Page 115 of Gemini Queen
“Are you kidding? If we’ve got an uninvited guest down there, I don’t need you or Vasili. I’ll roll out the welcome wagon myself,” Racetrack says with a hard look.
She’s gone in an eyeblink. Literally.
Because Racetrack’s Mogadon gift is teleportation.
She’s also a hellraiser, just because she’s Racetrack. My guess is, she’s with Dez in thethermaealready. And if anyone else is hanging around down there, my wrathful housemate’s sudden appearance will probably give that person a heart attack.
“Wow,” Zara breathes. “That’s handy. I wonder if she’s ever thought about a career in burglary?”
“Blood of Christ,” Lucius mutters. “I trust the rest of you will oblige me by putting some clothes on.” He leans in to nuzzle Ronin’s cheek, because even I can feel Ronin’s still shaken. “Especially you, dear one. You’re mother-naked and it’s freezing out here.”
And right there in front of all of us, Ronin cups a hand around the back of Lucius’ neck and pulls him into a hard claiming kiss.
Zara makes a soft noise next to me, and everything I’m picking up from my fated mate tells me she’s burning to claim Lucius that exact same way.
When Ronin comes up for air, Lucius’ head snaps toward her—andwhoa—my teacher’s eyes are fiery red and he’s going all fangy. Not to mention he looks hot as heck doing it. He and Zara are just consuming each other with their eyes.
But it’s pretty clear things between them aren’t settled. I sense she’s not as afraid of whoever’s trying to terrorize her as she’s afraid Lucius might not want her.
Like there’s anyone on this planet who wouldn’t want her. She’s queen of the witching world. She’s practically a goddess.
But she’s also her own self. She’s our Zara.
And the next thing she says proves it.
“Yeah, we’ll all uniform up—on one condition. You don’t get to freaking run off this time, Lucius.” Zara disentangles from our group hug and plants her hands on her hips, looking even sexier than usual standing there barefoot in her wild hair, schoolgirl panties, and Lucius’ rumpled shirt. “Because you’ve been doing a lot of that lately. The four of us—and probably the five of us—really need to talk.”
Lucius blinks and his fangs retract.
“I happen to agree,” he says mildly. “But I’d rather not conduct that long-overdue discussion in a student’s bedroom with the three of you standing about half dressed. Let me secure the house, check on Racetrack whether she wants it or not, and deal with this poor beast while the rest of you make yourselves decent. We’ll address this matter properly before class.” He glances at his wristwatch. “Let’s reconvene at the breakfast table in, shall we say, thirty minutes?”
That’s Lucius’ way of maintaining that professorial propriety he’s so fond of. I can respect that.
Zara’s definitely giving him the fish eye. But she snorts and pivots back inside to dress.
“And Mr. Pendragon?” Lucius adds. Now it’s Ronin’s turn to snort, and I swear my prof blushes. “Very well then.Ronin. After you’re decent, you’d best collect Mr. Romanov as well.”
Now I know Lucius has to be more unsettled than he’s letting on, because everyone knows Ronin and Vasili hate each other.
Sending Ronin after him is the best way of guaranteeing Vasili won’t show up at all.
“And that right there’s exactly why we need to talk,” Zara calls from inside her bedroom, clearly picking up my thought. “Along with about ten thousand other secrets people are keeping around here. Neo, baby, wanna help me start the fire?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Zara
I’m so pumped for our long-overdue group gab that I beat the guys downstairs. Five minutes after Lucius knocks on my door to give the all-clear, I pop out from my bedroom, looking all prep school spiffy in the cherry blazer and red-and-black plaid of the Friday uni, complete with blue pigtails, black thigh-highs, and a black beret sporting (you guessed it) the Academy logo.
By now, that poor dead wolf is long gone from my doorstep. Someone’s taken care of business.
I’m putting my money on Lucius.
The visible symbol of that ugly threat may be gone, but the psychological impact isn’t so easy to erase. Even though I know the house is secure, I can’t shake that creepy feeling of being stalked through the streets. Under my pulled-together facade, my chest is tight and it’s hard to get enough air, which I recognize as the prelude to the full-blown panic attack I won’t let myself surrender to.
I can’t stop wondering, if I’d been any less alert and wary last night, whetherI’d have been what Ronin found slaughtered on our doorstep.
When I let my brain go there, it’s pretty unsettling to imagine the probable queen killer operating freely in this house I’ve started to think of as a sanctuary. Because this incident with the wolf goes way beyond casual hazing. Someone hunted down that poor critter, slaughtered it in a really gruesome way (which can’t have been easy, a wild wolf like that), schlepped it all the way here, broke into this house, and either knew enough about the layout or had enough clairsentience to know which room is mine.
