Page 146 of Gemini Wicked

Well, hell. The tangled knot of anger and worry in my heart softens right up.

This kid’s blinking up at me, all drowsy and sweet as fuck, through a swath of the sleeping dragon’s blond hair.

Carefully I stroke back Maxim Rasputin’s hair, soft as butter. The scent of brimstone rises from the dragon’s suntanned skin and tickles my nose. First time I’ve touched that dragon shifter. Under my gentle touch, he mutters something fretful—sounds like Russian—in his sleep.

Clearly, this guy’s had a hard life. He’s all skin pulled over sinew, like he missed a few meals, and his long back’s a tortured canvas of old scars that make my gut clench. I’ve noticed the way he tries to hide the damage, like it’s somehow his fault some asshole flogged the shit outta him, not once but a bunch of times.

So I steer clear of his back, and he doesn’t pull away from my careful touch.

Even though shifters are notoriously twitchy, this one tolerates me stroking his hair without waking.

For some crazy reason, that little thing makes me happy.

Although this dragon’s still in la la land, I get a glimpse of how it could be. Me hooking up with this harem.

“Not goin’ far,” I breathe, turning away from Maxim and cupping Neo’s square jaw. I look down into the kid’s open, trusting face and rub my thumb over the soft curve of his lower lip. “I got a thing I do at sunrise. Plus I gotta rustle up some kinda breakfast for you all.”

“I mean it, Ash,” Neo mumbles, ducking his curly head to nuzzle my palm. “You need to come right back, okay? Zara needs you. We all do.”

Well, hell.

“I’m comin’ back.” I sigh, because I know it’s true. “I’m in this thing up to my eyeballs now, ain’t I?”

“You promise?” His worried eyes search my face.

“Yeah. I promise.” I lean in to kiss his furrowed brow, and he leans trustingly into my touch. “Go back to sleep, kid.”

He settles back with a sweet sigh that, I swear, busts my old guy ticker wide open in my chest. The kid’s eyes drift closed.

All messed up in my noggin from my interactions with those two, I finally duck outta there and schlep downstairs to give the kitchen crew their marching orders. Sparrow’s got a lotta servants these days, on account of him being the only ruling royal. But today’s a holiday. Summer solstice. Lotta folks are off getting ready for the Faerie Ball tonight.

Sparrow’s made this one—the shindig tonight when he crowns his queen—a command appearance.

So we only got a skeleton crew on kitchen duty. The unlucky few that drew the short straw and couldn’t get time off. They ain’t exactly thrilled about cooking for eight instead of two. But I’m the king’s consort, so no one gives me any lip.

Then I hightail it to the tower roof for my sun salutations.

Yeah, I do yoga. It’s a Seelie thing.

Who do you think the mortals learned it from?

Being up there in the morning air, watching the sun ease fully into view over the sea while I do my forward bends and downward dogs? With my boots and vest shucked off and my wings out to feel the wind in my feathers? My soothing morning ritual helps me regain some balance.

Maybe I can tolerate sharing a bed and a table and a roof with Ronin Pendragon.

Maybe.

If he makes Sparrow happy.

But if he hurts Sparrow again—in any way—I’m gonna go Game of Thrones on that Pendragon’s ass. I’ll castrate that fucker and feed his balls to Xhevith.

On that happy little note, I finish my sun salute, then do my breath-with-sound thing while I’m hunkered down in child pose (not so easy anymore on the old knees, but I get through it).

Now that I’ve got my priorities straight and my shit together, I leg it back to the bedroom. The yeasty scent of baking bread and the greasy sizzle of cave eggs greet me on the stairs, and my gut gives an appreciative rumble. At least the sulky kitchen crew’s doing their thing.

In our bedroom, the princess and her guys are waking up.

First thing I see is Vasili Romanov, stretched like a cat on the ledge in the morning sun, naked and unconcerned, with some kinda sparkly gel beauty mask draped over his eyes.

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