Page 137 of Gemini Hunted
A thick column of bespelled water rises from the pool and pours through the air. Funneling straight at me like a firehose.
Because my ex-bestie, like Zephyr, commands elemental Dark Fae witchcraft. And while Zephyr commands the wind…
The element Cleo commands is water.
I’ve seen up close and personal the damage being bitch-slapped by one of her rogue waterspouts can do to a flying dragon. The last one she summoned knocked Vasili’s flying serpent right out of the skies and almost drowned him.
But I’m not having any.
Leaning into my teenage dragon agility, I veer and dive under the water cannon. Bellowing with rage, I sweep down on Cleo from behind. She’s diving for the Horn, long legs churning under her short plaid skirt, a silky swath of merlot hair streaming in her wake, when I plow into her like a locomotive.My forelegs close around Cleo and pluck her from the floor while she howls in protest.
She’s slippery as an eel in my talons, twisting and writhing to free herself from my grip. But I don’t wait to find out what other deadly spells she’s hiding in her bag of tricks. I wing across the Vault, the golden walls blurring around me, overfly my ossified kraken’s tortured shape, and drop Cleo’s struggling body directly in the pool.
Cleo’s bloodcurdling scream of terror cuts short with a gurgle as she goes under.
Bugling with satisfaction till the walls ring with my triumph, I pivot in midair and arrow for the Horn.
My dragon just broke free from the cage of my human body. So she’s nowhere near ready to give up her freedom.
But I’m the one running this show.
I’m the fucking queen.
I dive straight for the floor and fiercely will myself bipedal.
I land hard on my own two feet. Running, naked, and human. With a snarling cry that bursts from my throat, I snatch up the glowing Horn—blazing hot enough to burn my fingers. Gasping with pain, I drop the artifact into Ceres’ waiting hand.
A blinding flash of white light dazzles my eyes. Punctuated by a camera shutter’s crisp click.
That shit’s nothing magical. Just the pop of an old-fashioned flashbulb.
Through the silver spots dancing across my vision while I blow on my burned fingers to cool them, I spot a vintage automatic camera, rigged to the wall with a selfie stick and magically triggered to memorialize this moment—the climax of the Dean’s Challenge—on film for the witching world masses. Like the bloodyHunger Gamesfinale, but with witchcraft.
That’s the flash that just got seen round the world on WNN. Like, we interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special message.
And, of course, I’m nakey.
You know, same as usual whenever I show up on TV.
From the pool behind me, a resonant howl builds. The piercing shriek of a soul in torment. That unholy sound makes my scalp crawl and my eardrums scream.
Sweet bleeding Jesus.
That shriek is literally not human.
Every cell in my body tingles with electric charge. I whip around with my whole heart jammed up against my esophagus.
My eye rivets right on the long snake neck of Cleo’s sea dragon, rising from the pool like a cobra rising from a basket. Her brilliant crimson ruff writhes in Medusa snakes around her wicked head. Her fangy jaws leak steam around her scimitar teeth. Her golden orbs are slitted and glaring with intent.
That powerful column of neck, glittering garnet with dragonscale, spirals from the water and just keeps coming.
Fuck, she’s arrowing straight at me.
I have a split second to wonder whether I’m about to be eaten on live TV, and if that will make Cleo queen, even though she just lost the Dean’s Challenge—
Then her deadly advance falters… slows… as dull gray stone creeps up the ruby scales that sheathe her neck. My ex-BFF roars out a single deafening trumpet that makes the walls ring with despair. Swiftly the crawling gray spreads through her ruff and down her fangy muzzle.
Her eyes are the last thing to ossify, fixed wide and imploring, locked onto my horrified face.
