Page 3 of Gemini Wicked

The worst of the tension eases its viselike grip between my shoulders. He always knows what to say to make me feel better.

Out of all my mates, Lucius is the one who makes me feel safe.

I release him and settle back in my seat with a sigh. “Anyway, the Aquarius queen who’s throwing my birthday coronation bash doesn’t seem much like she wants to step down. We gotta share that throne—somehow—till she does. Which is another reason I’m really not looking forward to this shindig. Like, at all.”

I don’t have to say it.

But there’s a whole fucking list of reasons I’m not looking forward to tonight.

Reasons related to my conflicted and begrudging feelings about surrendering the last of my hard-won freedom and permanently taking on this whole ball-and-chain queen gig.

I have mating bonds with all the guys in my harem.

Which means, when I’m dreading something the way I’m dreading tonight, they can smell it.

Me refusing to wear the royal purple to my own coronation?

That’s just the tip of the iceberg.

“Zara’s just sulking because she hasn’t had her birthday spanking. Yet.” Vasili smirks at me over his rock-star spectacles. “That’s a gift from Lucius and me you’ll have to wait for, little queen. But not for long.”

Well, shit. That gets me squirming in my seat. My bare thighs rub together under my slitted skirt in a way I definitely notice. And the way Lucius leans forward and growls, deep in his chest, sets my heart skipping and my pulse skyrocketing for a whole new reason.

A little spanky-panky for me from my warlocks?

Oh, hell to the yeah. Sign me up, baby.

Just what I need to take the edge off. At least we can finish off this whole shitty day on a high note.

Lucius smells my mating scent perfuming the briny ocean air, which makes his nostrils flare. Behind his dark specs, his eyes pulse red.

That’s his wolf rising.

Dayum.

Now my thong’s getting damp.

“Not every girl gets a bloody crown for her birthday, does she, love?” That’s Ronin Pendragon, standing in the prow with one booted foot braced on the gunwale, which means he’s not smelling me. (But he’s a wicked telepath, so he’s definitely feeling me.) His long sleek hair streams behind him in the wind in a black silk banner of hotness. Under his tuxedo jacket and plum silk button-down, his painted-on leather pants cup his traffic-stopping ass in a way we all appreciate.

Despite our collective unease.

Shit. There’s just no denying it. This morning’s paper threw us all off balance.

Like, we really didn’t need the whole witching world knowing my nipples are pierced.

“Yeah, no, not feeling the love.” I scowl at a passing speedboat and barely resist the urge to flip those intrusive cameras the bird. “Even if this whole coronation—assuming Messalina does plan to crown me tonight, since we’re all kinda guessing—is literally the only reason I’m even here.”

“Along with the chance to party with the glitterati, yeah?” Dez pipes up from where she’s tucked against Racetrack at the helm. The sparkles from Dez’s orchid party dress glimmer against her sorrel skin.

Those two girls—Dez and RT—look comfy and settled together in a way I refuse to let myself envy. I mean, I’m not jealous of them together or anything (even though I’m bi). I’m just acknowledging the simplicity of having one mate who’s totally settled in the relationship. Instead of the uneasy seven (half of whom distrust and actively hate each other) that I’m somehow rocking.

Including my other shifter mate who’s late to this party—assuming he deigns to show up at all—because glitterati parties really aren’t Maxim’s scene.

Not to mention my two skittish Fae, who’ve been totally MIA and incommunicado for weeks.

Fuck.

The dive boat bumps gently against the stern of the yacht. Which gets me out of my head and back in the game.

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