Page 133 of Gemini Hunted
“Sparrow! Over here—”
Ah, crap. I’m too late.
Under the powerful pull of his rider’s will, Xhev wheels in a flash of pale underbelly and soars outta sight over the church.
“Bollocks! I’ve got them,” Pendragon cries behind me.
Attention good and divided, I mutter a curse and twist around to stare. Pendragon’s already diving into the twisty corkscrew stair that plunges down to the student commons in the church.
“They’re in the crypt,” he calls back. “Neo and Lucius. That’s Lucius ringing me up.”
He’s speaking metaphorically, on account of no cell phone coverage behind the Academy wards. For a telepath like Pendragon, rocking a mating bite from Lucius Aries, those two don’t need Ma Bell to connect.
That’s the signal we’ve been twiddling our thumbs up here waiting for. We’re all converging on the Vault like we planned, which is a hopeful sign, no lie. Plus Neo’s no fighter and he’s definitely been on my mind.
But shoot.
Guess Pendragon and his fancy Jedi mind tricks ain’t sensing our princess.
Or he definitely woulda said so.
“Where is our sovereign?” Max growls at his heels, right on cue. “Where is our mate!”
Pendragon’s voice echoes up the stairs. “Could be in the Vault already. Leg it, Max!”
“Hold on a tick, will ya?” I shout after them. “Sparrow and Xhev—”
Aw, heck. It’s no use. I’m wasting my breath. Those two hotheads and their gal pals are rushing straight into whatever malarkey Cleo and company got planned downstairs.
Somebody around here needs to keep a cool head.
Guess that’ll have to be me.
I clamber onto the window ledge, shove my big body under the lintel, then leap into the open air. A drizzle of cool rain hitsmy face and shoulders. Then my wings spread wide with a snap, sprouting from the tattoo inked across my shoulders.
Beating my wings in a downstroke, I soar over the piazza. A gust of rain-drenched wind rushes over my body. My lungs fill with the mineral scent of wet stone. Cool mist condenses on my face.
In a blink, the soaring structure of the gothic church vanishes behind a rolling bank of fog.
Despite every damn thing that’s riding me—my gnawing worry for Zara and our gang, not to mention those big brother protective instincts firing on all six cylinders for Mallory, the kid sis I just barely reunited with—I need a sec to exult in the headrush of flight.
I’m a Seelie royal, even though I’ll never rule, that’ll be Mallory’s gig someday. But I’m meant to soar. I’m Asher Apollo Aurelius, Eagle of the Air, Prince of the Light Born Fae.
And I’m done dicking around.
Time to unload a can of whup-ass on that usurper witch Cleo and her bootlicking, shit-kicking, ass-kissing pissant cronies.
A gust of rain-drenched air rushes through my wings. My primary flight feathers extend for thrust, while the tertials along my shoulders fluff and spread for warmth. A few powerful beats lift me high enough to scan the dark belfry we just vacated. The sloping roof and turrets, the scowling rainspout gargoyles puking water from the gutters, the arched rows of the church’s flying buttresses flash before my eyes.
Right before another fogbank rolls in.
I ride a downdraft to get a closer look. In front of the church, the shimmering cobblestone expanse of the piazza is empty. The Roman-era ruins of the village loom dark and broody over the square. What with the overcast and themoonless night and the rain and the fog rolling in from the sea, even my eagle eyes are straining to ferret out what’s what.
Bottom line?
I can’t see Xhev and Sparrow. They’re hidden in the low-hanging clouds.
All of a sudden, the tall stained-glass windows of the church flare with a pulse of fiery light. One, two, three pulses of light. That’s psi fire. Right on cue, a thin chorus of terrified cries seeps through the thick stone walls.
