Page 51 of Gemini Kings
Vasili waits like a coiled basilisk in my office in the crypt.
By rights, he ought to be on high alert since I’ve called him to the carpet with that peremptory summons I left in his faculty mailbox. Of course, being Vasili, he appears neither anxious nor apologetic.
Instead, he’s sprawled languidly in my chair in his outlandish and flamboyant personal attire, entirely out of uniform, his booted legs propped on my desk. He’s idly paging through my leather-bound grade book, his pretty face etched with a look of perfect boredom.
Just one look at the wretch makes my wolf whine with eagerness.
Our mate,my wolf growls in my head.Our alpha. Go to him. We are his.
This pernicious influence—the irrepressible sexual craving of a wolf for his alpha—I must absolutely deny. If Vasili will not submit now to my discipline (professionally speaking), there will be no saving him.
“Kindly remove your boots from my desk, Mr. Romanov,” I say crisply, closing the door behind me and placing my briefcase on my desktop to reclaim my territory. “While you’re at it, you may return that grade book to my locked drawer where it belongs. As you’re well aware, student grades are confidential.”
“Oh, you’re no fun.” Vasili pouts at me playfully, but he slips the grade book into my desk drawer and uncoils his sinuous body from my chair, which permits him to tower over me. “And hello to you as well. Have you forgotten I’m faculty, darling?”
“Then act like it.” I glare at him over the width of my ancient desk, my patience already worn thin to the point of snapping. “Not like some sneering comic book villain.”
“Dear pet.” By the guttering light of the rack of candles he’s lit (no doubt for dramatic effect, because I also possess a proper desk lamp, which he’s ignored), Vasili presses an elegant hand to his chest and looks offended. “Do rest assured I’ve missed you dreadfully as well, but there’s no need to get quite so personal.”
Petis what he calls me when he fucks me. Now that playful endearment has the same effect on me it always does. Just as the rogue intends.
My wolf wants nothing more than to bend for him.
That outcome would be disastrous.
Firmly I resist the impulse, although he certainly draws the eye with his silver hair artfully tousled to graze his jaw, his eyes rimmed in smoky liner, his cruel mouth slicked with gloss and smirking, not to mention those boots and breeches that showcase his slim hips and long legs to such lethal effect.
I barely manage not to leer. Instead, my gaze slides over his unorthodox attire in the frowning perusal that strikes fear in the heart of my students.
Oh, he definitely looks well tumbled, because by now I’m extremely familiar with the look. That well-fucked demeanor of his inevitably piques my interest and my wolf’s. I have it from our mating bond in an eyeblink, because Vasili’s bitten me, so we’re linked telepathically. The damnable reprobate is inwardly preening over his sexual performance in some sort of steamyStar Warsrole-play the three of them indulged in last night all over the stolen Academy jet.
To be precise, he’s smugly congratulating himself for how relentlessly and repeatedly he and Ronin made our queen climax.
With her Gemini witchcraft and her precarious control, they’re fortunate they didn’t crash that plane.
“Merciful Christ,” I mutter, tugging at my tie, because he’s scenting heavily—the butterscotch and sandalwood of his mating scent—and suddenly this dank and drafty crypt is far too warm. “Kindly vacate my desk. And turn on that damned lamp. This isn’t a vampire film.”
“Hmmm,” Vasili purrs, ignoring all my guidance in favor of leaning over my desk like an adder preparing to strike. He pulls in a slow inhale of my own wolfish scent. “Intriguing. You’re pissy because you’re going into heat. Rushing matters just a bit though, aren’t we? The moon isn’t full till Saturday.”
My itchy agitation eases a notch.
At least this scoundrel hasn’t been entirely unaware of my looming hormonal dilemma (and Zara’s). He’s been tracking my cycle like a proper alpha.
Shaking my head at his intransigence, I twist the knob myself to light my green-shaded desk lamp. A spill of golden light chases the shadows to the corners of the crypt and renders the entire encounter more businesslike and less dramatic. This sudden rush of light illuminates the actual sarcophagus looming in one corner, containing the rotted bones of some long-deceased Academy don under its stone lid, which I’ve always found to be rather atmospheric.
Now I stride straight past my looming alpha and erring student to the ancient relic and place one hand on the cold stone for fortitude.
Although, surely, no professor in the storied history of this Academy has been plagued with students as vexatious as mine.
“Mr. Romanov,” I announce grimly to the room at large. “As your headmaster and your faculty mentor, I must advise that all three of you are in considerable disfavor with the Dean. Unfortunately, as Zara and Ronin are both students and still legally minors in the witching world, whereas you are a member of this faculty and presumably old enough to know better, the Dean has reserved her particular ire for you.”
“That old witch.” He slithers out from behind my desk at last and undulates back and forth across the narrow confines between my desk and the worn leather sofa where my wolf and I sometimes nap between classes. “I presume you’re about to inflict some sort of tiresome punishment for my trivial violations of that antiquated Academy Codex.”
“I’m afraid you’ve left me no choice. If I don’t act now and with conviction, rest assured the Dean most certainly will.”
Seizing my moment (since he’s finally ceded my desk), I stride forward to reclaim my territory and lower myself into my chair. I spare a frown for the formerly locked drawer of my desk. Vasili’s more than a wickedly powerful telekinetic. He pairs his astonishing power with exceptional control. Clearly, he’s jimmied the lock.
He’s so gifted, this student of mine.
