Page 95 of Gemini Wicked

Clearly discerning my silent war with my beast, Nikolai Romanov tilts his head. “At the least, Professor Aries, I’m reliably informed my son is the holy terror of this institution.”

“You raised him to be a bully and so he is one,” I say with deliberate lightness. In truth, his father raised him to be practically psychotic. “However, he’s also a graduating senior and our adjunct professor of Mogadon Magics. Assuming he survives his qualifying exams this summer, Vasili will begin fall term as the youngest tenured professor in this Academy’s storied history. So, as you see, there’s no need to worry.”

One corner of that ruthless mouth lifts in a chilly smile. “You’re protective of him. Of course, I’ve been fully aware of the unusual nature of your… relations… with my son, even before The Witching Inquisitor published its distasteful exposé.”

An uncomfortable heat climbs in my face.

Saints above, am I blushing?

Aware of the spymaster’s keen gaze on my ruddy face, I busy myself unlocking my briefcase and extracting a sheaf of freshly penned essays on the Fae Sundering that are in urgent need of grading.

“Our relationship may be unconventional,” I concede, addressing the essays, as my blush subsides, “but I’m still Vasili’s headmaster, an arrangement fully sanctioned by the Dean. Academically speaking, I’ve no cause for complaint. He scarcely bothers to complete his homework, of course, but that’s mainly because it bores him. I fully expect Vasili to excel at his quals.”

“Ah, but my concerns are not academic in nature.” Romanov dispenses another small cold smile. The man may be posing as a concerned parent, but he’s a cold fish—and a cunning spider.

Whatever he might claim, I seriously doubt Nikolai Romanov harbors a particle of genuine concern for his son’s academic success or his moral welfare.

This man is spinning a web of lies.

Lies he intends to trap me.

Try though he might, I have no intention of being ensnared.

Clearly sensing my suspicion, the spymaster leans back on the couch in a posture of casual ease. (Merciful Christ, he’s sitting precisely where his son first rimmed me and then railed me until my wolf nearly shredded the leather.) Nikolai crosses one deliberate ankle over his knee, flashing an inch of charcoal silk sock. His thoughtful fingers remain tented before his lips.

“I seem to have made a series of… errors in judgment… regarding my son,” he says quietly. “Errors in judgment which are, for me, far from typical. In my own defense, the discovery of Vasili’s homosexuality—and the manner of its discovery— came as a considerable shock and a public embarrassment. Rather than showing a flicker of sympathy for the appalling political dilemma he’d dumped in my lap, he rubbed my face in it with obnoxious glee.”

“Well, that certainly sounds like Vasili,” I murmur, hunting through my desk for a red pen.

Like father, like son. He learned his utter lack of compassion from you.

Romanov taps a pensive finger against his lips. “If I’d known then that he is capable of tolerating a woman in his bed—even experiencing passion for one, as he clearly does for the Gemini claimant—I would never have sent him away. You see, I harbored… certain plans… for his future.”

I bristle at his turn of phrase.

Zara is no mere claimant.

The Senate voted her in, damn it, to succeed our childless current queen. A vote which has yet to be overturned. For that to occur, that timid constellation of nervous politicians—masterfully managed by Theo Mercury—will await the outcome of the Dean’s Challenge.

To see if she survives.

If Zara wins, I’m certain, they won’t budge. Neo’s father will tell Cleopatra Aquarius to pound sand.

Only then will Zara’s crown be safe.

But my feelings for Zara are an exposed flank I dare not reveal to the perceptive villain currently lurking in my crypt.

Besides, we’re speaking of Vasili.

“I understand you planned to marry your son to Maxim Rasputin’s rather odious sister. That would have been a disaster.” I draw the stack of essays toward me in pointed hint. I’m in desperate need of a numbing potion for my migraine, but I don’t dare reveal weakness before this spider with his envenomed bite—

Without any warning, my office door bursts violently open and slams into the stone wall, as though it’s been smashed with a telekinetic hammer.

I startle and my talons shoot out. Nikolai Romanov twitches.

Abruptly Vasili’s tall frame commands the doorway. “Lucius, I—”

His gaze lands on his father, who rises sharply to his feet.

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