Page 45 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Vasili

I don’t bother saying it, but that sex demon isn’t the only one who’s about to get lucky.

I’m placing myself at the top of that list.

Clearly, Zara’s still ovulating. By now, she might actually be pregnant. Lord knows, Max and Lucius and I—all her alphas—have barely had our dicks out of her succulent cunt in days. Now, with the luscious additional prospect of incubus sex looming, even if only for medicinal purposes (obviously)?

Under that pert schoolgirl skirt, my little queen is dripping with last night’s warlock spunk and a fresh river of her own slick. How do I know?

I know because she’s Zara.

Also, because my darling girl’s scrumptious peaches-and-cream mating scent is drenching this entire catacomb with the most delicious mélange of pheromones.

Truly, she’s never been riper and more fertile than she is at this moment. My inner dragon snarls in hungry anticipation.

Speaking of dragons.

I’m nearly certain Maxim, at least, has managed to plant a pea in our girl’s pod. For him, getting Zara pregnant is literally the pinnacle of a lifelong ambition.

But a dragon shifter queen, like a cat, can carry fertilized eggs from multiple mates. God knows, I don’t intend to stop fucking Zara until her womb is stuffed to bursting with little Vasilis and Vasilisas (the female version of my name).

If I play this right, we might even slip a sweet little Vasilisa Lucia Gemini bun into Zara’s thoroughly preheated oven right here and now.

“Yeah, you should tap that, if she’s down for it,” Mordred says to me gruffly, still huddled at my feet in a manner that’s both promising and worrisome. “You and Lucius both. Me, I can wait.”

With a start, I realize that demon is reading my mind. He’s no natural telepath and neither am I. But we’re linked through our mating bond.

Exactly as I meant us to be linked when I bit him.

Even though my secret motive for summoning and biting him—to rid this harem of our odious common rival, the Dark Fae King—no longer seems quite so pressing.

“Lucius is otherwise occupied at the moment. But fear not, sweet demon. I’m entirely capable of fucking both of you.” I grace Mordred with my sultry smirk. “Since you’re both in need. Zara, darling, why don’t you go first?”

Zara gives me her own sidelong grin, because of course she loves it when I let my alpha out. But her immediate priority, very clearly, is Mordred.

She drops to sit beside him on the ledge, back propped against the gloomy Roman-era sarcophagus that presumably holds the bones of some tedious witching world ancestor. Above her long stockings, her skirt rides high to expose her tanned thighs.

While Mordred and I both leer at all that deliciously exposed leg, she strokes his hair back gently to inspect his bite. Even from six feet away in a shadowy tomb, my twin punctures, inflamed and angry, stand out against his corded throat.

When the demon flinches at her gentle touch, my heart gives a highly unsnakelike lurch.

Dear fuck.

Clearly, Mordred isn’t the only one sensing the insidious tug of a mating bond snapping into place.

I just hope I’m not catching, well, feelings .

Being irrevocably in love with one witch and our multiple warlocks is dangerous enough. Literally the last thing I need is to add this incubus to my enemies’ hit list of not-so-secret Goblin King vulnerabilities.

“Easy there, Aquaman,” Zara croons at the demon to soothe him while she inspects his bite. “I’m just looking.”

“‘S’okay,” Mordred mumbles, head hanging. “You should fuck your alpha. I can wait.”

He says it like someone who’s resigned to waiting. Like someone who’s used to it. Like someone who’s been waiting his whole life to be someone’s— anyone’s— first choice.

Well, he isn’t wrong. Even I didn’t bite him for his own sake.

I bit him to help Zara, but also (secretly) to help me.

To help me get rid of Zephyr.

Now, most inconveniently, an unexpected shoot of… sympathy… for this infernal creature unfurls in the depths of my black and twisted heart.

Yes, sympathy. Even kinship.

Because, until Ronin and Zara and the others came along, I was never anyone’s first choice either.

I’m still looming over them, startled by my extremely rare moment of selfless understanding, when Zara says gently, “Yeah, no, we’re not waiting, Mordred. You need this right now.”

As delicate and deadly as that terrifying feline concealed like a weapon in Neo’s duffel, Zara leans in to sweep her tongue up the sex demon’s throat.

Right over his inflamed bite.

A low baritone groan rumbles from his bare chest. It’s a resonant sound, laced with profound relief and aching hunger.

“That’s it,” she whispers, licking his bite in long slow swipes like melting ice cream on a scorching summer day. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” the demon moans.

