Page 52 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Mordred

Zara Gemini is more than a queen.

Hells’ bells, my girl’s a damn goddess.

I eel along at her heels through the cool flow of the underground river the shaft dropped us into. Her flashlight plays along the rough stone walls, slick with algae, as her sweet curvy body wiggles through the water like a mermaid.

I mean, if they had mermaids on this mortal plane.

Even in my human form, I got shifty senses, thanks to my kraken. Means I can sense the steady, tireless thud of Zara’s heartbeat pinging through my skin like sonar. I can taste the creamy peach of her mating scent in the back of my throat.

Like I said, that girl’s got rizz, for real.

Her magnetic pull, that tidal force that’s been dragging me toward her since the first night I got a sniff of her unique personal magic back on Avalon?

Shit’s way beyond the magical power of attraction she picked up when she became the Unseelie Queen.

I’m not glamoured by her Unseelie crown. That’s not why I want her.

I want her because she’s Zara.

I want her because she’s mine.

I want everything she is and everything she stands for. Her and that found family of Lost Boy warlocks she’s knitted together like a quilt stitched in love.

Her and Babydoll and Cousin Z (the guy I’ve been crushing on since I was twelve)?

They’re the hill I’ll die on.

By now, the raw power of Zara Gemini’s pull sucks me after her like an undertow.

Girl’s a strong swimmer, even without fins or gear, and she’s handling the unexpectedly strong current and total lack of direction and disorienting underground darkness like a fucking Navy S.E.A.L.

(They’re a thing on this plane, not some kinda seal shifter either, I read a story about these guys on the yacht.) The Horn of Ceres bobs at Zara’s hip, safely swathed in my pouch.

Still, I’m worried about the temp of this water.

Real worried.

Not that the cold bothers me, my kraken digs it, but Zara isn’t wearing neoprene. She’s naked except for a few scraps of lace. Her teal ponytail swirls behind her and her cute opal-painted toenails glitter in my enhanced eyesight.

I got a protective membrane that drops over my peepers when I dive.

The gills behind my ears flutter open to filter in the oxygenated water I need to breathe and siphon out the spillage I don’t need.

The saltwater tide buoys my big body and hugs me like a lover.

My webbed feet propel me along behind my girl without effort.

I’m built for this.

But we’ve been down here a while, no lie.

And Zara’s little neon scuba tank only holds a few minutes’ worth of air.

When my girl curls around at a bend in the passage to anchor herself against a protruding rock—slick with seaweed—and shines her beam toward me, I’m ready to help. I lock onto her wide turquoise eyes, intent and worried behind her goggles. I know she needs her spare.

I anchor myself nice and steady next to her, sheltering her tiny body from the current’s pull, and help her swap tanks. A lotta divers would be freaking out, that’s the gods’ honest, this deep in a cave dive without proper gear, with only this meager stash of oxygen.

But Zara Gemini, badass queen of my heart, she be bussin’.

We finish the tank swap and she takes the lead again, kicking strongly with the current, the pale beam of her flashlight bobbing before us. Her strokes are sharp with urgency, because now we’re on her last tank.

And we’ve gone way too far down the shaft to turn back. Especially against this ebb tide.

She’s committed now.

And so am I, because I won’t fucking leave her here to die.

The tunnel narrows and the current picks up. Dead ahead, Zara’s flashlight plays over the dark hatching of a metal grate, bars wrapped in tendrils of streaming seaweed.

That grate lets the water swirl through, but totally blocks our way forward.

Zara anchors herself against the grate, flashlight searching, and starts feeling her way along the bars for weakness or a latch. I anchor next to her and do the job more efficiently, using my mass and muscle to give the grate a few hard pulls.

No joy.

This shit’s solidly soldered in the rock. I can’t find a weak spot.

Or a latch.

Zara’s anxious eyes turn toward me. I’ve been counting down the minutes in my head. I know her last tank is running low, even though she’s visibly working to keep her breath slow and steady so she doesn’t make the problem worse.

I close my hand over her flashlight and direct her beam through the bars.

Beyond the grate, the tunnel widens. Golden light glimmers through the water overhead. That’s the Academy Vault, gotta be, right on the other side of this grate.

We just need to get through these bars. ASAP. Before Zara runs outta air.

Lucky for her, I know what I gotta do.

I twist around to meet my queen’s wide-eyed stare and give her a cocky grin for reassurance. Suddenly her mating bite pulses on my neck. The building coil of our shiny new mating bond hums between us like an electric cable.

I ain’t a natural telepath, my Fae DNA isn’t built for it.

But fuck me. These shifters and their mating bites?

They’re hella potent.

Yeah, I know… it’s a lot. Sorry… The first whisper of our bond crackles to life in my noggin like electric static, same way it did with Babydoll after he nipped me. That’s my girl, that’s her voice, and she’s clearly fighting to keep her cool.

Through the growing bond between us, I can feel the pressure building in her chest. The parched dryness of fear in the back of her throat. The ache in her empty lungs as she sips carefully on her last wisp of air through the mouthpiece her lush lips are wrapped around.

Gently her hand floats up to settle against my cheek. My heart gives an anxious ping. I run cool, it’s a kraken thing, but her soft fingers are fucking icy.

Mordred, she whispers in my skull. I’m running out of air.

I grip her bare shoulders in my big hands to steady her and lock right onto her. I gotchu, baby queen. But this thing I do, it’s tricky when I ain’t alone, and we only got time for one shot. You gotta trust me and not fight me, you feel me?

Her smooth brow furrows above her goggles. Then her lids drop in a slow blink.

Do what you gotta do, Aquaman… Trust you. I trust you. But you gotta hurry, okay?

Under her lime lace bra, her gorgeous tits heave. She’s fighting for air and finding zip.

Zilch.

Nada.

I don’t waste time. I’m down with this. I’m sigma.

I wrap my arms and legs around my girl’s precious self. I pull her shivering body tight against my torso, with her empty tank and the Horn of Ceres pressed between us.

Then I apparate.

I’m only half demon, I can’t summon fire or steal souls. But this is one infernal magic I’ve fucking perfected. Cuz this shit’s useful.

My bones soften. My blood thins. The molecules of my body spin apart and dissolve into vapor. And everything I’m holding dissolves with me.

In a silent commotion of energy and magic, the subatomic particles of our joined souls—Zara’s and mine—swirl through the grate into the expanse of open water beyond. The blurred golden glimmer of torchlight pulls me toward the surface.

I gather our mingled essence like a net and sling us toward the light.

Fiercely, I will our cells and atoms and molecules to separate and reform.

I will us to take shape. To return to the natural order of our corporeal forms. I will myself to be Mordred, the pulsing heart of ancient witchcraft to be the Horn of Ceres, and Zara to be Zara.

That’s when we trip the spell.

The spell that wards the Academy Vault.

That’s when my soul rips apart.

The last thing I hear before my eardrums rupture under the crushing vise of a pressure curse is my girl.

Zara.

Screaming.