Page 150 of Gemini Hunted
Afraid of being rejected.
Again.
His fate lies in my hands.
“I suppose,” I say slowly to the circle of expectant faces around me, lovers old and new, “I can learn to live with a sex demon in our harem.”
I wrap my hand in the wet spill of Mordred’s midnight blue hair and draw his mouth to mine in a deep, claiming, not-so-cousinly kiss.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Zara
“Cavolo, bella.”Cleo exhales one of her long drama queen sighs. “Believe it or not, I don’t actually want your crown. The truth is, I never wanted it. But my wishes have always been irrelevant. I never believed I had a choice.”
I’m curled up in the depths of the Renaissance sofa in ourdomusgreat room with the kitten (who really needs a name when we have a minute) sleeping peacefully in my lap. Both of us are engulfed in the fragrant steam of the enormous mug of Neo’s peppermint cocoa I’m cupping in my hands.
Beyond the sliding-glass doors, dawn is lightening the confines of our Roman-style courtyard, shimmering purple along the surface of our in-ground pool where Mordred is taking a quick dip, and painting the sky pink with Mediterranean sunrise.
I can already hear the drone of helicopter rotors as the first WNN news crews circle our villa. They’re all hoping for an exclusive with the new queen and her eight warlocks.
As if the X-rated spectacle of all nine of us fucking on live TV was somehow not enough to satiate even the most avid subscriber in their viewing audience.
But I’m not gonna get sidetracked by the paparazzi.
“Sorry, Sunshine, but I’m not buying it,” I tell my ex-BFF. Cleo’s curled up alone on the ottoman, dewy-eyed and flushed from the shower we begrudgingly let her take in ourthermae. Long limbs engulfed in a borrowed Academy bathrobe, she’s pensively sipping a mug of black coffee (no calories).
My many grievances against my ex have lost the worst of their sting since I won the throne and she lost, but they’re still facts. I tick them off with my fingers. “Let’s see. You lied to me, betrayed me, literally tried to kill me—”
“Oh, please.” Cleo shoots me a look of sheer exasperation. “If I wanted you dead,amore mio, I would not have resorted to my fists or pushed you—a levitating Mogadon, of all witches!—off a study carrel roof. Believe me, I know better ways to kill.”
“Yeah, see, that right there’s another problem,” Ash points out. His big body is sprawled across the sofa beside me, with one arm slung around my shoulders and one around Zephyr, who’s finally stopped pacing long enough to accept a mug of herbal tea from Lucius.
Now Lucius is tied up on the landline. But the comforting murmur of his voice floats from the doorway where he’s stationed himself, phone cord stretched to the max, so his wolf can keep a protective eye fixed on me.
His freshly knotted mate.
Lucius’ steady voice and Ash’s solid strength, mingled with Zephyr’s burnt amber and nutmeg scent, are all grounding as fuck. God knows, right now we all need that. Gratefully I lean into Ash and rub my cheek against his hand to scent him.
Good for Cleo to remember he’s mine.
They’re all mine.
My ex-bestie’s violet eyes flicker wistfully over me and my guys on the couch, drift past Neo cuddled happily on the carpet at our feet, then lift to find Max, who’s prowling and lurking behind the couch like the alpha dragon shifter he is.
“Be more specific, Asher,” Cleo murmurs. “What problem precisely do you mean?”
“You being a trained killer,” Ash tells her flatly. “And being one for years, apparently. How the heck does that even happen?”
“Don’t blame Ms. Ferrari. Those were the terms of my arrangement with Messalina, agreed when Cleopatra was still very young.” Nikolai Romanov has been standing so still before the glass doors (an escape route in case our come-to-Jesus convo goes to shit) that half the room’s forgotten he’s standing there.
Vasili and my other alphas and Cleo and me, we haven’t forgotten.
Not for a sec.
Nikolai Romanov is the deadliest man in this room, even now when he’s trying to play nice.
Especially now.
