Page 22 of Gemini Kings
He rolls his R’s and hisses his S’s like Lucius, but he’s not Hungarian like my wolf shifter. Nope, this is the so-called Russian.
Which means he’s somehow in cahoots with my so-called father.
I pull in a sharp breath. Under the old stink of spilled gas and sunbaked asphalt, the reek of musk and leather floods my Mogadon senses, spiked with the acrid bite of brimstone.
Fuck. That’s his mating scent.
It’s involuntary, so it’s not like I can blame him for it, but that shit’s pouring off his skin in waves.
Which makes me wonder if he can still smell my heat.
I take a step back to give us both some breathing space. That placement also lines him up nicely for my roundhouse kick.
Just in case I have to fight him.
“You wanna please me? You got something that belongs to me,” I tell him, keeping my voice nice and level. “Hand it over. Then we’ll talk.”
Yeah, big guy. We’ll talk about you being in cahoots with my dad. Same dad who just fucking tried to kill me, BTW.
“I belong to you in my entirety, my sovereign,” he says gruffly, eyes burning into mine. “But I sense you are speaking of the artifact, yes?”
Whoa. I’m not like a fairytale queen, I don’t demand fealty from my subjects, I barely even grasp yet what it means to be queen or have subjects. I’ve just barely accepted this whole queen-in-waiting concept at all after the last one—my brother’s bitch fiancée Cybelle Aquarius—was murdered by the queen killer. Along with my asshole brother (which was no great loss, believe me).
Better just focus on the here and now.
“I’m talking about that medallion in your fucking fist. It’s mine. Hand it over.” I open my palm and hold it up between us.
He tilts his head like a raptor to study my outstretched hand. One corner of his mouth curls in a predatory grin. Because now he knows I want it, he has power over me.
But only until I take back what’s mine.
Then I’ll have the power.
“A powerful artifact, this,” he muses softly, lifting the medallion to dangle on its chain between us. “I captured it when I captured you. I sensed its power from the roof.”
I frown and shake my head. Because no one fuckingcapturedme. Besides, Xiao’s no warlock, and there’s no way he’s been wearing a magical artifact around his mortal neck all this time.
“It’s just a necklace.” I force a shrug. “Sentimental value.”
His voice goes deep and rumbly. “Oh, it is far more than that. Trust me to know. I collect such treasures for my lair.”
I’m tempted to make a grab for it, because he’s dangling it between us like he’s daring me to try, and I’ve never met a bet I won’t take. But if I tip my hand like that and miss, he’ll hold even more power in our little exchange. Besides, the concept of him having an actual lair packed with booty like Smaug inLord of the Ringsmakes me curious.
About him.
Clearly he knows who I am. Because he’s been calling me his sovereign in that quaint formal way of his. So that’s another advantage he holds over me.
Time to tip the scales my way.
Eyes holding his, I saunter a slow step forward. A subtle ripple of tension rolls through the sinews under that sleek bronze skin, but that hint of a grin widens. He knows I’m up to something.
And I bet I just triggered his hunting instinct.
Idly he swings the medallion between us. The profile of Ferdinand of Aragon glimmers and winks in the streetlight like the old Spanish king is calling me.
Sovereign to sovereign.
But I wasn’t born yesterday. I don’t grab for it. What I do instead is draw in a slow breath of musk and leather and finally let my eyes wander over all that naked real estate on my shifter.
