Page 13 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Zara

Cheese on toast.

I’m more than aware—we’re all aware—of the unsettled state of play between Zephyr and Vasili.

My snake doesn’t trust easily (like, at all ) and he’s always viewed Zephyr as a rival.

The problem started with Ronin brooding over his Dark Fae ex and V getting jealous.

When Zephyr ghosted me and the polycule for months to put down the insurrection (caused by Mordred, so you’re tracking) on Avalon—an explanation Zephyr never deigned to communicate until much later—Vasili’s native distrust of the Unseelie in my harem sharpened to acute aggression.

The fact that he and Zephyr have enough gigajoules of unconsummated sexual tension crackling between them to electrify this superyacht—just in case we lose both engines in the storm—only makes their prickly dynamic more complicated.

And that dynamic doesn’t even take into account the latest complication. Namely, that sex demon sporting V’s mating bite who’s bunked down in our guest room.

Obviously, Zephyr doesn’t know.

Clearly, we gotta tell him.

But just as clearly, now is not the time.

I’m still holding my breath over that inflammatory challenge the Goblin King threw down when Zephyr, very precisely, sets his wet boots aside. Still crouching in his form-fitting dragonscale like an Avenger on our designer carpet, he looks slowly over the naked warlock looming over him.

An arc of electric silence leaps between them. Potent enough to ignite the atmosphere in here like it’s pyrophoric.

As Lucius wrestles out of his Downton Abbey PJ’s, Ronin’s wary head pops up to check out the sitch.

Peering over Lucius’ shoulder, Ronin’s topaz eyes are all smoldery with arousal, but he looks (understandably) concerned.

Lucius, who’s at least half wolf by now, gives an irritable snarl over his other shoulder, eyes glowing red as embers.

“I vow, Vasili Nikolayevich Romanov. Is that an order thou art giving?” the Dark Fae King says softly into the humming silence. “One does not issue orders to a king.”

Shit.

It’s always a bad sign when Zephyr goes all ancient Fae formal. And it’s worse (like, an actual threat, given he’s also a warlock) when he uses someone’s full name.

Now the entire bedroom holds its breath.

Ronin tries to sit up. Lucius pins him flat (where he’s safe) with a wolfish growl of warning.

Slowly Zephyr sleeks back a spill of wet hair. His single eye narrows and his face kindles. “I do not abide being ordered . You may, however, extend an invitation.”

“Call it whatever you like.” Vasili’s nostrils flare wide in disdain. V sneers down at his rival in that obnoxious way that always makes me want to slap him. I know my snake is feeling uncertain about where he stands with me tonight, thanks to that whole Mordred mating bite situation.

Any hint of his own normal human vulnerability triggers V’s hidden fear of rejection.

That fear always brings out the absolute worst in Vasili.

But he hides his uncertainty by wrapping a hand around his long slim shaft, painted fingernails gleaming like black ink in the lamplight. He strokes his hard cock, base to head, in a slow pull that stokes the warmth pulsing between my thighs to a lick of fire.

I moan at the sight.

Helpless to resist, I rock my cunt, sheathed in damp lace, against the impressive bulge of Neo’s boner.

Neo cradles my hips between his strong hands to fit his thick dick against my slit. Holding me steady while I writhe in his lap, he twists around to watch the drama.

One look, and our bookworm huffs out an exasperated breath. “Gosh, V, that Fae is soaking wet. At least give the guy a chance to stop shivering before you start bullying him, will you?”

Vasili blinks and his gaze narrows.

My stare swerves abruptly from the electrifying visual of my masturbating alpha to the tensile figure of the Dark Fae King crouched warily at his feet. Under Zephyr’s sleek green armor, still dripping with rain, a slight but visible tremor ripples through his supple form.

“Oh, shit,” I say softly, rising to my knees in concern. “Zephyr. God. You’re freezing.”

“It is no matter.” A little of the tension cracks as Zephyr pulls off his gauntlets, tosses them onto the chair, then twists his long swath of hair into a thick coil and squeezes.

A thin trickle of rainwater drips onto Neo’s dad’s carpet.

“Bloody hell, love. It matters.” Ronin’s dismay pings through our bond.

He snatches the climate control console from the nightstand to dial back the A/C.

Then he pushes against Lucius’ unyielding frame, but our wolf has him pinned.

“You need a proper shower, Zeph, and a bowl of that goulash Lucius whipped up to set you to rights. Haven’t eaten yet, have you? ”

“Xhevith took a goat while we were out.” Casually, Zephyr shakes the mass of wet green hair down his back and out of his way. “I ate.”

We all take a sec to process that disturbing factoid.

