Page 116 of Gemini Wicked

I kinda appreciate this level of acceptance.

While I’m feeling all the feels, Zephyr extends a courteous gauntlet to help Lucius (who looks like he needs it) down from the saddle.

“Thank you, Your Radiance,” my headmaster says faintly. “With any luck, we’ll not be obliged to do that again in a hurry.”

My wolf is fully human at the mo, but he’s got the bipedal equivalent of a tail tucked between his legs. His hands look unsteady as he unbuckles his oxblood briefcase and vintage satchel, then slides an old-fashioned Mary Poppins umbrella from behind the saddle.

(To be fair, it does look like rain.)

“Hey, Lucius. You okay?” Hastily I pull the dragonscale catsuit over my shoulders, zip that shit up so I don’t flash my tits at the staff, and hurry over to help him. Especially considering half the clothes in that satchel are actually mine.

Lucius summons a wan smile and hands me the umbrella to carry. “The less said about how I’m currently feeling, the better.”

Maxim’s massive black dragon settles beside us on the ledge with a powerful backwing, then fills the air with a deafening bellow that almost blows us all over.

Among this island’s population of scrawny ferals, Max is the dominant male. Clearly, his dragon wants all our enemies—both known and unknown—to know he’s here.

Being in rut with a permanent boner just makes him worse.

Ronin unbuckles from the harness and leaps down to the ledge with a whoop. He might not be happy about our visit to fairyland (like, at all), but my psycho Brit loves flying. He looks wicked in his leather pants and shitkickers, with the inky flames of his tattoo sneaking past the collar of his heavy metal tee. His golden eyes are fiery and his tawny face is alight in a savage grin.

“You see Max flame at those ferals?” He gives Max’s scaly black shoulder a hearty thump. “He’s a proper badass, he is.”

Max twists his long neck around and rumbles affectionately at Ronin, his round dragon orbs lidded and glowing with pleasure.

Meanwhile Neo unbuckles his harness and clambers down Max’s foreleg under his own steam, though my fated mate feels kinda wobbly in our bond. Flying’s definitely not a bookworm thing, but he’s gotten used to it, and overall he’s looking a whole lot better than Lucius.

Ronin reaches back to swing the hiker’s pack Neo’s toting over his own strong shoulder, then throws an arm around our bookworm’s neck to give him a rough hug of encouragement.

“Good job in the air, love,” Ronin murmurs. “I’m proud of you.”

Neo blushes with happiness and snuggles into him, then turns his soft smile on me.

Ronin turns to watch Zephyr coax his dragon into the lair to make room on the landing ledge for Vasili, who’s still circling the dragon-haunted city in a way that’s gotta upset the locals.

My Unseelie King’s got staff these days, the kind he hand-picks for loyalty, so a couple of capable-looking Dark Fae stable hands are already mucking around with Xhev’s saddle and bridle and a jar of that oil the dragon likes getting rubbed down with, you know, to moisturize. (Otherwise, Zephyr says, a non-shifting dragon’s scales get itchy.)

The Dark Fae King divides his attention between dragon care and the interior stair that twists down to the palace. Clearly he’s worried about Ash, who should’ve come charging up those stairs like a linebacker to welcome us home.

A ping of worry tightens my gut and quickens my breath. Now that I’m here, I wanna know Ash is okay, like, immediately.

While Zephyr fulminates around his dragon with his mouth tight and his movements twitchy in a way that clearly makes his staff nervous, and while Ronin pretends not to watch, a coil of glittering silver lands on the ledge with a flash of iridescent wings that sparkle in the setting sun.

Vasili’s barely down before he shifts. He’s already reaching impatiently for Ronin’s backpack (which holds his flashy clothes) before he’s settled fully into his human shape.

Maxim shifts back last, which tells me he’s on edge and probably still high on endorphins and testosterone from bullying the ferals.

Max is easily the most disreputable of my guys, with his scarred back and the twin barbells through his nipples and that barbed wire manacle tattooed around his wrist. Under my appreciative eye, he rakes a hand through his long blond hair and twists it into a warrior’s braid (in case we need to fight). Then he dips into Ronin’s pack and pulls one of Ronin’s silky button-downs around his scarred shoulders.

Poor Max. He’s more sensitive about covering his scars than he is about covering his dick.

Meanwhile, his suspicious slitted eyes dart everywhere. The skittish stable hands give him a wide berth.

“You must wear whatever pleases you, of course.” Zephyr casts a cool eye over my windblown harem. “However, I’ve commanded suitable attire and guest chambers made ready for your entire harem, my bride.”

“Yeah, we’ll all get cleaned up in a sec.” I swipe a worried hand through my own messy curls. “We gonna look for Ash first or what?”

A frown shadows Zephyr’s wary gaze.

---