Page 26 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Zara

I’ve been standing with my back to Draco Mars while I take in Ash’s reunion with my friend who turns out to be, apparently, his long-lost sister. (Like, seriously, who knew? Shy, smart, unassuming Mallory is the future Seelie Queen? She definitely kept that shit quiet.)

Anyway.

I never even see the attack coming.

Barely a heartbeat after Zephyr shows up and proclaims his identity to the whole room like the royal Unseelie prick he can sometimes be, Draco growls and thunders past me in a murderous rush.

I catch a single horrific glimpse of the Icelander’s brutal face, full lips curling in a snarl, strong features blazing with the ruthless light of a Viking berserker in a killing rage.

Then that medieval battle axe he’s clutching descends in a glittering sweep toward Zephyr’s unprotected green head.

The hum of the lightning voice buzzes into my throat. The duffel falls from my grip a beat before all that deadly voltage crackles through my body, so I don’t zap my kitten. I’m a human lightning rod.

But even I need time to summon and cast.

More time than Zephyr has.

Ash functions as Zephyr’s bodyguard as well as his consort.

But Ash’s arms are full of Mallory and, for once, the vigilant protector is distracted.

Time stretches like taffy as Draco closes on Zephyr’s bad side—his blind spot.

Draco is taller than Vasili with greater reach.

He’s twice Zephyr’s size and fueled by an incinerating fury.

My Dark Fae doesn’t even have time to draw his swords.

As the axe cleaves down, Draco bellows, “You will not touch her!” at a volume that turns every head in the room.

Too late, Zephyr’s head snaps toward the threat. His face fires with alarm. He twists and leaps straight back like a cat, arms sweeping up to summon his own elemental Fae magic.

A sloppy curl of Fae-summoned wind, thick with rain, howls through the skylight.

But Zephyr’s greatest defense has always been his dragon. Xhevith is halfway across the island (since we’re trying to be subtle) and way too big anyway to squeeze into this domus . By the same token, there’s not enough room in here for me to shift.

Not without knocking out a bunch of those supportive pillars and bringing the roof down.

I have a split second to roar in the lightning voice. It’s a cry of frustration and rage. My bellow lights up the drippy gray sky beyond the skylight with a jagged fork of ultraviolet lightning that’s way too dangerous to hurl.

Not in these close quarters.

Not with my mates in the way.

I can only watch, in a paralysis of terror, as Draco’s axe descends.

Then the pale sweep of V’s casting hand summons an invisible telekinetic wallop that sucks all the air out of the room.

His telekinesis catches that awful axe in mid-swing.

V’s witchcraft wrenches the weapon from Draco’s fist and sends it tumbling end over end.

Right over Mordred’s startled blue head, where the demon’s crouched by the water with his tattooed hand dangling in the inky depths.

The axe sails into the rainwater reservoir and vanishes with a splash.

Under the vicious lash of his will, V’s power coils and snaps like a bullwhip. Every electrically charged hair on my body is already standing on end. Now my skin tingles under the lethal brush of all that magic, filling the air like a swarm of bees.

But I’m not Vasili’s target.

Draco’s broad-shouldered body soars high and flies backward, shitkicker boots churning the air. He slams into a pillar with crushing force.

The Icelander hits so hard I expect to see him crushed to a bloody smear on the marble.

But my Goblin King has wicked control.

The walls ring with the guttural oof! of impact.

That’s Draco getting his wind knocked out.

The back of his white-blond head thuds into the pillar.

But, miraculously, his skull doesn’t shatter like a dropped egg.

Pinned to the pillar and suspended ten feet in the air, Draco shakes his stunned head and looks groggy.

I can practically see cartoon sparrows circling the guy’s cranium.

The rest of the room is riveted.

Mallory frozen and white-faced, clutching her equally shocked brother for comfort, matching pairs of gray eyes wide with fear for their respective mates.

Ronin crouched and battle-ready, ashen with shock.

Neo with his glasses sliding down his startled nose.

Max growling and hovering protectively over me, like I was ever the one in danger.

Vasili stands, alone and rigid, with his casting hand outflung. He glares at Draco’s suspended frame in venomous menace. The dark vetiver scent of V’s aggression floods the dank air.

If he closes that fist and means it, he’ll crush Draco’s vital organs to a pulp and pulverize Draco’s bones to powder.

“Sweet Jesus,” I gasp. Sparks crackle in my hair and dance along my fingers. “What the fuck— ?”

