Page 116 of Gemini Queen
That kind of determination feels like obsession.
And not the good kind.
If the guys hadn’t bolted my bedroom door before they crashed, I wonder if I’d have woken up with that dead wolf in my bed.
Or if I’d have woken up.
Period.
Not to mention killing that dead wolf with fur the exact freaking shade of Lucius’ hair and leaving the carcass in thisdomusis a direct threat to my teacher. Just one more reason, really, why I need to leave.
To keep us all safe.
And why, in the meantime, we all need to come clean and share a few secrets.
Afew. But definitely not all.
The charred scent of bacon and the sizzle of frying pancakes seeps out of the cozydomuskitchen. Which makes my tummy give an interested rumble despite my jitters. I’m not one of those romance heroines who can’t eat when she’s stressed. For me, it’s pretty much the opposite. Some psycho wants me dead? Feed me.
I arrive on the scene to find the welcome sight of Lucius, tweed coat missing and shirt sleeves rolled up, standing before the stove with a spatula.
Which is really nice of him, because I was actually supposed to be on breakfast duty this morning before I overslept. I’ll be sure to cover cleanup duty to compensate.
But I still can’t shake the queasy horror of that awful moment when I thought he was dead.
“Early for once, Ms. Gemini,” Lucius observes, flipping pancakes with panache. Which is unfair (I mean the observation, not the pancake flipping), because I’ve been late for our independent study exactlyonce, but whatever. I’m more unhappy that he’s back to calling me Ms. Gemini.
“Yesterday in the belfry, I was Zara,” I remind him softly, coming up behind him at the stove.
He can’t keep me from doing this anymore, not after I thought he was dead. I need the comfort of his touch. I wrap my arms around his waist from behind, lean my cheek against the back of his shoulder, close my eyes, and breathe in the scent of predator. He’s a lot warmer than I expect, like he’s running a low-grade fever, all banked heat and wiry muscle. Under that starchy shirt, he’s a deadly hunter.
I want to free his wild hair from that tidy tail and let his wolf out.
“Zara.” In my arms, he sighs deeply, his whole Iron Curtain accent thicker and more guttural than usual. “Don’t. He’s difficult enough to control in your vicinity.”
“Then maybe you need to stop trying so hard to control everyone and everything around you. And stop trying to push everyone away.” I close my eyes and pull in another deep breath of wolf, which mingles nicely with the acrid scent of coffee.
He also smells, somehow, like Vasili. In fact, I’m catching a distinct whiff of the Goblin King’s potent mating scent.
Which is intriguing as fuck.
Maybe Neo’s right and we’re all starting to smell like each other.
It comforts me to be close to him like this, the way I imagine it comforts the members of a wolf pack to be close to their alpha. I wish Lucius didn’t feel like he has to work so hard to keep me… and all of us… at a distance.
“Maintaining the sort of control you’re so determined to destroy is my responsibility as your headmaster,” he reminds me grimly, “and one I dare not abdicate. The survival of this Academy hangs by a thread, Ms. Gemini. As our queen, you should care deeply about the survival of this institution. The faculty of Icarus Academy, and the powerful scions we train here, are all that prevent the arcane races from descending into another Dark Age. It’s we, my queen, who preserve the heritage of witchcraft for our dying races.”
Not long ago, I would’ve been pissed about being sandbagged by a lecture before I’ve had my morning coffee. Not to mention having to defend myself against another royal guilt trip. But clearly I’ve already stuck around too long, because this time I actually do feel guilty.
Lucius just explained in a nutshell why he does what he does. Why he feels he can’t loosen his grip or step out from behind the lectern long enough to get close to any of us.
Why he feels he can’t get close tome.
Right now, I can even appreciate how, from where Lucius is sitting, my whole just-in-it-for-myself rebel queen rebellion probably does seem selfish.
He stops flipping pancakes and goes still. Yet I take heart from the fact that he hasn’t pushed me away.
“You’re our queen-in-waiting,” he murmurs (like I need reminding). “All I’m asking you to do while you wait is to give your people and your heritage a chance.”
