Page 40 of Gemini Wicked

“You mean, like, a royal entourage?” I stare into her earnest gray eyes. “I mean, sure, we sank the royal yacht. By accident, of course—”

“That was no accident.” Maxim growls. “I meant to burn that vessel to the waterline. So that is what I did.”

Ronin laughs, which doesn’t help, but we’re moving past Max and his bloodthirsty ways. I glance around at all my guys. “I mean, why would Messalina move in at Icarus? This Academy is totally our space. It’s our power base.”

“She wouldn’t,” Vasili murmurs. “That bitchy witch has almost certainly retreated to sulk and lick her wounds at the Aquarius palazzo in Venice. That’s her stronghold, where her actual throne resides. You’ve stolen her crown, darling. She’s going to cling to that throne like a barnacle.”

“Crikey! New student.” Dez pops up suddenly.

Our resident house elf has finally stopped fussing over everyone’s coffee and cocoa. Now Dez is tucked up neatly next to Racetrack on the rug and practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s what the Dean said when I finally got her on the landline, yeah? I thought she was barmy. Telling me about a new student at a time like this? But maybe she was actually trying to warn us.”

In the sudden silence, Vasili draws in a hiss of alarm. His cold fingers close around my wrist like a manacle.

That’s his way of holding me close.

For protection.

Max snarls and stops in his tracks to eye me. In his golden irises, his oblong pupils narrow to slits. He’s feeling the sizzle of instinct that crackles through my brain like a lightning bolt.

Since my mates all read me like the goddamn Sunday paper, Ronin’s hands tighten on my shoulders. “Oh, bloody hell. Surely not, love.”

Clearly smelling the tension in the room, even though they’re not in our bond, Jae and Draco loom protectively over Mallory. The Viking’s eyes flare and pulse with an eerie blue fire.

Even with my shifty senses, I can’t be sure in the flickering light, but Jae’s fingers seem to elongate, so they’re all extra jointy and sprout cruel-looking talons.

Mallory squeezes Draco’s thick thigh and grips Jae’s freaky-looking hand. Her cautious gaze shoots straight to Lucius, the face of authority in the room. “I don’t get it. Why would the Dean warn you about a new student? It can’t be Messalina. She graduated from here thirty years ago.”

“No, our new resident wouldn’t be Messalina,” Lucius murmurs. He sounds totally composed, but I know my unshakable headmaster is troubled (which makes my own misgivings worse). “As Vasili has surmised, our queen regnant has very likely returned to her royal seat in Venice. The refugees from the yacht are likewise being flown home on the Academy supply plane. Queen or no queen, only faculty and students are permitted past the wards to reside on this island.”

I don’t even wanna say this shit out loud.

But, clearly, someone needs to say it.

And then figure out some plan to deal with it.

“Fuuuuuck.” I groan, long and low, from the heart. “Fucking Cleo. She just fucking enrolled here as a student.”

Chapter Eight

Lucius

“I mean, seriously, why is Cleo even here? It’s not enough the backstabbing bitch just schemed to get me dethroned and humiliated at my own birthday bash—on live TV?”

Zara’s indignant voice floats through the open door of our shared bedroom as I prowl down the darkened stretch of the upstairs hall.

There’s currently no electrified light in the drafty corridor of our ancient domus, a habitation whose foundations date to the Roman era. Regrettably, the antiquated wiring is fragile and temperamental across the island grid (all the more so since Zara arrived at Icarus, hurling lightning like a vengeful Zeus).

Thus, I’m carrying a lit candle while I conduct my nightly prowl to confirm that all our doors and windows are locked and warded against the unknown night.

As I test the latch on the tall window that spills a pale wash of moonlight down the hall, Zara’s fretful words seep through the bedroom door she’s left ajar for me.

“Even, like, academically, what’s up with the bitch’s timing? Cleo already graduated from the Sorbonne in Paris or some shit. She’s older than us. Not to mention it’s literally finals week.”

Despite the seriousness of our current situation, with words like revolution and sedition still ringing in my ears, the prickly annoyance in my queen’s voice makes my wolf bristle and pace.

We’ve witnessed ample evidence that Zara’s superheats, which are supposed to sync with the moon, have become far less predictable since she returned from the hidden Fae realm of Avalon. Still, she’s diligently maintained her regimen of prophylactic shots at the Academy clinic. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been fixated on avoiding conception.

In fact, when it comes to those shots, she’s fanatical in her zeal.

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