I’m still swearing when Zephyr recovers his balance, coils to his full height (which isn’t much, since he’s no taller than I am), and seizes the lapels of Vasili’s Academy blazer in both fists. V’s startled head swivels around and his face snaps toward him. Then Zephyr’s mouth slams into his.

It’s a kiss.

A hard claiming kiss.

A kiss that’s more like a bite than an actual kiss.

Still—cheese on toast!—my Dark Fae King is kissing my snake.

Vasili is so startled that he drops Draco. The Icelander slides down the pillar, tries and fails to get his legs under him, and lands heavily at its base in a crumpled heap.

“Fokk,” Draco groans, raspy with shock.

Jae snarls in concern and rushes over to help him.

V’s gilded head angles down to Zephyr’s to let the kiss deepen. His casting hand floats up to rest on Zephyr’s shoulder. While Zephyr feeds ravenously from that kiss like he’s determined to devour Vasili from the inside out, V’s black-nailed fingers tighten and dig into Zephyr’s dragonscale.

I keep a sharp eye on that deadly hand of his, but the Goblin King appears to be behaving.

For once.

After a long breathless moment when no one moves or speaks, those two surface gently from their kiss. In unison, they release the long-drawn breath they’ve both been holding.

My own held breath rushes out in parallel.

“Thank you,” Zephyr says softly.

Behind the green slash of his eyepatch, the Unseelie King’s face is open, unguarded, soft with a fragile moment of wonder.

Like he’s thanking his rival both for saving his life and sharing his kiss.

Of course, being V, my snake has to go and ruin the moment. He releases Zephyr’s shoulder and steps back abruptly, breaking Zephyr’s grip on his lapels.

“I did it for Ronin and not you,” Vasili says, every word stinging like a wasp. “He’s suffered enough trauma on your account.”

Zephyr’s face shutters and closes. His eye narrows and his mouth hardens. Quietly he says, “Even so. I owe you a debt, beautiful one. A life for a life. You may be certain I will repay it.”

Then, without waiting for the acknowledgement he probably knows he won’t be getting, the Dark Fae King pivots on his booted heel and stalks toward the pillar where Draco lies sprawled, trying to clear his head.

The Cajun twists around and bares his werewolf fangs—newly emerged, but fully descended—at Zephyr with a rumble of warning.

“Jae. Whoa. Hold up. ” Mallory extracts herself from her brother’s arms and hurries over to her guys. But I notice she gives Zephyr a really wide berth. “I honestly think we’ve had enough violence in this domus for one morning.”

“I’m not the one you should be telling, chere .” Jae crouches and angles his body to stay between Draco and Zephyr. The Cajun’s amber eyes are getting wolfy, a spark of green fire glowing in each pupil.

Of course Zephyr, being Zephyr, just keeps coming. His lithe green-armored body slows to a prowl.

But that only makes him look more menacing.

“Everybody take it easy, okay?” Ash moseys over there himself, his long legs eating up the distance. “If this is about Sparrow nabbing me way back when, Freckles, you’re blaming the wrong joe.”

It takes me a sec to realize he’s talking to Mallory, who is indeed very freckled.

“You mean he didn’t kidnap you?” By now, Mal has reached Draco’s side. She swings off her heavy backpack and huddles beside her guy, but her worried eyes track Zephyr’s every move.

Behind that pale golden sprinkle of nutmeg freckles, her face is white with fear.

“You may be certain I did,” Zephyr says loftily. “I covet your brother relentlessly. Whatsoever a Dark Fae covets, he steals. ’Tis been our custom for millennia.”

“Not helping, Your Transcendence.” I snort and head that way myself, with a protective Max dogging my every step. “Let’s focus on why Draco swung that axe at your head.”

“Yeah, what she said.” Ash sidles up alongside Zephyr and slings an affectionate arm over his shoulders, which manages to halt his advance about two seconds before that werewolf would’ve lunged for Zephyr’s throat. “Been in love with this guy for a good long time, ain’t I, Sparrow?”

“There were witnesses to the kidnapping,” Mal reminds Ash in a tight voice. “Including Mom. The whole thing happened right outside the council room. They all said you fought like heck.”

Huh.

Maybe that’s why Draco just tried to kill him.

“Let’s just say I didn’t fight all that hard.” Ash tucks Zephyr against his side and basically makes clear to the whole room that they’re together.

“ Fokking Stockholm syndrome.” Draco gathers his big frame in a gingerly way and clambers to his feet with a wince. “ Hel. Your brother thinks he’s in love with his fokking kidnapper.”