Page 42 of Gemini Queen
And now Ronin too is staring at Zarina.
I’m well aware there isn’t a student of any gender in my classroom he hasn’t fucked, with the probable exception of Neo. Still, the Leo scion is a notorious one-and-done operator. This lothario never goes back for seconds, carelessly leaving a trail of broken hearts and devastation in his sexually omnivorous wake. Now that he’s enjoyed Zarina—and he certainlydidenjoy her, as I’m extremely well placed to attest—I’ve assumed she too will lose his interest.
However, that doesn’t seem to be what’s occurring.
He’s leaning forward in his seat, face savage and eyes fiery, watching her nibble on her eraser like he’s wishing it could be his dick.
That explicit visual sparks an unwelcome tightening and a spike of heat in my own trousers, coupled with a bout of happy frisking from my wolf. It’s really best that I not think about the prospect of Ronin Pendragon’s dick with Zarina Gemini’s lips wrapped around it.
Both to keep my unruly wolf in check, and for the sake of my own decorum.
“Then there’s the third theory,” I announce firmly, “which is by far the most interesting.”
Zarina watches me alertly, her lively gaze never straying from my face. I’m gratified to be holding her attention, since she’s the consequential student whose appalling ignorance of her own heritage and history I’m most determined to remedy.
The Gemini queen may have neglected her education in a manner I consider wildly irresponsible, but judging from her success in deftly eluding capture all these years, she’s far from unintelligent.
“The final theory that scholars of our races have advanced to explain the threat of extinction is the Theory of Royal Culpability.” I copy out this phrase as well, feeling Zarina’s gaze narrow on my back. “According to this perspective, the vitality and survival of the arcane races are directly dependent upon, and derived from, the strength of the witch who wears the crown. When a queen who commands powerful witchcraft takes the throne, welcomes an equally powerful mate… or mates… to her bed, wields her witchcraft with control and conviction, and ensures the continuation of her bloodline, the four races prosper. When the ruling queen’s magic is weak or uncontrolled, the four races decline.”
This is of course the theory to which the anti-monarchists ascribe, indicting our queens for the witching world’s decline, with Vasili Romanov the anti-monarchists’ most passionate champion. Although I’m an ardent royalist myself, it’s also the theory that I find to be most credible.
I turn to find Zarina watching me with a pucker between her brows and incipient rebellion brewing in her eyes. Steadily, I sustain her stare.
If I can manage to persuade this strong-willed Gemini queen to accept a powerful warlock like Neo Mercury as her fated mate, learn to embrace her witchcraft rather than reject it, and take up her role as our sovereign, I firmly believe it’s our best and only chance to avert extinction.
Assuming it’s not already too late.
“Oh, hell to the no. You’re not pinning this one on me.” She chuffs out an angry laugh and her gaze skids away from mine, only to collide with Neo’s hopeful eyes.
Her lips press tight before she gives him the cold shoulder.
Admittedly, I hoped the two of them would hit it off better than they seem to have done. Neo’s an appealing sort, patient enough to woo her properly, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous, and he’s been pining for his fated mate as long as I’ve known him. Somehow he seems to have gotten off on the wrong foot with her, no doubt obliging me to add to my duties as teacher and headmaster the unwelcome role of camp counselor.
I swallow a sigh and pace across the classroom to consult my lesson plan. As I pass Zarina’s desk, a peculiar odor insinuates its way into my wolfish senses. It’s an appallingly putrid stench. A briny reek rather like dead fish. I wonder if someone’s left a lunch behind in one of the desks that’s gone rancid.
“As we know,” I resume, “among the twelve arcane families, only three purebred families remain intact. These three families, their special status denoted by their use of the surname that reflects their astrological affinity, are the Aquarius, the Aries, and the Gemini. For nearly two centuries, the arcane races have been ruled by Aquarius queens and their mates, typically chosen from the most concentrated arcane bloodlines to be extant.
“With Cybelle’s passing, her mother Queen Messalina stands to be the last Aquarius queen. Messalina’s advanced age and currently childless state—coupled with the notable decline of the Aquarius line’s witchcraft—are the reasons the Arcane Senate has confirmed as our next sovereign not only a purebred Gemini queen, but one who has already demonstrated her formidable magical potential.”
I’m looking for the spark of comprehension to animate Zarina’s intelligent face. To my considerable annoyance, I realize I’ve now lost her attention as well. She’s shifting in her seat, her pretty nose wrinkled, clearly cognizant of the same pungent odor that’s already assaulted my wolfish senses.
A muscle ticking in my jaw, I stride directly to stand before Zarina and plant a hand on her desk, which is a more blatant bid for a student’s attention than I’d typically resort to.
But the importance of reaching her is acute enough to drive me to it.
Brought suddenly into close proximity, she lifts her face, gaze dragging slowly up the length of my body like a physical touch, lips parted, until our eyes collide. Her turquoise orbs are glowing with power.
A sudden surge of heat rolls through me like a backdraft.
When her tongue slides over her lower lip, I realize my wolf isn’t the only libido in this classroom feeling frisky.
The sight of her sultry face level with my groin, soft lips glistening, warm color rising in her cheeks, lush breasts swelling against her blazer, makes my wolf growl with his own rising need. He’s wondering why on earth I don’t simply crouch before her, peel her out of her panties, throw her stocking-clad legs over my shoulders, and tongue her sweet quim until she shatters under my mouth.
Abruptly, I realize I’ve planted both hands on her desk and I’m growling low in my throat.
My palate is tingling under the press of my fangs, which are on the edge of descending, and my eyes are surely red. She’s leaning forward to meet my challenge, gaze locked on mine and burning with invitation.
As for Ronin, he’s watching us both like he’s ready to vault over three rows of desks and join in.
