Page 24 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Ronin

The axe hurtles at me out of bloody nowhere.

One tick I’m tracking that slinky Cajun werewolf through a brambly thicket into a hidden tunnel that sneaks into his domus the back way, straight to the condemned dungeon basement of Villa Caligula.

But the shifty fuck’s too fast for me and I don’t have a torch, so I lose Jae Labête in the shadowy maze inside.

I fucking lose him.

The next tick, barely visible in the dim gray light leaking through a narrow slit of skylight, there’s a medieval battle axe tumbling end over end straight at my noggin.

I swear and leap aside, diving into a somersault that softens my bruising collision with the bone-breaking stone floor. The axe clangs into the wall where I was literally just standing, then clatters to the flagstones at my heels.

Rolling to my feet and sprinting along the wall so I’m harder to target, I summon up a pulsing ball of orange psi fire and hurl that shit at the threat.

My fireball lights up the space like a flaming comet.

In a flash, I register the vast underground cavern of the domus ’s rainwater cistern, built in Roman times but still somehow functional. Under the skylight, a long rectangle of spooky ink-black water recedes into the distance between a double row of pillars.

Dripping gobbets of liquid fire like lava, my fireball sears toward a lurking shape—broad shoulders bristling in a spiked leather jacket, skull sporting a military buzzcut of white-blond hair, eyes glowing the wintry gray-blue of whitecaps in the Celtic Sea.

The bloke curses in Icelandic and dives behind a pillar as my fireball crackles past.

“Whoa!” A nearby flashlight winks on. Above the light, I spy the pale oval of a concerned female face. That’s Mallory McSnicker.

The girl peeks out from behind another pillar and frowns sternly at my assailant. “Geez, we totally talked about this, remember? Talk first, violence last—as in, literally the last option. Draco, you could’ve killed Ronin.”

“Good fokking riddance, you ask me,” my attacker grumbles from behind his own pillar.

“Draco Mars? That you?” My indignant glare ping-pongs between Mal and the pillar that hides her warlock. “Blooming hell, mate.”

“Yeah.” His chiseled, square-jawed face emerges warily into view. “You done lobbing fireballs at my head, Pendragon?”

“Depends,” I say dryly. “You done hurling axes at mine?”

“ Helvitis. Been a body count already this Dean’s Challenge, you feel me? When it comes to keeping my girl safe, I don’t apologize for shit.”

Hearing that intel, at least I can respect his motive.

Draco emerges cautiously from behind his pillar. He’s a grumpy fuck and he’s never much fancied me, probably because Mal used to crush on me, and he remembers my one-and-done days and thinks I shagged her or wanted to (which I didn’t).

Too innocent to suit my fancy.

Then and now.

“Thanks, Draco, that’s really sweet. But I’m one hundred percent safe with Ronin.

” Now Mal comes fully out of hiding, looking all First Girl proper in her plaid schoolgirl skirt and neatly buttoned blouse, socks pulled up to her bony knees, wild mane of copper curls tamed into pigtails with scraps of green plaid ribbon.

The knapsack buckled to her back is bulging with textbooks, a hall monitor’s first aid kit’s strapped to her waist, and she’s toting the electric torch that provides the only practical source of light down here.

In other words, typical McSnicker.

Like a Girl Scout, she’s always prepared.

I’m eyeballing the shadows her torch doesn’t penetrate and wondering what happened to the werewolf (not to mention my own wolf, because Lucius is definitely supposed to be here) when the rapid echo of running feet fills the space.

The brimstone whiff of rutting dragon hits my nose a beat before Max bursts in, golden eyes flaming and face fierce with rage.

Our dragon gives a good roar that makes the walls tremble. “Who threatens my mate!”

“Easy, love. Just a miscommunication between Mars and me, that was.” I downplay the whole murder attempt just to placate him. He’s excitable, Max is. If he shifts in here, he’ll bring the roof down.

Not so easy on my mates, is it, being bonded to the strongest telepath on this island? Especially now, when Max has his alpha dialed all the way up, because mating rut. Thank gods he’s not smothering me to death the way he does V and Zara.

He’s protective enough as is.

Now Max catches sight of the fallen axe and his nostrils flare. He eyes Draco with open suspicion. “What kind of miscommunication involves a medieval weapon… and my mate!?”

“Forget about it. We’re over it,” Draco says gruffly, clumping up in his shitkickers to retrieve the axe. “You two bring Zara with you like Mallory told you?”

“Like I’d let them leave me behind?” Zara snorts and saunters in like the badass she is, looking good enough to lick in her catsuit, tiny and curvy and formidable, with her teal braid coiled tight round her head like Princess Leia in The Empire Strikes Back . “Hey, Mal.”

