi came scowling out of her room after Tip closed the door. Her gray hair was pulled into a bun, and deep lines were etched in her face, more so around her lips and eyes. The sort of magic she continued to use was draining her of life, arching her spine, hunching her shoulders. One day, Tip knew the dark magic would kill her. And he and Jack both eagerly awaited that day.

  “It took you this long to clean two pumpkins?” Mombi ripped the fruit from his hands and smacked him hard across the cheek. His head swung to the side. The slap burned, but he was used to it.

  The best thing to do was stay silent. He started to turn but Mombi grabbed his shoulder to halt him. “You didn’t answer my question.” Her dim blue eyes bored into him as she leaned closer and inhaled.

  Tip held his breath, his heart beating wildly in his chest. His bath. He hadn’t bathed before coming here. Damn it.

  Mombi took a step back and slammed her hand against his cheek, harder than before, the sound reverberating through the entire hut. “You’ve been fucking the slave!” she shouted and moved back, swiping a clay jar off the table. It crashed to the floor and shattered.

  Tip took a deep swallow and shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

  “You’re lying. I smell him all over you.”

  “No.” She would be able to hear his lie again, but he tried to keep his voice even. “I’m not lying.”

  Mombi stepped over the broken pieces of the jar and held her arm out toward him. She tightened an invisible hand around his throat, her magic biting in, cutting off his air supply.

  The magic continued to squeeze, and he clawed at the air, trying to get out of its wicked grasp. Air. He couldn’t get any in, and he could feel his face turning red, his lips blue.

  Tip was going to die. Mombi was going to kill him. He wouldn’t be able to tell Jack goodbye. The last thing he’d told Jack was that he loved him. At least Jack knew Tip’s feelings.

  Something pulsed through Tip then. Love. More than love. A thrum of power he’d never felt. Tip’s body shook, his skin glowing. Glowing? It was glittering with blue flecks, like stardust.

  Mombi’s eyes widened, her lips parting, and her grip on his throat dropped. She twirled her hand in the air, drawing up her magic, and shooting sparks of various colors at him. But none of it connected with his body.

  An itch tore at his back, then built into something else, as though his skin were painlessly spreading. They broke from his flesh, ripping his tunic, freeing themselves. Wings. Bright blue, feathery wings. It didn’t stop there. His body started changing. His black locks of hair grew long, to his waist, lightening to bright golden hues. Tip’s body seemed to stretch, as if he were growing taller, the sleeves of his tunic and ends of his pants becoming shorter. At his chest, breasts formed beneath his shirt, and he gasped. His body shook and his eyes widened with fear, not understanding what in all of Oz was happening.

  Mombi covered her mouth and hissed as she stared at him in horror. “Ozma,” she growled. The horrified look on her face turned to rage and she jolted forward, knocking Tip to the floor.

  Tip wrestled out from under her and stood back up. He’d lost hold of whatever power was there, his body weakening. A rush of magic came from Mombi as she rose, barreling straight for Tip’s back, severing his wings. Pain rocketed through him and he let out a high-pitched cry.

  That wasn’t his voice at all, but a female’s. Behind him hung a large oval mirror, and he took a glance at himself, while straining to breathe. Higher cheekbones, plumper lips. Nothing about himself looked like Tip at all, except the color of his irises. He was truly female.

  Mombi hurled a ball of orange magic at the severed wings, burning them to ash. Tip didn’t have time to mourn what had just happened, when the front door burst open. Jack. He was back. And he’d come to save him. But it wasn’t his beloved. It was Oz. The only other individual who could cross Mombi’s barrier.

  “What have you done?” The Wizard seethed.

  “What are you doing here?” Mombi snapped back.

  “The slippers felt her curse break and whirled me here with their magic.” He jabbed a finger in Tip’s direction. “Now, explain!”

  “You knew she couldn’t be hidden forever,” Mombi screeched. “With both Pastoria and Lurline dead, you should have killed her.”

  “You know I can’t do that. Has her magic returned yet?” Oz moved toward them, his lips curled to show blackened teeth.

  “Not all of it.”

  “Good.” Oz shifted his cape to the side, revealing the silver slippers—flat and glistening—on his feet. “I suppose I should tell you that you’re Ozma, born of Pastoria and Lurline. You’re the true queen of Oz, but it will remain our little secret.”

  “Wh—what?” Tip croaked. Shock left him rooted in place. “I’m who?”

  “No one … anymore,” the Wizard answered.

  With those words, Tip—Ozma—froze as
a blast of coldness exploded around her. It was as if ice were slowly encasing her body. But it wasn’t. Instead, she was falling through the floor of the hut. Falling and falling through wintry coldness, until she collapsed onto a hard surface. She was not in pain. The only thing that ached was her back, where her wings had lived for a few brief moments.

  But that wasn’t completely true. Because so did her heart. That ached even worse.

  Chapter Two

  Jack

  Two years later

  The sun beat on Jack’s bare back, sending rivulets of sweat down his spine. He did his best to ignore the heat as he cleared weeds from between pumpkins. His bucket was nearly full with invasive sprouts and he still had half a field to clear.

  Jack leaned back on his heels, his knees digging into the soft dirt, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. This had been much faster when Tip was there to help. Or maybe it only seemed to be faster because of the company. The conversation. The stolen heated looks when Mombi was certain not to see. A promise of more when they were finished with their chores. His gaze traveled across the field to where a crystal-clear pond was hidden among the trees. Mombi had refused to let Tip into her hut until he washed the dirt off, which had given them both the perfect excuse for privacy every night.

  Running a hand down his face, smearing dirt over his freckles, he choked back a wave of tears. It had been two years since Tip had died. No amount of crying would bring him back, but they would bring Mombi’s wrath down on him. She could smell the grief on him, smell the salt of his sorrow, and he was supposed to have gotten over Tip. Shit—he was never supposed to have mourned in the first place.

  If only it were that easy. If only he hadn’t been about to ask Tip to marry him. If only he hadn’t planned his entire future around the male he’d loved so much. Tip had been his first lover—the only true one of his life. But, when given the choice to leave, he’d run so recklessly that he was torn apart and eaten in the Shifting Sands. Jack rubbed at the ache in his chest. Why hadn’t Tip said goodbye? Why? Tip could’ve at least given him that… He would’ve fought for him to stay, would’ve done anything. Or maybe he would’ve helped him figure out a way to get around the Sands because Tip deserved his freedom—even if it was without Jack. His goodbye wouldn’t have made a difference in the long run either way, but at least he could’ve asked Tip why he didn’t love him anymore.