Page 68 of Gemini Hunted (Dark Witch Academy #5)

In this getup, I’ll be lucky if I don’t break a leg before I even manage to show for my own birthday bash.

Despite the fact that I’m tempting fate, I rest a hand on the wall for stability—because everything in this Academy is ancient, and the banister rotted away decades ago—and pick up my pace till I’m trotting (unsteadily) down the stairs.

The metallic grind of axe-murder metal, mingled with a snarl of youthful voices and an occasional girly squeal, floats up from the dark cavern of the dorm basement.

Firelight flickers from the battered oil drums we use for illumination down there. Facets of light dance against the ruined wallpaper and make my dress sparkle like fairy dust in the darkness.

I pause to let myself savor the magic of this moment.

Just for a sec.

I’m no wicked telepath like my classmate Ronin Pendragon, I’m pretty much a nonentity in the magical superpowers department.

But the whole school’s excitement pulses from the basement like a beating heart.

We’re not supposed to be partying down there, in the unsafe and basically condemned medieval dungeon basement—which is also rumored to be haunted.

Not on a school night.

Especially right before midterms.

But my dorm mates will seize any excuse for a party, and I’m First Girl on the Dean’s List. The resident, apple-polishing good girl.

In other words, a faculty favorite.

That’s why my classmates figured Mistress Agrippina (our rule-enforcing headmistress) would turn a blind eye.

I’ve never had a real birthday party before. My kind doesn’t celebrate them. So it feels really magical to be getting one now. Even if my birthday’s just an excuse for an unsanctioned party, I’m allowed to let myself enjoy it.

I’ll soak up every magical second of this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Caught up in the floaty euphoria of sex pheromones and anticipation wafting up the stairs, I descend like I’m dreaming.

As I wobble my way down in my borrowed heels, the unruly cloud of carroty curls I can never seem to tame rises from my bare shoulders and starts to frizz and float in the psychic charge I’m generating.

Tonight’s the night, McSnicker, I tell myself like a mantra, trying in vain to tame my rebellious curls. It’s your twentieth birthday. It’s a real party. You’re at least gonna get a real kiss.

Because I refuse to count as real kisses those sloppy, totally underwhelming fumbles in the broom closet with Cletus, my equally awkward third cousin, when we were both a pimply fourteen.

All that distraction and commotion below, plus the reek of cheap beer and salsa, and the need to concentrate on my rickety footing on these stairs, are all reasons why my typically acute secret senses fail me tonight.

Right when I need them most.

That’s when I blunder around the bend like the same complete social disaster I always am—

And walk straight into the two guys I’ve been crushing on for literally my entire sophomore year. Who are, themselves, making out on the stairs.

With each other.

I practically run into Draco Mars’ broad back before I pull up short with a thunderous gasp.

My heart jams up against my lungs and hammers so hard it practically makes the whole house vibrate.

Dizzy with the dark spice of Mogadon pheromones flooding the air and the adrenaline rush of my own endorphins, I grope blindly toward the wall for balance.

Draco’s Icelandic and he’s a big guy, like the tallest guy at Icarus (but his colossal build is only one of the reasons I’m crushing).

However, I’m currently standing above him on the stairs.

That vantage gives me a total view, past his pale blond head and those muscled shoulders encased in a worn black tee that looks soft as suede, of my other crush.

Jean-Emilien Labête, the Cajun, who goes by Jae.

The werewolf.

(Which I mean literally, because shifter.)

Ohmygosh.

I can’t even believe what I’m seeing.

Jae’s, like, going down on Draco. Right here on the school stairs!

No one else in the whole Academy even knows those two are together. Clearly, they’ve been keeping their whole thing secret.

But I’ve been watching these two particular guys like a creeper all semester, and it’s hard to hide stuff from someone like me, so I kinda guessed.

Due to the angle, I can’t see much past Draco’s powerful frame, beyond his big hands threaded through the mass of dreadlocks and beads and juju Jae likes to twist into his long black hair.

