Page 62 of Gemini Queen
I bite back a moan and clutch the door and silently pray for fortitude. The knob sparks with static electricity at my touch. Hours have passed since our queen’s climax, but this entiredomusis still bleeding amperage and pulsing with sex.
The fire is dead and the room is icy. Still, in the flickering light of our candles, Ronin is twisting and muttering in a hopeless tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. He’s shirtless, senseless, long hair an inky tangle pouring down his back, dragon tattoo spewing ebony flames over gleaming skin.
The gauze taped to his shoulder is black with seeping blood.
Vasili bends over his lover, the alpha’s entire body rigid with distress. If I’d harbored any question about the state of affairs between these two, his desperation now would have erased all doubt.
“He’s burning up,” Vasili mutters, pressing a hand to Ronin’s brow. “You did this to him, you wolf bastard. You and your vile bite.”
His naked aggression makes my hackles rise. A subterranean rumble rolls from my chest. Careful to keep my distance from the agitated alpha, I approach the bed warily.
An empty glass stands next to a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand. I prop my candle in the glass. My body is a riot of sensation—Ronin’s heat, Ronin’s pain, Ronin’s need. My brain is swirling in a fog.
My wolf prowls and paces in my skin.Ours, he’s ours, claim our mate.
“Yes,” I murmur, in a daze.
Vasili’s still hovering anxiously over the bed, and I retain barely enough detachment to recall I can’t simply nudge him aside without triggering him. My wolf doesn’t care, he’ll gladly fight another alpha. He’d take savage pleasure in tearing out a rival’s throat. But I’m in control here.
I’m in control.
“You did well to fetch me, Mr. Romanov,” I say softly. “I’ll take care of him now. I know what to do. Rest assured you may safely leave him with me.”
I withstand the probe of Vasili’s stare, silver as mercury in the candlelight. He too senses my wolf rising.
“Go, Vasili.” My voice roughens. “For the love of Christ, will yougo.”
He leans forward, eyes firing, and in that moment we’re both pure alpha and bristling with fury. He bares his teeth, fangs gleaming with menace. It’s a shifter impulse, an intimidation display, one I’ve never seen him deploy. I barely rein in my impulse to snarl back. The dark musk of Mogadon pheromones pours from his skin, aggression spiked with lust. Every pore of his body oozes pure hatred.
But I’m the dominant alpha under this roof, and I hold my ground. At last, unwillingly, his hostile gaze drops.
Yet his voice slices into me, edged and vicious as a scalpel. “Hurt him again, you mangy beast, and I’ll fucking grind your bones.”
I clench my jaw around a whiplash retort. I fear if I open my mouth, I’ll growl like the beast he calls me.
Vasili pinches his candle into darkness and slips away until the shadows swallow him.
Thank God he’s retreating, and it’s best not to watch him go. My wolf wants to disembowel him, this enemy alpha who covets our mate.
But our rival is leaving, and we have to let him.
Now, at last, Ronin lies before me unguarded.
He’s subsided into restless stillness, no doubt sensing my presence. I stroke a hand over his damp brow, slicking back the silken tangle of his hair, every atom of my essence focused on the feel and sight and smell of him.
Under the scent of blood and ambergris, he smells like Vasili, drenched in the caramel and sandalwood of Mogadon mating scent, a claiming that drives my wolf wild with jealousy and rage. But that dark fragrance is threaded with a haunting whiff of roses and vanilla, the unmistakable scent of my queen.
That hint of her essence steadies me. She’s marked him too, this lover of hers, even if she still doesn’t know it.
For our queen’s sake, my wolf subsides.
My troublesome rival was right about one thing. Ronin is unconscious and delirious. But even in delirium, his hot face turns toward my touch and rubs into my palm. My wolf whines to soothe him as I peel away the blood-soaked bandage. The sight of that reddened flesh, puncture wounds still seeping, makes my wolf whine louder.
I fall to my knees beside the bed and whisper, “Ronin.”
“Lucius,” he breathes in his sleep.
I wrap one arm around his hot naked torso to cradle him and seal my lips to the horrible bite on his shoulder. My mouth is swimming with healing saliva, fangs descending in my desperate need, but I’m careful not to hurt him worse. I press my lips to his feverish skin and lave the weeping punctures with the enzymes and clotting agent in my saliva. With meticulous care, I tend him as I’ve been aching to do all day. I lick his bite absolutely clean.
