Page 2 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Neo

By the time I fight my way back through these heavy seas to the Queen’s Veto and tie up the dinghy behind my dad’s yacht, my hands are shaking with adrenaline and fatigue.

Despite how long I’ve been gone, the guys are still fighting.

Great.

Over the shrill moan of a rising wind, I can hear the clash of voices—harsh with anger—ringing all the way from the main deck.

While I’ve been away, the fight’s moved up from the bedroom to the salon, I guess.

Honestly speaking, that fight sounds like it’s getting worse.

Just like the weather.

As I trudge across the exposed platform of the afterdeck through muggy air that’s thick as soup, the lowering skies finally open. Preceded by the tinny tang of ozone, a sheet of rain hisses across the open water behind me, drums against the deck, and drenches me to the skin in like five seconds.

The jagged silhouette of the tiny islet, whose craggy cliffs protect and hide the little pocket cove where we’re moored, vanishes in an eyeblink behind a gray curtain of rain.

At least the thunder of torrential rain against the hull muffles the whiplash snap of Zephyr’s raised voice—electric with frustration and wrath—crackling from the salon.

The jab and slice of Vasili’s cutting retort (because that snake never raises his voice, even when he’s furious) is almost blunted by the rain.

Almost.

“…because if you’re not singing to Zara’s tune in perfect fucking pitch with the rest of us, darling,” Vasili hisses, sharp as a hornet, “you and that flying Godzilla of yours are welcome to exit this harem stage left. Straight back through that portal to the Avalon hell that spawned you…”

Before I can hear any more of this upsetting argument, I duck into the covered companionway, fumble off my glasses, and make a futile attempt to dry my lenses on the soaked hem of my polo shirt.

In the blurry dark, while rain thunders against the roof, I slick a hand over my face to swipe the water out of my eyes.

Then I park my still rain-streaked glasses resolutely on my nose.

For whatever limited good that does.

I still can’t see.

But at least I can’t hear any more fighting either.

I hunch my shoulders miserably (because the stairs are narrow, the ceiling’s low, and my shoulders are broad) and trudge up the steep ladder to the quarterdeck.

My steps are slow for obvious reasons.

Zara and Ronin won’t need pickup at the extraction point for a while.

We agreed in advance to give them extra time.

And honestly, I’m fed up with my guys fighting like this.

Our polycule’s whole dynamic right now is exhausting, for real.

Vasili’s been riding Zephyr’s ass (and not in the way we’d all like) since way before we all zipped through the portal to Icarus this morning to join the Dean’s Challenge.

Two days late.

We’re late to join the Challenge due to Zara and Vasili getting suspended for fighting with Cleo and her sidekicks in the student commons. Even Lucius got suspended by the Dean from his headmaster duties—just for being in the room when it happened, I guess.

Never mind the fact that Vasili’s terrifying father (who’s on Cleo’s side and not ours) was literally holding Lucius hostage at knifepoint the whole time.

Anyway, that disciplinary call the Dean made was so unfair. I’m still indignant. Cleo started that fight with Zara and got off scot free. Now our team is days behind everyone else in the whole Academy in our hunt for the Horn of Ceres.

At least we have a hidden advantage, thanks to Zara’s secret new superpowers, that should help us close the gap—

“You just gonna stand there all night drippin’ on the deck, kid?” A rumbly drawl from the captain’s cabin, practically on top of me, almost makes me jump out of my skin. “C’mon up here and lemme getcha dried off.”

I rub my chest to quiet my pounding heart (which is racing now for multiple reasons, yay) and peer through my glasses up the ladder at the captain’s cabin.

Framed in the open door with the blue glow of the navigation console behind him, the familiar form of a massive male fills the space, crowned with a spiky head of pewter hair.

Cool electric light outlines the naked bulge of muscled shoulders, bare biceps thick enough to sink your teeth into, and the tight ripple of abs that won’t quit, knifing down to a pair of distressed jeans that ride low on his hips and cling to his thick quads.

With his naked feet spread comfortably to command the space and a steaming mug gripped in one big hand, my new boyfriend looks more like a vagabond sailor—or a pirate—than the Prince of the Light Born Fae.

“Ash!” I squeak, like a mouse or something. “Gosh, you scared the heck out of me.”

“Sorry.” Ash braces one powerful arm against the doorframe, biceps flexing under the inky tat of bloody thorns wound around the muscle in a way that’s practically hypnotic. “Kid, you look like a wet puppy. Lemme get you a towel and some hot coffee before you catch a cold or something.”

“Okay.” I heave out a breath. “Thanks.”

