Page 129 of Gemini Wicked

I’ve got him tucked up behind me in the soaking tub in Zephyr’s luxe Unseelie bathroom. Ronin and I are immersed to the chest and floating in piped-in water from the hot springs under this volcanically active island. Pale lotus petals cover the tub’s steamy surface and obstruct the view down under.

But I can feel that my warlock’s finally stopped trembling against my back.

Thank fuck.

I tilt my head back against Ronin’s slick chest and lift my gaze from the sea-green frescoes of mermen and krakens swirling over the walls so I can check out the dome overhead. Through the ripple of thick volcanic glass, strange constellations revolve through an indigo sky, sliced by a sickle moon.

“Feeling a little better now?” I say softly.

“Gods, I dunno.” Ronin still sounds raw, but he loops his arms around my waist, settles me more comfortably between his corded thighs, and rests his chin on top of my head. “It’s a lot to wrap my head round. I took his eye for nothing. Be lucky if that Seelie bloke of his doesn’t knife me in the face tonight while I’m down for a kip.”

“Ash would never do that,” I say as firmly as I can. “He’d never attack someone—especially one of us—while we’re sleeping.”

Even though there’s no hiding from a telepath like Ronin that (at least in this specific case) I’m not one hundred percent sure.

Zephyr and Ash have been gone for hours, working through all this shit (I hope). Ronin filled in the blanks from his convo with Zephyr for the rest of us. My other warlocks are holed up in the royal bedroom next door. Judging by the cadence of Lucius’ patient murmurs and Max’s halting replies, my headmaster’s quizzing my dragon to help him prep for the written part of our finals.

Their words are too muffled to make out, but the whiplash crack of Vasili’s biting intervention makes me wince. Neo’s soothing murmur in reply makes me smile.

Thank fuck for Neo.

Tonight we’re all on edge.

We could all use a little sweet bookworm love.

“Hardly blame him if he does.” Still stuck on the subject of the vengeful Ash, Ronin heaves a sigh that makes the water quiver. “Fuck me. Can’t believe Zeph’s even letting me stay. If not for you, love, and all this succession rot, I’d be tossed out of Avalon on my arse. And I’d bloody well deserve it.”

I’m totally limp and boneless in the heat, muscles and sinews al dente, like overcooked spaghetti. But Ronin has a warrior’s survival sense, and I trust his instincts.

Hearing his misgivings, I stir in the slippery tub with a twinge of unease. “Zephyr knows the truth now about what happened. You both do. I’m hoping you’ll find some way to forgive each other. Or at least, you know, tolerate each other.”

Now it’s my turn to heave a worried sigh.

I really don’t want one polycule in Icarus and a totally separate Fae ménage here in Avalon.

I don’t want two warring bands of warlocks hating and distrusting and sniping at each other across the miles.

I want all of us together.

That’s what I’ve always wanted.

For tonight, I guess, I’ll have to settle for no one getting knifed in their sleep.

The bathroom door swings open with a creak. Because the new arrival doesn’t bother knocking or asking if maybe we want privacy, I’m not surprised when the cool hiss of my snake’s stealthy approach slithers through our mating bond.

“Maybe knock next time first, bad boy,” I murmur, because it’s never too late to learn basic manners. “Ronin or I coulda been peeing in here.”

Vasili spares a scornful look for the quaint gravity-flush toilet in the corner that makes Ronin snicker.

“I certainly knew Ronin wasn’t.” V sneers. “He pisses with the door wide open.”

This is true, and an unfortunate reality of living with multiple guys is that half of them don’t bother closing the door when they pee. I’ve had to lay down some pretty firm boundaries to stop those guys from barging in on me or Neo or Lucius (the modest ones in this harem) while we’re doing our business.

“Knock first next time, okay?” I repeat. Just because you’re sociopathic doesn’t mean you can’t learn basic bathroom etiquette. “But c’mon in now, I guess.”

I mean, since he’s already in anyway.

“Thank fuck.” V closes the door pointedly on Max’s struggling recital of the timeline of the two Witching World Wars. That’s the last time the Horn of Ceres was at large—in some private Nazi art collection—before the witching world magicked it back. Then the artifact vanished into the Academy Vault.

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