Page 30 of Gemini Wicked

A streak of chestnut lopes up the gangway and drops at my feet, shaggy fur dripping with seawater.

A ragged gasp spills from my lungs. My legs almost buckle with relief.

My mating bond with Lucius is different when he’s all wolfed out—he’s, like, not verbal in that form—but it’s definitely him. I can barely restrain the impulse to collapse on the deck beside him and smother my headmaster in a desperate hug.

Instead I just drop a hand to my side, so he can nuzzle my fingers with his cold wet nose.

I’ll do a lot more than that once we’re private.

Though I do definitely wonder what happened to Xiao.

Ronin stalks up the stairs, plants himself squarely at my side with booted legs spread and belligerent arms folded, and smolders at our viewing audience like he’s ready to hurl fire at any provocation.

Still circling overhead, Maxim bellows in triumph.

This moment’s pretty fraught. So I’m hyper-alert and tingling with nerves. A subtle flicker of movement from the flybridge across the way snags my immediate attention.

That’s the highest part of the boat, higher than where I’m standing with the guys, it’s mostly used for navigation. I’m a certified diver and I’m comfy on boats. That’s how I know the flybridge is usually secured. There shouldn’t be civvies up there.

And, actually, that’s no civvie.

It’s Cleo.

She’s standing alone at the helm, straight and regal as a queen. (If I’m being honest.) With her royal indigo gown sheathing her stately supermodel physique and the wind teasing her silky merlot mane. Somehow, even in the middle of this flaming shitshow, with multiple fires raging, she’s managed to stay impeccable.

She definitely looks more like a queen than I do, standing barefoot with my motley crew of disreputables, my teal curls twisted in a hasty knot, stray ringlets spilling down my neck, and one strap of my spangly cocktail gown broken.

God even knows where I’ve left my purse.

In that tense stretch of silence, Cleo meets my gaze across the width of the boat that divides us. Across the literal gulf of fire that lies between us. I lift my chin and lock onto her level stare.

She even acts more like a queen than I do. She always has. She’s literally a famous celebrity in the mortal world. She’s a supermodel who’s lived her whole life in the spotlight.

But fuck that shit.

I’m not stepping down.

Not for her.

The witching world needs me. Far as I can tell, she’s left the arcane races twisting in the wind.

Is this the one! Max’s psychic bellow just about makes me jump out of my skin.

In fact, his telepathic broadside makes all my mates twitch. Lucius’ wolf emits a growl of warning as our massive black dragon swoops toward the boat with golden eyes flaming, taloned legs outstretched, and smoke leaking through his serrated jaws.

“Yeah, that’s her.” I sigh. “No flaming.”

Sure, I hate what she’s done. But I used to love her. Like, I really fucking thought I was in love with her. That’s the whole reason her betrayal back in Singapore—not to mention this new one tonight—hurt me so bad.

Clearly, she needs to be dealt with. But I don’t need to see her flambéed right in front of me.

Max snarls and sails toward her, low and lethal.

Shit. I’m not even sure he’s listening.

Calmly Cleo slips the straps of her evening gown from her slim shoulders. The garment slithers down her long pale body to pool at her feet. Underneath she’s wearing a wisp of black lace that cups her perfect tits, a tiny triangle of matching lace over her crotch, and a garter that straps a baby handgun to her sleek thigh. She poses on the deck like a lingerie model, just long enough for the paparazzi cameras to flash.

“What the fuck,” Ronin grouses.

---