Page 85 of Gemini Wicked

Now I have annoyed both Zara and Lucius.

“It’s a pity you’ve missed most of our final review session.” Lucius looks both exasperated and annoyed. “A review whose assistance you, in particular, sorely required.”

His irate tone makes me hang my head.

As he resumes his place behind the podium where he keeps his inexhaustible pile of lecture notes, Lucius’ lovely whiskey gaze finds me drooping in my seat. His expression shifts from wrathful to reproachful.

Still, he is unyielding. “You can begin to redeem yourself, Mr. Rasputin, by summarizing for the class the three major periods of interracial relations in Faerie history.”

My already flagging spirits sink to my shoes.

Truly, he might as well ask me to summarize the alchemical composition of gold, which is so difficult to master it is notorious. That is one of the subjects in Neo’s Honors Alchemy course (into which I will never be admitted).

Even on the best of days, I am a slow learner.

Today, with the delicious creamy spice of my queen’s mating scent (growing richer and more seductive by the hour, because she is definitely preparing to ovulate) filling my head and seeping from her skin and drenching the air in nectar, I am hopelessly distracted.

“Um.” Awkward, I clear the thickness from my throat and try to focus.

If we were alone, I would drop to my knees before Lucius—who is now my alpha, to my amazement and delight—and I would rub my face into his thighs and groin until he reeked of my scent and I reeked of his. Then I would unbutton his fly and take his thick-veined cock between my contrite lips and let him fuck my mouth until he forgave me.

Just the thought of this electrifying new state of affairs between myself and my headmaster, whom I have idolized from afar for so long, is a heady one.

Last night he let me suck him.

He let me suck him until he exploded in my mouth with a primal bellow that was raw with pleasure—

“No answer?” Lucius’ disappointed face penetrates my fantasy (which is not what I want him to penetrate) and makes me long to crawl under my desk and hide in shame. “What a pity. Perhaps Ms. McSnicker can shed some light on the subject.”

Before I can unknot my hunched shoulders and release my held breath, Lucius’ wrathful tone lashes me like a whip. “I’d suggest you take copious notes, Mr. Rasputin. I expect to see a ten-page essay from you on this subject waiting on my desk by this time tomorrow. If you’re a minute late, the length of that assignment doubles.”

I barely manage to swallow a groan of dismay.

The only thing worse than being asked to recite long lists of historical facts I can never seem to master is being required to coax an encyclopedic essay from the ancient manual typewriter, with its stubborn carriage and sticking keys, in our domus library.

I especially cannot manage this task while I am simultaneously guarding my irresistible Zara and her fertile womb from that rival male Zephyr and his dragon.

I give Lucius a look of mute entreaty.

But it is no use. He has already turned the scalpel of his attention to Mallory McSnicker, who is sitting quietly next to Zara.

Mallory too gives me an apologetic look and a grimace of sympathy. She feels sorry for my discomfort.

She is a nice girl. She is a good friend to Zara.

But she is, in the classroom, the female equivalent of our bookworm Neo.

Deftly she tosses her copper braid over one skinny shoulder and recites, “The three periods of interracial relations between the Dark and the Light Fae are the Discord, the Sundering, and the Exile. Some scholars claim the Faerie races are starting a fourth period in their history, called the Renaissance. But this is controversial because there’s so little scholarship on the lost Unseelie race—”

“Very thorough as always, Ms. McSnicker. Thank you.” Lucius gives Zara and Ronin and me—the only members of our polycule who have him this period—an inscrutable look. “I’d advise all of you to take careful note. This year in particular, Faerie History will very likely play a prominent role in the Dean’s examination.”

Sitting on Zara’s other side, Ronin props a foot against his desk, slaps a notebook against his thigh, and scribbles a careless bullet.

Ronin is also my mate, so we are closely attuned. This is why I notice that his powerful body moves with less than his usual grace. And it is not only because of the way he engulfed Lucius’ formidable knot last night and rode that wolf’s cock like a stripper on a pole.

It is obvious to me that Ronin is… distracted. He fiddles with his pencil and drums restless fingers against his desk.

I wonder if, with his powerful clairsentience, he can sense the nearness of that rival male and his worrisome dragon.

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