Page 39 of Gemini Queen
Good. At least one of us is getting away from this sociopath.
The toes of my mary janes scrape over the flagstones and I’m dragged a good twenty feet in approximately 2.4 seconds. Then I’m dropped roughly to my knees at the warlock’s feet.
Stone scrapes my knees and abrades my palms. When I hit the floor, I bite my tongue over a stab of pain that makes my eyes water. At least I manage to catch myself before I fall on my face. Eyeing those purple-soled combat boots he’s wearing, I’d like to scramble back before I end up taking a boot in the face. But that atmospheric pressure is still squeezing me.
I can breathe. But I definitely can’t move.
Loathing him with every bone in my whole body, I lift my gaze, which is awkward to say the least, since I can’t lift my head.
Finally, Vasili Romanov fucking moves. He leans forward on his couch and slides one cold finger under my chin to lift my head for me. All the fine hairs on my body rise like he’s an electrostatic force. The ends of my ponytail start floating. He makes my power rise, just like Ronin does.
Which is one more reason he’s dangerous.
Up close, the Goblin King is even prettier, with high cheekbones and a narrow nose and a jawline sharp enough to slice. Behind his glossed lips, his teeth are white and a tiny bit crooked, with razor-sharp incisors more prominent than the rest.
Those are actual fangs. This terrible fucking viper of a man is seriously telekineticandhe has fangs.
Honestly, it doesn’t seem fair. He should only be allowed to be one kind of horrible monster at a time.
“Privyet, little queen,” he whispers. His wide wondering gaze searches mine, like he’s honestly curious about what he’ll find. “You wished for a greeting? This is how Russians say hello. And the way you’ll say hello to me is by licking my boot.”
Oh, hell to the no. That’s not happening.
And he better not try to manipulate my body into doing it either with those telekinetic powers that have to be due to some serious recessives. I’d rather swallow my own tongue than submit to this reptile.
“You try that stunt and I’ll bite off your fucking foot,” I snarl. A little surprised that he’s actually letting me speak, because he has to know I’ll defy him.
And if he can stop my breath, he can stop my speech.
Another little chuckle, too quiet for anyone else to hear, slides from his perfect lips. “If I want your tongue on my boot, little queen… or anywhere else for that matter… how precisely do you propose to thwart me? It’s said you won’t use your witchcraft. And you may be very certain indeed that no one here is going to save you.”
Yeah, that’s turning into kind of a problem. Not that I’m wanting someone to save me (like that ever happens), but I haven’t used my witchcraft in years, and I’m not about to start using it now and risk taking the roof off this cathedral and killing everyone in it. Because one consequence of spurning any training for your power is that you can’t do the fancy stuff that requires fine control when you need it. Like calling a bolt of lightning and zapping just this one bully in the ass. I’ll probably electrocute myself if I try.
But I’ve still got my Fight Club superpowers.
I just need him to fight on my terms.
I make sure my voice is loud enough that every single student in this whole church can hear me loud and clear. “I don’t need my fucking witchcraft to kick your ass, Goblin King. I can do it with my bare hands. But I guess you’re too scared of fighting a girl to go toe to toe.”
His eyes narrow to slits and his whole face hardens. I’m not even sure where the thing comes from, but suddenly the tip of a wickedly sharp blade is hovering half an inch from the corner of my eye.
Icy sweat trickles down my spine. Because I only have two eyes, and I’m pretty attached to having them.
“I know all about your little black belt intae kwon do, Zarina Selene Gemini,” he purrs. Which is another subtle threat, because knowing my full name means he could use Compulsion against me just like he did against Dez, since we’re apparently housemates, which means we’re bonded. “But do you know all about me?”
“Why don’t you try me and find out, Romanov.” And then the command comes lashing out of me that I never meant to utter. “I’m your fucking queen, and you’re going to fucking worship me.”
His nostrils flare wide in instant offense. His lips peel back in a sneer.
“That would be a ‘no’ then,” he muses. “It appears you know nothing at all about me. Which is really too bad foryou, little queen.”
That blade of his is still hovering at the edge of my eye. It’s sharp and slender, like a throwing knife, and he holds the weapon with a casual mastery that suggests he knows how to wield it to inflict maximum pain. I’m hoping someone at this school would take offense to him using it on me but, hell, someone just fucking killed the last queen.
And maybe it was this guy in front of me.
It takes a major effort to hold his gaze instead of fixating on that blade he’s threatening me with.
But that’s what I do.
