Page 57 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Ash

I’m pelting through the witch academy choir loft library, pounding after Pendragon and Maxim and those two gal pal housemates from Zara’s domus as hard as I can push these old bones of mine.

That’s when Xhevith’s nails-on-chalkboard scream rips through the church walls and just about shreds every eardrum in the joint.

Oh, Geezus.

A combustible rocket fuel of anticipation and dread launches my ticker right into my throat.

Because there’s only one reason Xhev would bust out screaming from the ruins of the old Roman warehouse down by the harbor where we’ve had him holed up hiding.

Sparrow .

If that dragon heard his rider calling through the empathic dragonrider bond they share.

Or if Xhev felt his rider in pain.

Or dying.

Good old-fashioned terror dumps a bucket of adrenaline through my system. Mainlining cortisol like a goddamn drug, I veer off from the group and power for the gable window.

Unlike the fancy-shmancy stained glass art in the nave downstairs, most of the library windows up here are plain leaded glass.

I don’t waste time. I hit the nearest latch and swing the pane wide.

Under a drizzly night sky, barely visible through a curtain of rain and fog, Zephyr’s big green dragon is winging up, climbing steeply from the rain-washed cobblestones of the village piazza right underneath me.

A lithe rider in green dragonscale clings to the saddle, fierce with intensity behind the slash of his eyepatch, moss-green hair streaming in the wind like a banner.

That’s my Sparrowhawk.

All the fear for him I didn’t realize I was carrying loosens its clamp on my neck and rushes outta my shoulders.

“Sparrow!” I shove my head out and bellow, heart thundering in my veins.

Shooting past me in a windstorm of powerful wings and buffeting gusts, the dragon screams like a chick in a horror flick.

As the two flash past, my retinas fill with a single blazing glimpse of Sparrow’s slim body, braced in the dragon saddle with muscles straining, leaning all his weight back against the reins to urge his dragon higher.

Okie-dokie. Guess we’re done being subtle.

I wonder like hell where Zara is. Geez Louise, could she be in the Vault already? Is my princess already throwing down with Cleo?

I shove my big shoulders through the jambs right into the rain and give a good holler.

“Sparrow! Over here—”

Ah, crap. I’m too late.

Under the powerful pull of his rider’s will, Xhev wheels in a flash of pale underbelly and soars outta sight over the church.

“Bollocks! I’ve got them,” Pendragon cries behind me.

Attention good and divided, I mutter a curse and twist around to stare. Pendragon’s already diving into the twisty corkscrew stair that plunges down to the student commons in the church.

“They’re in the crypt,” he calls back. “Neo and Lucius. That’s Lucius ringing me up.”

He’s speaking metaphorically, on account of no cell phone coverage behind the Academy wards. For a telepath like Pendragon, rocking a mating bite from Lucius Aries, those two don’t need Ma Bell to connect.

That’s the signal we’ve been twiddling our thumbs up here waiting for. We’re all converging on the Vault like we planned, which is a hopeful sign, no lie. Plus Neo’s no fighter and he’s definitely been on my mind.

But shoot.

Guess Pendragon and his fancy Jedi mind tricks ain’t sensing our princess.

Or he definitely woulda said so.

“Where is our sovereign?” Max growls at his heels, right on cue. “Where is our mate!”

Pendragon’s voice echoes up the stairs. “Could be in the Vault already. Leg it, Max!”

“Hold on a tick, will ya?” I shout after them. “Sparrow and Xhev—”

Aw, heck. It’s no use. I’m wasting my breath. Those two hotheads and their gal pals are rushing straight into whatever malarkey Cleo and company got planned downstairs.

Somebody around here needs to keep a cool head.

Guess that’ll have to be me.

I clamber onto the window ledge, shove my big body under the lintel, then leap into the open air. A drizzle of cool rain hits my face and shoulders. Then my wings spread wide with a snap, sprouting from the tattoo inked across my shoulders.

Beating my wings in a downstroke, I soar over the piazza. A gust of rain-drenched wind rushes over my body. My lungs fill with the mineral scent of wet stone. Cool mist condenses on my face.

In a blink, the soaring structure of the gothic church vanishes behind a rolling bank of fog.

Despite every damn thing that’s riding me—my gnawing worry for Zara and our gang, not to mention those big brother protective instincts firing on all six cylinders for Mallory, the kid sis I just barely reunited with—I need a sec to exult in the headrush of flight.