He’s leaning into her touch, aided by the hand she’s resting on his shoulder and the other she has wrapped in his hair. His hands clutch the stone ledge between his knees as though he—the notorious incubus—is afraid to touch her in return.

“Mmmm, I do though. I know how you feel.” Zara nuzzles her face into his neck and really starts working on those punctures I’ve given him, bathing them in the healing biochemicals of her shifter saliva. “I have mating bites from all my alphas.”

“Some more than others,” I remind her with a diabolical chuckle. I’ve bitten Zara multiple times and have no intention of stopping.

I prop my combat boot on the ledge, angle my flashlight so the lovebirds aren’t directly spotlit for the whole catacomb, and lounge comfortably against the sarcophagus to enjoy the show.

“Yeah, V’s always a little extra.” Zara lifts her head long enough to stick out her tongue at me, which makes me gasp in outrage. But her attention returns at once to the demon. “Long story short? We know how to make you feel better.”

This time, when she leans into Mordred’s bite, her wicked hand trails down his bare chest, over the washboard ripple of his abs, to settle on his muscled thigh.

Mordred groans again, knees falling open in blatant invitation. My, my. He’s packing quite the boner under those indecent crotch-hugging trousers. In fact, that trouser snake he’s packing is so massive it’s practically an anaconda.

My mouth literally waters in anticipation.

Zara’s teasing him, the little flirt, prolonging the anticipation for all of us while she ministers to his mating bite. The furrow of pain between his brows has smoothed, his eyes have fallen shut, and one tiny fang presses into his full lower lip.

But he clutches the ledge as though he’ll drown if he loses his grip.

“For fuck’s sake, demon,” I point out to him, “you’re allowed to touch her.”

“Yeah, what he said.” Zara snuggles her hot little body into his side. “In fact, it’s encouraged.”

She punctuates this suggestion by caressing the tip of his pointed half-Fae ear.

That’s all it takes, really.

The demon explodes into motion. His hands close around her waist, swing her into the air, and drag her into his lap so she’s straddling his hips.

Zara yelps in surprise, then purrs in approval. Her knees close around his hips. Her arms wind around his neck. Their mouths meet in a searing kiss.

I’ve already been enjoying this little performance. Now even I’m caught off guard by the deep throb of arousal that wraps around my dick and squeezes.

To use Zara’s turn of phrase, either that demon is sexing us up…

Or the ancient fertility artifact strapped to his delicious beefcake body is having a moment.

Still tucked into his messenger bag, the Horn of Ceres is pressed between their bodies. Mordred’s brawny arms engulf Zara’s waist, tattooed scales ink-black in the near dark, and pull her into his broad chest.

The saucy minx moans and undulates into him, grinding her cunt into his dick.

Her plaid skirt rides up her hips to reveal the lime-green lace of her boy-cut briefs, hugging the ripe globes of her derrière .

The sweet tang of peaches and cream floods the air, mingled with the buttery aroused incubus aroma of saltwater taffy.

Under my uniform trousers, my dick swells and rises like a fucking blimp. I barely retain enough of my Goblin King mind to switch off the damn flashlight.

The catacomb’s thick darkness drops around us like a curtain, concealing us from the distant others, all gathered and murmuring around the yawning black mouth of an open vault on burial duty in a wavering bubble of electric light.

Not that we’d mind the rest of our polycule watching. But McSnicker and her men (especially her traumatized werewolf) should be spared the soon-to-be-naked-and-wildly-fucking sight of us.

The distant beams of the others’ flashlights offer just enough light for my keen shifter senses to follow the action unfolding at my feet.

Zara has her sweet face tucked right into the demon’s neck, sucking on his bite with an avid determination that ought to earn her brownie points for community service in Lucius’ gradebook (if he were watching).

Mordred is groaning with relief and rising need, dry-humping her through his trousers and her panties. Over her shoulder, his wild purple eyes lock on mine and smolder into my riveted stare.

“She feels so fucking good,” he says thickly, “imma come in my pants.”

“Well, I certainly know the feeling.” I smirk down at him. “But what a waste that would be.”

“You just gonna watch? Or…” His gaze roams down the length of my tall body, taking his time, and fixes on my interested dick “…join?”

My own need is indeed straining. My inner dragon (very male at the moment) is coiling under my skin like a cobra. Of course, sometimes I do like to watch.

But that won’t be nearly enough to satisfy.

Not this time.

I slip out of my uniform blazer and let it drop. While the demon drinks in every move, I pop my Academy cufflinks, one by one. Leisurely, button by button, I open my crisp French shirt to expose my slim torso, pale in the shadows, and watch his eyes ignite.