I do have a direct view of Jae’s hungry hands, which are cupping Draco’s always impressive ass (an ass that’s even more impressive now, encased in black leather, than when he’s wearing his Academy uni).

Jae’s fingers are kneading and his curvy black claws are out, sharp and deadly as box cutters.

Which totally gives me a shiver that runs all the way down my spine to my tailbone.

Underneath my sparkly dress and virginal panties, a sudden flood of tingly heat almost makes me moan.

I suck in a lungful of air and reel under a head-spinning hit of juniper and bergamot—that’s Draco, he’s part of the Mogadon race, so it’s a genetic trait that he scents.

Underneath that truckload of come-get-me biochemicals he’s pumping out, my enhanced senses pick up the dark green aroma of patchouli and moss and fertile New Orleans soil.

The shifters scent too, and that verdant spice is drifting from Jae’s sleek braids and amber skin.

Normal humans—even normal witches—wouldn’t hear a thing under the staccato grind of death metal rising from the basement.

But I’m not normal.

So I can hear Jae’s wolf whining, feral with need, all low in his throat, as he… wow… literally gives Draco a blow job. Right here on our dormitory stairs.

Now this, I gotta see.

I mean, it is my birthday, remember? I don’t expect any actual presents, but this is the exact gift I want.

I’m standing on tiptoe and teetering in my platform heels, breathless with wonder and straining like anything to see over Draco Mars’ shoulder, when the Icelander’s raspy voice rubs against my heightened senses like sandpaper.

“You just watching, First Girl, or you wanna join?”

Heat races into my cheeks on a horrified gasp. I practically burst into flames on the spot. I literally wish I could melt and just sink through the stairs.

I’m, like, a peeping Tom. A peeping Thomasina.

I’m busted.

Geez Louise. Draco hasn’t even turned his sexy head. But he’s a really strong warlock, so clearly he senses I’m here.

With a soft curse, Jae’s head thrusts into view next to Draco’s leather-clad hip. The Cajun’s languid eyes, rimmed in black liner, flame like pools of golden honey.

“Happy birthday, chere .” Jae pauses—for me to react, I guess—but that’s not happening. His lush mouth curls in a lazy grin. “Ah, cat got your tongue, oui ?”

Come on, McSnicker. Say something. You can do this. I swallow hard, suck in my breath, and open my mouth.

But now Draco is turning. He’s turning , which (ohmygosh!) brings his fully erect dick—all flushed and shiny with Jae’s saliva—right into my line of sight.

That’s the first dick I’ve ever seen—as in, literally the first one—except the full frontal in that vintage art flick A Room With A View , which wasn’t even sexual.

And Draco Mars… he’s… wow.

Just wow.

His thick shaft, jutting straight out between corded thighs in a pale thatch of pubic hair, under the ripply flex of six-pack abs and the slashing vee of his Adonis belt, he’s, like, monumental .

He’s so girthy and so long I can’t even imagine how Jae’s managing to fit that much of Draco in his mouth.

Yep. Speech is officially beyond me.

My face flames hotter, all the way to my hairline, which paired with my flaming hair probably makes me look like a tomato on stilts.

Great.

So I literally do the only thing I can think of.

I drag my fascinated stare away from the combustible vision of Draco’s massive boner that’s guaranteed to be blazoned on my brain forever.

Then I bolt past those two, with their sexy smirks and their knowing eyes, for the public refuge of the party in the basement.

Which—between my borrowed footwear, my flustered mortification, and my general lack of coordination—really isn’t a smart move. Even for a smarty-pants like me.

Because of course I miss my footing on these twisty ancient stairs.

My arms windmill for balance, but there’s nothing to grab. The jagged tunnel of the staircase, sharp with stony angles that can shatter skulls and break bones, opens under my desperate feet.

With a startled yelp and a spurt of terror, I fall.