Page 24 of Gemini Hunted
“Indeed.” Lucius sounds like I feel, which is kinda dazed.
“So that’s where we all need to get.” Ash heaves a sigh of resignation and turns to me. “Once we’re through the shit and in the Vault, this demonical joe hands over the Horn to you, princess. You toss it inside, win the contest, pass your finals, and flip Cleo the bird in one bold stroke. Easy-peasey.”
This glib portrayal makes my headmaster frown. “Except that the Horn must be placed precisely where it belongs in the Vault, not merely tossed inside like a banana peel in the rubbish. That’s the final task of the Challenge.”
“Groovy.” I sigh. “Let’s hope that’ll be obvi once we get inside.”
We all fall silent to ponder both the obvious advantages and the obvious risks of this crazy scheme, swaying in unison as the yacht rocks and groans in the heavy seas. Rain scours the windows and wind howls around the hull.
Grimly, I wonder how I’m supposed to convince the absent Max, andespeciallythe absent Zephyr (both due back anytime), to accept this temporary addition to our merry band.
Particularly since Mordred has now helpfully informed the entire ship (the same way he told me privately in Avalon) that he wants to join my harem.
Which would make him… not so temporary.
Not for the first time, I wonderwhyhe wants to join. Maybe that’s another of my newly manifested Dark Fae powers—the power of attraction, which is super inconvenient, I’m like a Siren right now to all genders, apparently—busy at work.
If so, there has to be some way to turn that shit off.
It’s finally Neo who breaks the pensive silence.
My bookworm clears his throat and pushes his glasses up his earnest nose. “So, wow, that’s a lot. But aren’t we all forgetting something major? Mordred isn’t a student, so he isn’t allowed to help. With any of this. Or, gosh, we’ll all fail our finals and probably the whole semester—”
“Take a chill pill, Einstein. Got that covered,” Mordred says casually, his composure regained. “Enrolled this morning, just like babydoll here told me.”
Mordred jerks his chin at Vasili and grins, white teeth flashing in his blue goatee. “I’m the first Avalon exchange student to be admitted to the Icarus Academy. Lucky me.”
Okay, I gotta admit, that snake of an alpha I’ve mated really has put that ruthless, diabolical, snaky, scheming brain of his to impressive use. Obviously I don’t like that he sneakily did this whole thing on his own—especially biting Mordred, even if it’s supposed to be platonic for disciplinary and communications purposes and not a mating bite—without saying one fucking work to anyone.
But, you know, that’s Vasili.
“The storm’s moving pretty fast,” Neo offers hesitantly, because he senses my mood and he knows hownotcrazy I am about this entire half-baked plan. “The weather’ll get better. So we should be able to weigh anchor in a few hours. I mean, once it’s light out. Max and Zephyr should be back by then too.”
Ronin releases Neo with a final squeeze and folds his arms across his tattooed chest with a dark scowl. “Then we haul arse for Icarus Island—all fucking nine of us—like we’ve got a brace of hunting hounds breathing down our bloody necks.”
“And return the Horn to the Academy Vault in the crypt.” Lucius gives a thoughtful nod, but he looks and feels troubled in our mating bond. “Which is where it belongs, of course.”
Lucius isn’t the only one who feels troubled.
I chuff out a grim breath. “Yeah, but there’s another big ass problem. I mean, aside from Cleo and Nikolai and this demon andoneof us fucking biting him without talking to the rest of us about it first.”
I give the Goblin King a narrow look that tells him we’re not finished with that little convo, like,at all. Our come-to-Jesus moment is only postponed.
“Precisely,” V murmurs, followingallmy thoughts without any problem whatsoever. But he deftly sidesteps the consequences of his fuckery by spotlighting the most immediate problem we have. “Reaching the Vault alive—withthe artifact—will not be easily achieved. Every witch and warlock on that island will be hunting us.”
Chapter Six
Vasili
“Despicable me,” I say lightly into the prickly silence. “All too clearly, I’m in horrible disgrace.”
I’m posing on the cushioned bench before the vanity in the master cabin, peering critically at my pouting reflection (framed in Hollywood lighting, as it should be) while I dab silky pink facial cream under my wary eyes.
“You behaving horribly is, like, a daily occurrence. But, yeah, this is a whole other level.” Zara’s sharing the bench and the mirrorandmy facial cream, the same way we always do. Sharing this bedtime ritual is typically an enjoyable prelude to sharing other nocturnal pleasures.
Tonight, however, her aqua eyes are glowing with psi fire and annoyance like ultraviolet pinwheels on American Independence Day. This effect is alluring but unsettling—and not at all typical.
In fact, the little darling is still so annoyed with yours truly for biting that demon that I’m surprised she’s not hurling lightning.
