Page 11 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Vasili

“Despicable me,” I say lightly into the prickly silence. “All too clearly, I’m in horrible disgrace.”

I’m posing on the cushioned bench before the vanity in the master cabin, peering critically at my pouting reflection (framed in Hollywood lighting, as it should be) while I dab silky pink facial cream under my wary eyes.

“You behaving horribly is, like, a daily occurrence. But, yeah, this is a whole other level.” Zara’s sharing the bench and the mirror and my facial cream, the same way we always do. Sharing this bedtime ritual is typically an enjoyable prelude to sharing other nocturnal pleasures.

Tonight, however, her aqua eyes are glowing with psi fire and annoyance like ultraviolet pinwheels on American Independence Day. This effect is alluring but unsettling—and not at all typical.

In fact, the little darling is still so annoyed with yours truly for biting that demon that I’m surprised she’s not hurling lightning.

Fortunately, Lucius has taught her to channel that lethal energy in ways that are more, shall we say, satisfying?

Thankfully Neo, her fated mate, is a soothing presence. He hovers close behind her tonight, brushing the thick teal mane that falls to her waist in the slow hypnotic rhythm that typically soothes all of us.

Still, Zara’s mermaid curls discharge tiny sparks with every stroke.

In the glass, her gorgeous pinup girl face is flushed with temper and mating heat. It’s far too soon for certainty, but all her alphas—myself (very secretly) included—are hoping she might soon be pregnant.

Whether she is or isn’t, my girl’s tiny body is so delicious in her lingerie—lush sun-kissed curves spilling from the tangerine lace bra and boy-cut briefs I had shipped in our last box from Paris—that I’m prepared to use all my little tricks (even the sneaky ones) to coax her past her pissy mood.

Now I pluck one of the sneakier tricks from my bag of mischief…

Honesty .

I stop dabbing rosewater goop beneath my eyes, carefully assess the result, and fluff the punk-rock shag of silver hair that grazes my shoulders for a sassy boost of volume.

Then I meet Zara’s angry gaze in the glass. “Surely you realize I never meant to give that ridiculous demon a mating bite.”

She rolls her pretty eyes at her own reflection and abandons my facial goop in favor of a tiny pot of honey lip balm. She swipes the balm along the pert bow of her Betty Boop lips with an agitated finger.

“You should have asked first,” she says tartly. “Like Lucius said, we’re all committed, Goblin King. Even you. All of us have a say in a mating bite.”

“I’d like to reiterate, in my own defense, that it wasn’t a mating bite.

” My discontented gaze shifts to Ronin, also visible in the glass.

My boyfriend is sprawled shirtless across Theo Mercury’s surprisingly massive bed (what does that senator get up to in here?) with his head resting on Lucius’ thigh, his sleek black hair spilling over Lucius’ legs, and Lucius’ absentminded hand stroking him like a cat.

Simultaneously, our frowning headmaster—propped against a tidy stack of pillows and primly buttoned into what Zara calls his Downton Abbey pajamas—is poring diligently over that demonic tome I filched from Zephyr.

The dim golden light of the bedside lamp lends the entire scene an air of deceptively cozy intimacy.

Believe me, I intend to take full advantage.

Keep trying, love, Ronin murmurs wryly through our mating bond. Our girl’s not having any, is she? And neither am I. Fancy we can all feel the bloke next door lusting.

Regrettably, this appears to be true. For the moment, I’ve ordered our amorous demon to take up residence in the adjacent cabin and stay put. Safely out of the way, but close enough for me to keep a wary eye on him (and the artifact) through our fledgling bond.

Now I suspect that demon may be a great deal too close to assist my argument.

Waves of potent sexual arousal emanate from the wicked creature, right through the wall between us, like heat from a fiery coal.

Consequently, under the flimsy camouflage of my black silk kimono, I’m doing my best to ignore a raging cockstand. I suspect the sustained sensual assault from being this close to a horny sex demon is making us all irritable.

Especially Zara.

Twisting toward me on the bench, she props her pointed chin on one fist. “Are you even going to take care of that bite you gave him? Since you’re now—apparently—his alpha?”

I heave an inward sigh.

During the deed itself, I gave the initial bite a few obligatory licks to stop the bleeding, of course, with the shifter biochemicals in my saliva.

I’ve certainly been hoping that demon wouldn’t require much more from me in the way of tending.

They’re fast healers, like shifters, according to that grisly volume I borrowed (oh, very well, stole ) from Zephyr.

“I suppose,” I mutter, sounding sulky even to myself, since Zara’s plainly waiting for my answer. “I’ll tend the wretched creature and his wretched bite. Eventually.”