Mordred, Vasili, and Neo crowd in behind her. V’s still levitating, and his sharp gaze shoots straight to me, scanning every centimeter of my body for the slightest injury. You’d not know it to look at his aloof and wintry face, but he caught my telepathic broadside of battle adrenaline full on.

Bollocks, he’ll never admit it.

But he’s worried about me.

I’m a literal sucker for Vasili Romanov, always have been, and my stupid heart gives a ping at the sight of him. But I tamp that shit down, give him a curt nod to let him know I’m not bleeding out, and force myself to turn away.

He’s got to get over his pissing match with Zeph. Got to. They’re making me mental. Those two were bloody made for each other.

If they’d just stop trying to kill each other.

“Ohmygosh, Zara!” Mal’s freckled face lights up in a smile that makes her gray eyes glow like stars. The two girls rush together for a hug and a hurried jumble of words, while Mordred leers and jokes about wanting to be the bacon in a schoolgirl sandwich.

The whole time, Draco glowers at the sex demon and me like he’d fancy setting us both on fire.

Me, I’m left wondering where Zeph and Ash have gotten to, and whether Lucius has pitched up here at all.

We’ve three warlocks in our polycule gone missing. And I don’t bloody like it.

The lovey-dovey Zara-Mallory reunion breaks up when Mal’s Cajun slinks out of the darkness and announces in his singsong cadence, “Coast is clear, chere , but it won’t stay that way. Looks like Zara has the Horn just the way you said, you. We should all go now if we’re going.”

Clearly, Jean-Emilien Labête’s got his wolf back under proper wraps.

Fangs, fur, snout, claws all tucked away behind his sinewy human frame.

The wicked green glow of his monster stare submerged under his sultry honey-gold human peepers.

While he ties his long dreadlocks into a messy ponytail and buttons a crisp Academy uniform shirt over his naked torso, I give the bloke a friendly wink.

Because he’s one of the multitudes I did shag (once) back in the day.

Come to think of it, that’s probably another reason Draco hates me.

Red doesn’t bother with flirting. He blinks at the werewolf through his bookworm glasses. “Wait, how’d you know Zara has the Horn?”

“And where is it you imagine we are all going?” Max’s slitted dragon pupils narrow in suspicion.

Mallory gives us all a serious look, then swings her flashlight toward the cavern’s shadowy rear. The narrow beam, reflected in the smooth water like a moonbeam on a river of ink, dwindles into the distance without finding the far wall.

“There’s a secret passage back there. I found it while I was researching a term paper for Master Aries’ History of Witchcraft class.

” Mal’s studious voice bounces off the walls.

“The passage leads to the church crypt—or at least, it used to. We need to use it. Because Cleo has every witch and warlock in House Tiberius standing between you, that Horn, and the Academy Vault. But I don’t think she knows about the passage. I mean, nobody does. Except us.”

“Hmmm.” Still levitating, Vasili zips down the reservoir’s length to examine the rear. Blimey, it’s dark as the Devil’s arsehole back there.

But V’s part shifter, he can see in the dark.

His hollow voice echoes faintly from the walls and the distant ceiling like he’s trapped at the bottom of a deep dark well.

“I presume we’re supposed to conclude, McSnicker, that you intend to help Zara win the Dean’s Challenge from the goodness of your First Girl heart?

We’re meant to trust the monster, the mafioso, and the conscientious Goody Two Shoes hall monitor who’s never met a rule she’ll break, even in the most minuscule way? ”

“Jae isn’t a monster,” Mallory says flatly. “And Draco’s not your average Mars. Plus we wouldn’t be breaking any rules, not the way I’m proposing. And finally, we’re not just doing this to be nice.”

“Time to bend over, loves,” I mutter to my mates. “Here it bloody comes.”

“And not in a good way.” Max gives Zara a look that’s meant to warn her to be careful.

Yeah, good luck with that, mate.

Of course he’s all broody, he wants her clutching dragon eggs in his Siberian lair, not mucking about with secret passages down here. Not that I eavesdrop on what goes down in his noggin, that’s bad manners for a telepath without an invite. But he broadcasts that shit on all psychic channels.

While Jae twists his uniform tie into a careless knot at his throat, Draco leans against a pillar and crosses his brawny arms over his chest. His handsome puss darkens in a scowl. “ Hel , Romanov. Stop flitting around like a bat back there.”

“A bat ?” I can’t even see Vasili, but I know he’s pouting. “Really. There’s no need to be offensive.”

“Mal’s the only witch on this island who’s smart enough to know how to open that passage.” Draco forges on. “And she won’t. Not unless you agree to our terms.”