Page 117 of Gemini Queen
He’s not being unreasonable, I know this, with the literal survival of the witching world hanging in the balance. Maybe, killer or no killer, Ihavebeen a little too quick to reject the whole queen concept. Besides, this entire situation is different now than when Damien and Cybelle were alive. Before, no one needed me queening it. I could live the way I wanted. Now, this is all so much bigger than me. The choices I make could affect the whole witching world.
I’m going to need to think about this a whole lot more before I make any decisions. But not now, because I can hear others tromping down the stairs, the solid thunk of Racetrack’s combat boots mingling with Dez’s low murmur.
For now, I have to tuck these thoughts away.
I lean my forehead against Lucius’ neat ponytail and whisper, “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Just give us a chance, Zara,” he whispers back. “A chance to survive. I implore you. I’m begging you.”
For one moment, his hand drops to my thigh, which is pressed against the back of his. Warm knuckles graze the naked skin between my skirt and my stocking. A groan rumbles from his chest.
Just like that, I’m on fire for him. I like the sound of Lucius begging me. I like the sound of his groan. Conversely, I also like the sound of him issuing orders. I want him to back me into the counter and shove my skirt up and fuck me to a noisy climax. I moan and press into the back of him—
He clears his throat roughly, steps away from me, and reaches for a plate. “Would you mind fetching the maple syrup, Ms. Gemini?”
The insertion of maple syrup into that X-rated kitchen fantasy definitely makes my panties damp.
But I step back with a sigh and do what I’m told.
Like the good girl I’m not.
There’s a brief reprieve from all these hormones while everyone files in and fills their plates at the stove and finds seats in the great room at the long table by the window. Beyond the glass, thickly falling snow blankets the narrow passage with its steep stairs. White drifts pile high against the faded cobalt wall and shutters of the abandoned villa across the way.
But Ronin ignites a brisk fire in the central hearth that makes the scene cozy.
Vasili’s the last to arrive as usual, looking aloof and untouchable, like he’s ready to walk down a runway in Milan with his sharply tailored black blazer and his signature smoky eye. His fashionable tie is a slash of crimson I’m already fantasizing about unraveling to drag him toward me in a consuming kiss.
And it’s only when Neo shoots me an appalled but titillated glance that I realize I might be thinking about kissing Vasili a little too loudly.
Ronin studiously slathers butter on his pancakes, but he looks like he’s hiding a grin.
“I went over the entiredomusfrom top to bottom,” Vasili says briefly, between sips of ink-black coffee. “There’s no indication—beyond the wolf, obviously—that anyone who isn’tuswas ever here. Possibly the intruder came in through Lucius’ window while he was out last night. All the doors were locked this morning.”
“I, uh, got up for a glass of milk at one thirty,” I say, with a cautious look at Neo. Because that’s when I came home from my racy romp in the dive shop, and I don’t particularly want Neo knowing I was off half the night with his archenemy plotting my escape from this island, and therefore from him. “There was nothing outside my door then.”
Across the table, Vasili arches his Romanov eyebrow and silently mocks me for the lie.
Ronin’s making impressive inroads into his stack of pancakes, but that doesn’t stop him from murmuring in my head,Thought you wanted us to spill the beans, love?
And I do. Sort of. We need that if we want to get to the bottom of what’s happening on this island before someone (like me) ends up dead.
But I’m worried about what spilling all my secrets will do to Neo, who knows almost none of them.
Ronin doesn’t look happy with the outcome of my inner monologue, but he pauses in his pancake consumption long enough to say, “Didn’t see a bloody thing when Neo and I pitched up at Zara’s digs at two.”
“Hmmmm,” Vasili murmurs. “It seems our uninvited guest keeps fairly late hours. I did find an open window in the attic. A window that would normally be locked from the inside.”
“The attic?” I didn’t even know we had an attic. “What is this guy, a cat burglar?”
That’s my gig, and I’m eager to scope out the scene—aftermy pancakes. Lucius’ pancakes are light and fluffy and melt-in-your-mouth yummy, especially slathered in butter and syrup the way I’m engulfing them. I’m interested to see Vasili takes his with sour cream and cranberries, which is probably the Russian way to eat them.
“Or a Mogadon,” Vasili says briefly, answering my question about the attic. “They could have levitated.”
The only levitating Mogadon I know on this island is Vasili, and I’m suddenly distracted by the concept that someone in this house (like Vasili) could have done the unspeakable thing with that poor wolf, then left the window open to avert suspicion. God knows, the Goblin King seems completely capable of murder. And he’s been more than clear about wanting me gone.
But then, wouldn’t Vasili have wanted someone else to find the open window?
Shit. I really wish I could trust him.
