Page 123 of Gemini Wicked

Ash steps back from all of us with a gentle sigh and lets his wings retract. They fold up against his back and rustle under the cut of his vest that’s designed to accommodate. Underneath, I know, those wings will dwindle and melt into the ornate angel’s wing tattoo that spreads across his broad shoulders and down the powerful column of his spine.

“For moon’s sake,” Zephyr murmurs at him with a frown, “where were you?”

“Teaching a Potions class,” Ash says dryly. “More or less. Mordred’s been plenty busy while you were gone, kid. Haven’t seen his pissant brother though.”

“That’s because I killed him,” Zephyr says offhandedly. “Lothian the Proud is no more.”

“Huh.” Ash grunts. “Well, he was always the lesser of two evils. With Mordred stirring the pot, whole Academy’s turning into a hotbed of sedition. Figgered I’d give your students someone else to listen to about the politics for once.”

“Ah, the legendary Avalon Academy for Promising Royals of the Faerie Court,” Lucius says with interest from the balcony doorway. “Zara tells me you’re a professor there.”

“Yeah, mostly Potions and Healing Magic.” Ash shrugs. “Just the standard Light Fae stuff. I’m the resident Seelie in this joint. I don’t do the deportment and the arts shit on the core curriculum.”

“Fascinating,” Lucius says fervently, studying Ash with keen attention.

At least one of my alphas isn’t growling.

My wolf’s doing better than Max at handling his rut, but he can’t tolerate being very far from me right now either. I reach back to lace my fingers through Lucius’ callused grip and draw him outside with me, which pretty much fills the balcony.

“You’re Lucius Aries, ain’tcha?” Ash gives him a respectful nod. “I knew your grandpa Laszlo. Long time ago now, but you look a lot like him.”

While those two guys of mine swap their hi how are ya’s (both reassuringly calm and cordial, clearly interested in each other’s academic shit, but these aren’t the two I’m worried about), Zephyr herds us all back into the library and closes the glass doors against the encroaching night.

Neo rushes over to say an enthusiastic hello, because he knows Ash and likes him. Needless to say, the feeling’s mutual.

Everyone likes Neo. That’s literally his bookworm superpower.

While Zephyr deploys this Downton Abbey manual bellpull thingie and orders up dinner for eight (eight of us now in this polycule!) to be schlepped up to the library, Ash ruffles Neo’s purple curls and asks him about his studies, which my bookworm is sweetly eager to tell him.

Vasili’s not openly nasty the way he easily can be, he’s holding his fire in reserve. But he’s still aloof as fuck and acerbic as vinegar, because he’s Vasili. Ash swats aside V’s stinging verbal zingers about his long absence with what looks like good-humored patience.

But Ash knows better than to trust him.

In fact, there’s an edgy awareness sparking between those two that has us all twitchy.

But nothing can blunt the edge between Ash and Ronin.

Ash takes one look at Zephyr’s first love, the guy who took Zephyr’s eye and pushed him off a roof, then pins my Brit with a steely gaze that makes me genuinely afraid to leave the two of them alone and unsupervised in a room together.

Like, ever.

Ash doesn’t say much to him (which is unusual all on its own, he’s normally a friendly guy). But the way he’s eyeing Ronin, I’m seriously afraid he’s gonna unsheathe that hunting knife strapped to his corded thigh and bury it between Ronin’s shoulder blades the second my warlock’s back is turned.

Shit.

As for Ronin, he meets that Seelie’s hostile stare with a nasty scowl that bristles with his own aggression. Then my Brit clams up and skulks off to check out the orrery.

That’s a silent exchange that worries Lucius and upsets Neo.

Vasili gives Zephyr a venomous look like the whole steaming mess is his fault, then slithers off to join his boyfriend. Those two huddle on the viewing platform among the circling moons and planets, whispering and shooting suspicious looks at any Fae who strays too close.

Max hovers possessively at my side on the ottoman near the cool witchfire, his hand planted firmly on my thigh the whole time, and keeps a wary eye fixed on the balcony doors. Every time Xhevith’s distant bellows seep through the glass (that dragon’s restless tonight, so he’s vocal), Max’s slitted pupils narrow and he snarls at the rival dragon.

Long story short?

By the time an orderly queue of Zephyr’s Unseelie servants file into the room bearing the covered dishes that contain our dinner, there’s so much tension filling this study, the air in here’s practically too thick to breathe.

Once Zephyr dismisses the servants with a regal nod, I can barely coax Vasili and Ronin to the big driftwood table where we all gather to eat. Even when I do manage to entice them over, those two warlocks range themselves as far from the two Fae as possible. Neo hurries over and snuggles up tightly against Ronin in a futile attempt to offer comfort.

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