Page 67 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

Needless to say, Messalina isn’t here. The former Aquarius queen has abdicated with the Arcane Senate’s encouragement, vacated the royal palazzo in Venice, and used her pension to buy another yacht.

Nikolai Romanov is here on sufferance, as father of the groom, lurking around the periphery where he can watch and listen without really being noticed.

Theo Mercury was welcomed more warmly, since he’s officially one of Zara’s allies. Now the senator is gladhanding and working the crowd like the master politician he is.

Even Mick Gemini, Zara’s casino boss dad, has managed to suck up enough to Zara to score an invite. But Zara said a hard no when he offered to give her away at the altar.

To no one’s surprise, Cleo Ferrari is missing in action.

Ever since Paris Fashion Week (when she was literally on the cover of every couture magazine, looking annoyingly perfect), Cleo’s gone deep.

No one’s heard from her, not even a rumor, ever since. Even the considerable resources of the Mars clan mafia, Draco’s guys, can’t find her.

Draco says she’s off somewhere licking her wounds and we haven’t seen the last of her.

With the garter ritual successfully complete, Zara eventually hurries over to find me.

My best friend (now sister-in-law) is absolutely radiant.

Glowing with happiness in a sparkly strapless wedding dress that shows off her suntan and the pretty silver pigmentation on her forearms, skirts frothing around her feet in a purple so pale it’s nearly cream, accessorized with a sash in her signature teal tied around her still-tiny waist to emphasize her curves.

Instead of a traditional tiara, she has the witching world crown (returned by Nikolai when Cleo conceded) perched on the teal curls swept high on her head.

Her platinum lightning bolt earrings flash in her ears.

“Come on, Mal! I’m gonna do the bouquet toss before we vamoose for the wedding night. You don’t wanna miss it, believe me.” Flushed and gorgeous in the soft pastel cosmetics she’s chosen for today, Zara flashes me a playful grin and beckons me to follow.

The sparkly blue topaz ring her guys gave her, surrounded by a rainbow of eight colorful stones, glitters and winks in the sunlight. She loves that ring and told me each guy picked his own stone. Ash’s pick for her was moonstone.

Anyway.

Zara’s being so playful right now that I really wonder if her Valyrian foresight is acting up again.

While my best friend rushes off to take her assigned place, I hurry to join Dez and Racetrack, my fellow bridesmaids, clustered in the courtyard under the second-floor balcony.

Even though RT is rocking a deep purple tux and combat boots with her buzzcut instead of the lavender frocks and updos that Dez and I are wearing, and even though my fiery copper curls are frizzing and flying everywhere in the summer heat as usual, I think the three of us look pretty okay.

Zara appears on her second-floor bedroom balcony, whirls around dramatically so she’s facing away from us, then tosses the massive bouquet of cream and violet roses energetically over her shoulder.

Streaming teal ribbons and bedizened with swan feathers (an embellishment chosen by Vasili), the bouquet sails majestically through the air.

Very clearly, it’s headed nowhere near me.

For no logical reason, because I’m not planning to get married anytime soon while I’m still a student, my chest tightens with a stab of disappointment.

Then the bouquet veers into a sharp ninety-degree turn, like it just cornered on rails—and lands right in my startled arms.

Clutching the fragrant bouquet to my chest and breathing in the scent of roses while the feathers tickle my cheeks, I blink around me at the circle of smiling faces and join in the fun with a surprised laugh of my own.

But I know telekinesis when I see it. I just don’t know who—

“Enjoy your flowers, McSnicker,” someone murmurs in my ear. “They suit you.”

I spin around in shock to find Vasili looming over me. I’m the tallest girl in my class, but somehow he manages to be taller.

Even when, like today, he’s not wearing heels.

Unlike the rest of the guys, V’s narrow tux is a pale mauve, accessorized with a sparkly bow tie in Zara’s teal. Also unlike the rest of the guys, he’s wearing as much makeup as Zara, and wearing it really well.

I happen to know he and Zara shared a spa day before the main event.

The Academy’s worst bully, to my complete amazement, is smiling.

He isn’t even sneering. It’s an actual smile.

I can see the tips of the wicked fangs he can’t retract, but almost never shows, pressing into his glossy lower lip.

I figure he’s having the wedding day he probably never dreamed he’d get.