His dragon Xhevith, who isn’t a firedrake, devours his meat raw and bloody. Xhev’s rider, raised like an alley cat in a hardship sitch where food and fire were both scarce, generally prefers his meat cooked.

But that dragonrider isn’t what you’d call overly discerning.

Like I said before, he’s feral.

“Um…” I give a hard swallow. “Think we can do better than that, Your Radiance. You need an actual hot meal.”

Zephyr shrugs an irritable shoulder and looks indifferent at the concept.

But with him, it’s hard to tell.

He could be fucking starving, and he’d never let on.

It upsets me that he flew off—exposed to the brutal elements for hours —without a bowl of Lucius’ heartening and heavily spiced Hungarian stew warming his belly, for real. Just another sign that Zephyr still doesn’t feel enough at home in our harem to ask for what he needs.

My distress radiates through my mating bonds. Still crouched over Ronin like the predator he is, Lucius rumbles a thick growl and looks menacing.

Gently but firmly, Neo swings me off his lap, settles me safely on the bed with Lucius and Ronin, then trots into the master bath. It’s big enough to get lost in there, but my fated mate pops out a breath later, clutching a pile of thick towels I know he’s pulled right off the heating rack.

That’s what we all love about this guy.

He’s always willing—sometimes too willing—to put his own needs on the back burner and place the rest of us first.

Neo hurries across the cabin, gives the silent V a stern look that warns him to behave, then drops a thick warm towel over Zephyr’s shoulders.

That’s finally the Unseelie’s cue to uncoil to his feet, slip out of the sheathed swords strapped across his back, and prop his deadly weapons against the wall. Now safely disarmed, Zephyr engulfs his dripping head in the warm towel and indulges in a vigorous scrubbing.

I dip a hand into the nightstand drawer, find the lube we stowed in there earlier when we unpacked, and drop the tube discreetly into Lucius’ hand. His wolf might not be thinking about lube right now, but Ronin’s gonna need it tonight to take that knot.

Then I scramble off the bed, naked except for my panties, and hurry across the cabin to see how Zephyr’s doing up close.

Neo is unzipping Zephyr’s dragonscale and wrestling the gear off the Dark Fae King’s knotted shoulders.

Zephyr doesn’t wear anything underneath, he’s all sleek olive skin and the twisting flex of muscle, honed to a keen edge by the brute strength required for reining a three-ton dragon.

While Neo peels the supple armor down the dragonrider’s torso, Zephyr dries off carelessly with the towel.

Up close, I can see the goosebumps stippling his skin.

“Shit, Zephyr.” I sigh and fold myself around his icy body from behind, wrapping my arms around his taut waist and snuggling my warm front against his cold back. “You shouldn’t have stayed out so long.”

“My bride.” Zephyr thaws enough to turn his head and nuzzle my ear with his rain-chilled lips, because he’s no taller than I am. “You supported me to win my crown. Now I intend to support you to win yours. Of that, you may be certain.”

“I am,” I assure him. “I believe you.”

Of course, we all know he can’t lie. Twist his words like pretzels, yeah. But outright lie? Nope. It’s an Unseelie thing.

Honesty.

He sighs into my ear. “Tell me. Did you succeed in your quest? Did you acquire the artifact?”

I lean into the hot suck of his mouth. His deft tongue teases the piercings along the curve of my upper ear. The sting of a tiny fang pricks my earlobe. A tingly warmth races down my neck to make me shiver. Ears are foreplay for him, and I’m more than willing to go where he’s leading.

Still, I hesitate to answer that question about the Horn—and exactly how we nabbed it. “Uh, yeah, we got it. But…”

“Worth it then.” Zephyr eases back and drops the damp towel carelessly to the floor.

He surrenders to Neo’s anxious ministrations with a bone-deep sigh that breathes fatigue, accepting the attention with the innate ease of a male born and bred to be king.

“By the moon, Neo Mercury, I swear you are Goddess-sent.”

“Gosh, no, it’s nothing.” Neo is pulling Zephyr’s armor down his legs and helping him slither out of it, while I simultaneously share body heat and lend a hand from behind. So I can’t see our bookworm’s face.

But I know he’s blushing with happiness.

“You are indeed something. Both of you,” Zephyr says softly, turning to nuzzle the side of my neck. “Sweet boy. And my sweet bride.”

I quiver under the brush of his cool mouth against my hot skin. My pulse kicks up and my nipples tingle. I breathe out a moan and lean into him. My fingers graze his flat belly to brush his wiry lick of pubic hair.

Like the rest of his hair, it’s green.

I never meant to marry the guy legally (according to Unseelie lore) the night he and I broke the curse that was killing his people back on Avalon. Because I fully intend to marry my whole polycule together, officially, over here.

I mean, when I’m crowned.