Page 103 of Gemini Hunted
“What could have—done that to him?” Mallory says in a shaky voice, all the while pressing Jae’s half-shifted face fearlessly into her exposed neck.
“At a guess? It appears Jean-Baptiste stumbled headfirst into one of your new headmaster’s mantraps. With injuries this severe, even this formidable creature’s passing would have been swift.” Lucius’ flashlight plays over the deep row of punctures. “Then he was brought here and crucified—after the fact. To what end, I cannot surmise. As an outsider, the werewolf king should never have been on this island, especially during the Dean’s Challenge.”
“By the moon, we should not linger.”
Zephyr materializes from the shadows, blades gone dark, with a suddenness that almost makes me scream. Neo yelps in surprise. V levitates six inches and hisses like a stepped-on rattlesnake.
“Sweet Jesus.” Between the horror show ambience of these catacombs and the crucified werewolf, even a thoroughly lapsed Catholic like me has to fight the reflex to cross myself. “Zephyr. This isnotthe time to sneak up on someone. I coulda hurled lightning.”
Thankfully, since I’m still hugging Neo and Vasili both for comfort, my control’s gotten way better than the early days. I don’t actually electrocute anyone, even if my ponytail and uniform crackle with static.
V lowers himself to the ground, rubs my back and Neo’s to settle us down, and pouts at Zephyr. “For fuck’s sake, wear a bell. Must you creep around this tomb like a cat? You’re lucky I didn’t throw your radiant self through a wall.”
Zephyr sheathes his swords over his back, gives V a contrite look (which is definitely new), and touches my cheek with a gauntleted hand. That’s his version of an apology, because they don’t teach you to sayI’m sorrywhen you’re the Dark Fae King.
I lean into his touch to convey forgiveness.
“Don’t keep us in suspense, Your Quintessence,” V says, more tolerantly (for him). “Did you find something to cause any particular alarm—aside from a crucified werewolf—while you were skulking about?”
I’m really expecting Zephyr to take offense at this point. But my Dark Fae King is totally focused elsewhere.
On me.
“I sense no other breathing creature in this particular tomb,” Behind the slash of his eyepatch, Zephyr’s face hardens and his jade eye narrows in warning. “For the moment. ’Tis anuncanny place, in truth. Neither alive nor fully dead. My bride, we should make haste.”
My shoulders straighten and my chin comes up.
He’s the king of his own realm, but he’s appealing to me as the queen of this one. I’m the Fred Jones in charge of our Scooby gang, I’m the HBIC, not some bubble-headed bimbo of a Daphne. And Zephyr’s right, we do need to vamoose. But, very clearly, Jae Labête needs a minute to recover from the shock.
TBH, we all need a minute.
Besides, it doesn’t feel right to leave that poor crucified wolf just hanging there.
“Helvitis.We can’t leave him like that.” Accurately reading the room (probably because he’s been watching Zephyr and all his interactions with open suspicion this whole time), Draco rises to loom protectively over his huddled mates. “Let’s get the wolf king down,já? Make the man decent for now and bury him later. After the Challenge.”
“He needs to be buried on consecrated ground, him,” Jae mutters, still looking gray and shocky, but clearly working hard to pull his shit together. “Otherwise, with juju like his? He’ll rise and walk, he’ll bezonbi.”
Mallory blinks at him in concern. “Yeah, you said that before. I was hoping it was a figure of speech. You mean an actual zombie? Like a literal werewolf zombie?”
Jae snarls in agreement through his fangs.
“Oh, great.” Neo clutches our makeshift cat carrier (sparking a meow of complaint from the kitten) and looks anxious.
Sweet fuck, what next in this place?
I lean into my fated mate for mutual comfort. “Uh, yeah, let’s try to avoid anyone rising if we can.”
“We can inter him in one of these crypts temporarily,” Vasili murmurs. “Just for a few hours. Until we win the Challenge.”
But V’s distracted, not even looking toward where Lucius and Draco are gently lowering the crucifix with its gruesome burden so they can at least lay the dead wolf flat.
Which is hopefully not a prelude to some kindaWalking Deadsituation, only with werewolves.
Vasili isn’t thinking about zombies at all right now.
He’s frowning at Mordred, who’s propped his trident against the looming bulk of a cobwebby sarcophagus. The sex demon himself is huddled at the base, blue head bowed, tattooed arms wrapped tight around his knees. Even from a distance, at a time when he’s clearly trying not to draw attention, I can see the demon shivering. In the wavery light cast by our scattered flashlights, his bronze skin gleams with a sheen of sweat.
“Mating fever.” Looking uncharacteristically perplexed, V rubs a hand over his face. “Shit.”
