Page 151 of Gemini Wicked

And fertile.

If a dragon fucks Vasili like that, my snake could literally carry eggs.

Just one more damn thing to keep track of.

As we all spiral over the enchanted bubble of the Faerie Ball—my guys and me, all eight of us united (more or less) at last—Ash’s winged form sweeps over the kiva in a low recon. The Seelie Prince is stunning in the moonlight with his pewter wings spread wide, his regular doeskin swapped out for an ivory dragonscale version of his vest and breeches, scales flashing with facets of Zephyr’s royal green and my signature teal.

Ash glides low over the gathering, pivots in a lazy spiral to retrace his path, then soars into yet another pass. My Eagle of the Air (as he’s called) has the sharpest eyesight of any of us.

Plus he knows what he’s looking for.

And my shifter guys and I don’t.

“Once, twice, thrice,” Zephyr whispers on the wind like a spell.

That’s the recon pattern we agreed to (because the Fae aren’t telepaths, so we have to plan this shit in advance). Three passes for Ash to signal the all-clear for my guys and me.

Wherever that demon Mordred is lurking, he’s not visible in the crowd.

Not even to Ash’s eagle eye.

I push out a breath and roll my shoulders to loosen the tension.

Not that it helps.

Zephyr leans hard into the reins, his supple form straining against my back, because reining a dragon into a tight turn takes real muscle. Xhevith’s big body tilts into the turn and sweeps toward the kiva’s broken rim, with my guys arrowing right behind, all hot on our tail.

My gaze shifts to the night-dark sea, foaming white against the ancient bones of the Unseelie city rushing toward us.

Maybe that demon’s waiting and watching in the deep.

In, like, his kraken form.

An electric flash of last night’s dream, way more vivid and disturbingly tactile than a normal dream has any right to be, sears through me like a bolt of lightning.

The supple flex and suck of tentacles soft as suede gripping my limbs.

A swirl of indigo hair like spilled ink caressing my skin.

The rigid prod of a mighty cock parting my thighs.

Only there was something… different… about that particular boner—

Fuck.

If that was him… Mordred… then fuck.

I don’t even want my warlocks knowing I came, much less how hard I came, during that dream fuck. I never consented to that shit—

“Sure we’re good, mate?” Ronin shouts through the wind. He’s finally talking in a strained but civil way to Ash, at least.

“Yeah, far’s I can see? Demon’s a no-show. So far.” That’s Ash, finally shouting back, also strained but civil.

We’ve all been civil all day (except V, who’s been his usual pissy self, only worse, but he’s hormonal) while we planned out this gig.

Now we settle on the kiva rim in unison, me and my warlocks, with Xhevith ahead of the rest. As his cruel claws curl and flex around the rim, my eye zooms in on a tall skinny pillar that rises between those thrones on stage. Perched on top, under a shimmery dome that looks like some kinda protective forcefield, a jeweled circlet sparkles in the moonlight.

Then it croons my name.

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