Lucius, fueled by his own powerful alpha instincts, raises his lovely sherry-colored gaze from the demonic text he’s perusing to give me a piercing look.

“Best not delay too long, Mr. Romanov. Or we’ll have a raging case of mating fever on our hands.

Surely you considered that risk before you mated him. ”

These days, with Lucius and me so intimate, that formal mode of address is strictly reserved for those occasions when I disappoint him.

Irritably I rise to my feet, giving my kimono a dramatic swirl for effect. “For fuck’s sake, Lucius. I’m running out of ways to say this. Try to hear me this time, pet, do . I. Did not . Mate him. That bite was meant to be platonic. I said so explicitly before I bit him.”

Zara snorts and leans into Neo, which interrupts the rhythm of their sweet bedtime grooming ritual. “Did you wait for him to agree?”

She knows me so well.

I pout down at her skeptical face.

“He certainly didn’t protest.” Searching for allies, my gaze shifts to Neo, who promptly abandons the hairbrush to crowd into my vacant spot, straddle the bench, and nestle Zara’s back against his front.

So much for being on my side.

Neo is, as always, on Zara’s side.

Unexpectedly, his wide leaf-green gaze lifts to mine.

I’m not on anyone’s side. I mean, we’re all on the same side , he says meekly through our mating bond, which takes me aback. Despite being one of his alphas, neither of us are natural telepaths, so I must be projecting.

Dear me. How gauche.

“That demon,” I say grimly to the room at large, “presented himself to me this morning as very straight. My typically excellent gaydar was simply not pinging. How on earth was I to know the fucking kraken is pansexual?”

Neo gives me a sympathetic grimace.

Our First Boy is both looking and feeling a bit flustered himself, given his proximity to Zara’s lingering heat, not to mention his susceptibility to the sex magic emanating from the neighboring cabin—to say nothing of his susceptibility to me , his horrible alpha.

The poor boy is flushed and his glasses are steamy.

Hmmm.

I might just have to do something about that.

No point letting Ash have all the fun with this one.

“Yeah, well, he probably wasn’t trying to sex you up from inside his summoning circle,” Zara says, very dryly, still fixated on the demon. “He wanted out—free rein to wreak havoc on a whole new plane of existence—and that’s exactly what you gave him.”

Reluctantly I stop eye-fucking Neo and indulge in a bit of pacing between the Alaskan king bed and the wall of rain-scoured glass that overlooks the cabin’s private deck.

“The Horn was in the sea,” I say curtly. “Your charming ex-BFF is a sea dragon shifter. We needed an aquatic ally. A powerful one. And that’s precisely what we’ve obtained. Now our team holds the prize— and a demonic watchdog. As usual, my horrid little plan is working perfectly.”

“So far,” Zara says softly, leaning into Neo for comfort. He gives her an affectionate murmur and nuzzles the side of her neck.

Indeed. Everything I’ve said is the truth.

So far.

Of course, needless to say, I’ve kept a little something to myself.

Namely, the highly motivating fact that Mordred is still Zephyr’s mortal enemy. The kraken is the primary threat to that pointy-eared tyrant and his Dark Fae throne.

Zephyr is my rival in this harem.

The enemy of my enemy is, as they say, my friend.

Better yet, my minion.

While the vessel rocks beneath me and rain drums against the roof, I stare at our polycule’s collective reflection, wavering in the rain-washed glass. Of course, Maxim is missing. Ash too is briefly absent, having nobly volunteered to take first watch above at the helm.

Probably because we’re expecting Zephyr back at any moment, and Ash wants a chance to warn him about our dangerous new ally.

Lucius is still frowning over that ghastly Unseelie grimoire (which I’m fairly certain is bound in human skin and inked in human blood, probably some poor unfortunate who pissed off the wrong Unseelie centuries ago) and doggedly trying to read.

But Ronin is clearly succumbing to the powerful pulse of demon sex magic.

Rolling lazily onto hands and knees, Ronin straddles our headmaster’s hips and starts unbuttoning our wolf’s lord-of-the-manor pajama shirt.

Lucius glances up in surprise. His whiskey eyes acquire a reddish tinge.

“Ronin, my dear one, I’m trying to locate—”

“Put that thing away, love,” my horny boyfriend says huskily. “You’ll give yourself a migraine poring over that faded text in this pissy light. Besides, your boner’s been poking me in the ear all night.”

Ronin punctuates this revelation by curling a hand over the prominent bulge between Lucius’ legs and kneading. “This your knot then, is it?”

Our headmaster growls and closes the grimoire without even marking his place with the tattered silk ribbon. “You know it is, Mr. Pendragon. Are you offering to take it?”