While rain hammers against the roof like hail, I hustle across the quarterdeck and swarm up the ladder.

Ash steps back to let me in.

As I duck past, I catch the patient drone of Lucius’ voice drifting from the salon, worn thin and ragged around the edges. “My dears, it’s pointless to prolong this wrenching debate. Zara has, all too clearly, made her choice. We don’t even know if the demon followed us through the portal—”

Ash casually nudges the door closed behind me to shut us both in.

That action blocks out the vicious volley of argument and counterargument still ping-ponging back and forth on the main deck.

Which I don’t think is a coincidence.

Ash passes me a thick towel, monogrammed with the name of my dad’s vacation yacht, then turns away toward the coffeepot. I figure he’s giving me my space, because he’s really good like that.

“Thanks,” I repeat on a sigh, fumbling off my glasses again to blot my face.

After a little hesitation, I peel out of my wet shirt and give my back a vigorous scrub with the towel too. My chinos stay firmly in place. They’re really just damp, and I have no intention of dropping trou right in front of Ash.

I mean, they’re boat shorts. They’ll dry.

I know. I know.

It’s ridiculous to feel so shy and self-conscious about stripping down in front of a guy I just fucked into a sex coma (even if only for the first time) last night, right?

But, after all, me fucking him was Zara’s idea and not Ash’s.

Maybe he was only, you know, being polite?

I bend over to towel my legs and breathe in deeply, letting the acrid scent of coffee fill my lungs. I’m weirdly soothed by the soft chink of the silver spoon against heavy china as Ash swirls sugar and heavy cream into my coffee.

Just the way he knows I like it.

I’m not really used to being taken care of like this.

In our polycule—with all these alphas and all this testosterone, plus a really strong queen—I’m usually the guy who does the babying.

That means it’s normally me taking care of everyone else, and it makes me so happy to do it.

Taking care of my cherished one Zara and all our guys, that’s my love language.

But I have to admit, I’m not totally hating the way Ash is taking care of me right now.

It’s actually… kind of… sweet.

Especially since he’s the first guy I’ve ever topped.

Still, when the big guy comes up behind me to rest a warm callused hand on my bare waist, I jump like a nervous cat.

“Take it easy, kid.” Gently he fishes the damp towel out of my worried fist, tosses it aside, then folds my fingers around the mug’s solid warmth.

“Not gonna expect ya to jump my bones while you’re dripping and shivering in your dad’s own digs, you feel me?

” He huffs out a wry chuckle. “Especially since I’m old enough to be your dad myself. ”

“Uh, thanks.” Hastily, I bury my blushing face in the steaming mug (which also carries the ship’s monogram). I mumble into the cup, “And you’re not old. You’re just right. For all of us.”

“Aw, shucks.” Ash gives a soft chuckle. “You’re good for an old guy’s ego.”

He ruffles my curly hair with a friendly hand, then leaves me to wrestle my blushes (the curse of a fair complexion) into submission and relocate my lost composure.

Meanwhile, he moves quietly around the dim-lit cabin with its polished wood and gleaming brass, hanging my wet shirt and towel neatly over a heated drying rack on the wall.

Because the Queen’s Veto really is that luxe.

She’s an oceangoing yacht, and Dad has hosted the Queen and a bunch of his fellow senators and A-list witching world glitterati on board.

So Theo Mercury’s spared no expense, especially in here.

The adjacent captain’s bedroom has the only bed on board that’s big enough (barely) to sleep all eight of us.

Not that we’ve done any actual sleeping in it.

I mean… yet.

As I sip the sweet creamy bliss of fresh-brewed java, a comforting warmth seeps through me. Gradually, my fluttery pulse and jittery heartbeat settle.

Finding my dad’s yacht bobbing at anchor, just waiting for us in Icarus Harbor when we showed up for the Dean’s Challenge—along with my dad’s note, neatly typed on Arcane Senate letterhead, proclaiming his fealty to Zara as the rightful Gemini queen—was a really nice surprise.

Dad is a major bigshot in the Arcane Senate. He’s never met a bill he can’t pass or an election he can’t win. With his pompadour hair, easy charm, and megawatt smile, he’s like the Ted Kennedy of the witching world.

That makes him a good ally for Zara to have.

Still cradling my mug, I finally get my head together and turn toward Ash. “So, uh, speaking of my dad… his plane’s probably landed in DC by now. With any luck, he’s already wrangling the Senate to reject Cleo’s claim and stand behind Zara.”

“Like they should.” Now standing with his back to me at the helm, Ash shrugs his big shoulders.