That horrible snake, who hurt everyone around him (as Zara gently explained to me) because he was secretly hurting inside so much himself…

He actually looks…

Happy.

In fact, he’s acting so nice and so normal (for once) that I screw up my courage to ask him an actual question. Because, as everyone knows, Vasili Romanov is the strongest telekinetic on this island.

I gesture awkwardly with the flowers. “So, Vasili, um, did you by any chance…?”

“Well, whoever else would have done it, darling?” One perfectly painted eyelid dips in a sly wink. “Zara seems certain you’re the perfect choice.”

You wanna read more about Zara’s loyal bestie Mallory McSnicker

and her hot bi warlock menage?

Read their spicy story now in Virgo Queen: A Dark Witch Academy Paranormal Romance Standalone

(Keep scrolling down for a spicy sneak peek at the first chapter of Virgo Queen .)

THANK YOU, BOOK WITCH!

OMG, witches! This series has been one helluva wild ride to write.

I can’t even believe I’ve finished it. I hope you loved Zara & her hot bi harem of sword-crossing warlocks as much as I do.

To help other readers like you discover this intimate, inclusive, enchanted secret world where every sword crosses and love is love (because we all really need that right now), pretty please post a review below.

You don’t have to write a lot! Even a few words makes a big difference. TYIA!

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* * *

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For more X-rated bonus content you can’t find anywhere else (including the scoop on those extra bassinets, your questions about Max and V’s genderqueer dragon answered, and more!) follow me in the Witching World—my enchanted secret circle online reader community—here.

Virgo Queen:

A Dark Witch Academy Paranormal Romance Standalone

by Laura Navarre

Chapter One

Mallory

I must literally be the last remaining virgin in the whole Icarus Academy.

The reason I say this is because I’ve already blundered into two couples—and now a throuple—feverishly making out in the shadows of the dormitory stairs in my residential college.

Wow.

That’s… actually happening. Two guys and a girl.

Like an actual menage.

They’re blocking the stairs and they’re distracting. But I just keep going and mosey right on past. I’ve got someplace I need to be tonight.

“Sorry, guys. Don’t mind me,” I mumble as I edge around the amorous throuple.

“Sod off, McSnicker. We’re busy here.” One guy surfaces from that triple sex sandwich barely long enough to lob a discarded bra (regulation Academy uniform, meaning virginal white lace) in my general direction.

When I duck to avoid getting hit in the face by flying lingerie, I almost take a nosedive down the stairs.

“Geez Louise,” I grumble, teetering on the edge of disaster on my too-long legs in my borrowed platform heels. “Already own plenty of those, thanks. I have a whole drawer full upstairs.”

Not that anyone notices what I’m wearing.

Not even for my special night.

My classmates have already returned to their three-way.

Invisibility is an extinct magical trait in all four arcane races (plus the two hidden species the others don’t know about) that comprise the witching world.

Magical traits are genetic, and therefore inherited, like we learn in Science of Witchcraft class our freshman year here at the witch academy.

But I don’t need any special DNA to slip past unnoticed in this Academy.

Totally unacknowledged in any way after the whole bra incident, I steady my wobbly steps, avert my eyes politely—like the good girl I am—and tiptoe past the half-naked threesome who are now panting and groping (they’re a girl from my dorm and two guys from our rival college I barely know).

There’s barely room to squeeze past on the twisty haunted house staircase that plunges from the student dorm in Villa Hadrian—that’s the name of our residential college—down to the spooky basement.

Somehow, I make it work. I have to.

In typical Mallory McSnicker fashion, I’m already late.

Late to my own birthday bash.

Given my general McSnicker clumsiness (which is one inherited trait I could’ve done without), it’s definitely not a smart idea to hurry down these corkscrew stairs in the dark.

The ancient treads are worn with age and barely lit by the occasional rusted branch of candelabra sticking out from the shredded ruin of the blood red Victorian-era True Blood Fangtasia wallpaper.

But I hurry anyway.

It’s easier to camouflage the fact that I’m the tallest, skinniest girl in the whole school when I’m wearing the plaid skirt and blazer and saddle shoes stipulated in the Academy Codex.

Tonight I’m a lot more conspicuous (at least in theory) teetering along in these glittery platform heels and a sparkly silver party dress that barely hits mid-thigh on my giraffe-like legs.