I’m a Seelie royal, even though I’ll never rule, that’ll be Mallory’s gig someday. But I’m meant to soar. I’m Asher Apollo Aurelius, Eagle of the Air, Prince of the Light Born Fae.

And I’m done dicking around.

Time to unload a can of whup-ass on that usurper witch Cleo and her bootlicking, shit-kicking, ass-kissing pissant cronies.

A gust of rain-drenched air rushes through my wings.

My primary flight feathers extend for thrust, while the tertials along my shoulders fluff and spread for warmth.

A few powerful beats lift me high enough to scan the dark belfry we just vacated.

The sloping roof and turrets, the scowling rainspout gargoyles puking water from the gutters, the arched rows of the church’s flying buttresses flash before my eyes.

Right before another fogbank rolls in.

I ride a downdraft to get a closer look.

In front of the church, the shimmering cobblestone expanse of the piazza is empty.

The Roman-era ruins of the village loom dark and broody over the square.

What with the overcast and the moonless night and the rain and the fog rolling in from the sea, even my eagle eyes are straining to ferret out what’s what.

Bottom line?

I can’t see Xhev and Sparrow. They’re hidden in the low-hanging clouds.

All of a sudden, the tall stained-glass windows of the church flare with a pulse of fiery light. One, two, three pulses of light. That’s psi fire. Right on cue, a thin chorus of terrified cries seeps through the thick stone walls.

Fire in the hole down there, for real.

Sure looks and sounds like Pendragon’s work to me. He’s the Leo scion—flamethrower—and he’s in there raising hell. Hopefully with Max and the girls to cover his six.

Once upon a time, I woulda been okay leaving the dickwad to fend for himself. Ronin Pendragon’s been on my shit list for years.

Ever since he took Sparrow’s eye.

Even after we figured out what happened was a tragic goddamn accident, I’ve had a hard time letting that shit go.

But I did just kinda promise to give the guy a chance. Looks like we even got an actual date the night of Sparrow’s birthday.

Besides, we’re all Team Zara now. She’s gonna need all of us working together tonight.

Through a blurry mizzle of rain, my restless eye roams the impenetrable church walls to find the one breach in that Christian fortress.

The round oculus window, shattered during some kinda scuffle that went down between Zara and Cleo while I was back in Avalon keeping the Unseelie throne warm for Sparrow’s royal butt.

The school hasn’t had time to replace the glass, so the hole’s covered with a billowing tarp to keep the rain out.

I tilt my wings and soar into a spiral so I can sneak a peek.

I’m halfway there when the curtain of fog parts. The vast green bulk of Xhevith’s big-ass body soars into view, fully extended like a javelin, with Sparrow crouched over his shoulders and vicious with intent.

The dragon coughs. A shower of steaming acid sprays from his jaws. The tarp over the window dissolves in tattered shreds.

Xhevith screams with triumph, tucks his wings against his outstretched body, and sails through the oculus into the church. I tuck in behind his forked tail, riding his slipstream, and soar in right after him.

Inside, it’s a nuthouse.

Around a scatter of study nooks and carrels, the student commons is seething with junior witches and warlocks in Academy garb, hurling spells and ducking hexes, all mixed up with a snarling scrum of hyena shifters.

Geez, it’s like the climax of a Harry Potter flick down there. All that’s missing is Voldemort and a goddamn game of Quidditch.

The hootenanny’s centered at the head of the stairs leading down to the crypt—and the Academy Vault.

Right where we need to get.

That’s where we gotta hook up with Zara.

Because I can already see she’s not in the church. Neither are Neo or Mal or the others who went with her.

While Xhev overflies all this crazy, with his nails-on-chalkboard scream bouncing off the walls and his monstrous form spreading screaming pandemonium through Cleo’s rank-and-file (because dragons ain’t too common here, the way they are in Avalon), I sweep in a low circle to scout and get my bearings.

Like I figured, Pendragon’s raising hell down there, spraying psi fire like flaming gasoline from his outstretched hands, golden eyes all fiery, teeth bared in a snarl in his swarthy face, black hair swirling around his lethal frame in an inky cloud.

While every Aquarius stooge in the witch academy tries to take him out.

I ain’t a big fan of random slaughter, what with being a Light Fae healer. Plus I don’t much care for killing a bunch of kids who are less than half my age that I’m supposed to be teaching next term under the Academy exchange program. All that’s enough to make me hang back a tick.

But I’ll do what I gotta.