Page 38 of Gemini Queen
“Desdemona Killara Maali.”An imperial male voice, edged with a hint of accent, snaps through the church like a bullwhip and shreds my skin. That voice vibrates and echoes with Compulsion like a gong.
Dez jerks around to face it like she’s a puppet and that voice has her strings in a fist.
I already know who owns that voice even before I too pivot to face him, my heart pounding in my ears like orc drums in a Tolkien film.
Vasili Romanov hasn’t moved a finger from where I first saw him, though the guy who was sitting between his feet like a dog has vamoosed. Yet somehow, effortlessly, Vasili’s relaxed pose commands every eye in the church.
“What did I tell you about helping the little queen?” he says softly, those pale eyes narrowed on Dez. He’s definitely got a little bit of an accent, probably Russian, adding an edge to a tenor so smooth and rich it’s like caramel. He has the kind of voice that makes you want to drag your tongue down his throat.
If only he weren’t so terrifying.
“A girl’s gotta eat, Vasili.” I can tell Dez is trying to keep her cool. Though judging by her unnaturally rigid pose, she’s gripped tight in that Compulsion spell and can’t move a muscle.
I can also tell she’s scared of him. And that pisses me right off.
If there’s one thing I detest, it’s a goddamn bully.
“The little queen eats,” Vasili says, spacing each word with surgical precision. “If and when I say she eats. The little queen sleeps. If and when I say she sleeps. And the little queenbreathes. If and when I say she breathes. Precisely the way you do, Desdemona.”
Dez sucks in an audible breath that stops like someone’s turned off a spigot. Color floods into her face. Her mouth opens wide and veins bulge in her slender neck. But I can tell she’s not getting any air.
That son of a bitch just choked off her air supply.
I look around in real alarm, pretty sure there should be a teacher or a hall monitor or somebody in authority to address this situation. But I’m only seeing students, all of them riveted on this awful scene just like I am. And not one of them is taking any action to help.
Well, fuck.
Given my extreme aversion to witchcraft, I don’t know how to counter a choking spell. But one sure way to break any spell is to break the concentration of the witch or warlock who’s casting it.
I suck in a deep breath of my own, in case it’s the last oxygen I’ll be breathing myself for a while, and step directly between them. Breaking the warlock’s fixed stare and absorbing that dangerous gaze myself.
“Hey, Goblin King,” I challenge, in a voice that’s pitched to carry. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size.”
He’s hard to read in the kaleidoscope light, sitting in silhouette against the stained glass windows on that massive sofa like a king on a fucking throne. But for a blink, that cold bastard almost looks like he’s smiling.
Behind me Dez pulls in a voluble gasp, telling me she’s free to breathe again, which was the whole point of this reckless maneuver. So I’ve already won one battle.
Even though I’m probably about to lose the next one.
“Well, well, well,” the warlock drawls. “So our would-be sovereign has a tongue.”
His oblong gaze slides over me, taking in every detail from my teal hair to my glitter polish to my Academy uniform and my undoubtedly pissed-off expression. His gaze seems to linger over the exposed leg between my short skirt and thigh-highs, which of course is the whole point of dressing a girl in this ridiculous sexualized way.
But I’m in zero mood to be ogled by this bully.
“That’s right, Vasili Romanov.” I want him to know I know who he is. I pop my hip out like a runway model and plant my hand on it to project plenty of badass. “Feel free to greet me properly.”
That’s me taking Neo’s advice to respond to Vasili’s disrespect and address the situation.
A soft chuckle, just the wisp of a laugh, slithers from his lips. Nice to know he’s enjoying himself during our little showdown.
That makes one of us.
“Oh, you’d like to receive a proper greeting, would you?” he murmurs, one gilded brow arching over a wicked eye. “Are you quite certain?”
I wait for my lungs to constrict, but this warlock’s toting plenty of nasty in his bag of tricks, and that’s not how he strikes. Even though physically he doesn’t move an inch, it’s like he leans forward to grip my entire body in a giant fist. Atmospheric pressure condenses and solidifies around me like I’m doing a deep-sea dive. That invisible pressure closes around me like a garbage crusher and drags me toward him.
I gasp and struggle, the way anyone would, fighting like hell to break free. But there’s no give at all to the vise-like pressure that encases me like hardening cement from head to heels. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Dez darting for the stairs.
