Page 86 of Gemini Hunted
“I live to serve my bride,” he whispers, just for me.
That just makes me wanna explore other ways the Dark Fae King can be of service.
Feeling all warm and tingly, I pull back from his magnetic pull and hunker down to dig through the pack, with Lucius hovering hopefully at my side, my headmaster clearly praying I’ll find him some pants to replace the ones he shredded in his shift. He’s way more bothered by his own nakedness than I am by mine, so I make him the first priority. I root through the mess of Max’s gear (that dragon’s a thorough packer, but not tidy) and pass Lucius a pair of Ronin’s leather trows.
They’ll be an interesting fashion choice on Lucius, but he accepts the garment with a grateful murmur.
Me, I wiggle into a pair of lime-green lace panties. I’m working my way into the matching underwire bra, tucking my tits into the lace cups and keenly aware of the sex demon watching my every move, when I realize I’m not the only one who’s fixated on the incubus.
“You left the matter of your dramatic intervention in this lethal battle rather late, cousin, did you not?” my Dark Fae says pointedly to the demon. “You could have hidden the Horn and joined the fight without violating the essence of your summoner’s command. This, thou art clever enough to know.”
Always a bad sign when Zephyr goes all ancient Fae formal.
“Dude, you sound Biblical. It’s the twenty-first century.” Mordred snorts. “Just come out and say it, in modern English.”
“Very well.” Zephyr’s narrow frame bristles with threat. “Were you waiting to see which side prevailed, so you could ally yourself with the winner?”
That’s a possibility I never considered, in the heat of the moment. Now I wonder if it’s true.
Finally, Mordred’s gaze shifts from my tits to my suspicious face, then veers to my Dark Fae consort. “Just playin’ it safe, cuz.”
“Very safe indeed, kinsman,” Zephyr says in that voice like gray silk. “I never knew you for a coward.”
Behind me, Lucius pulls in a slow breath.
Shit. Like they say in the cartoons, them’s fightin’ words.
These two Fae have an ocean of bad blood between them, Zephyr’s never really bought into the story that Mordred only tried to dethrone him back on Avalon because the demon was powerless to disobey his summoner. Now seems to be the moment the whole unresolved mess between these two political rivals is coming to a boil.
I rush into the crisp French poplin of my school blouse and start buttoning.
“Yeah, well, the other team’s got a shark and a sea dragon, you feel me?” Mordred drawls. “You want me following the prime directive from He Who Shall Not Be Named Babydoll and guarding that Horn? Meant I needed to cover my tentacled ass, true? Found me and the Horn a nice dark grotto down there and sat tight.”
“Perhaps ’tis so,” Zephyr breathes. “Or perhaps ’tis merely easier for one who is barely half Fae to lie.”
Cheese on toast.
By now, it’s so quiet in this chamber, I swear you could hear a mosquito hiccup. I drag my plaid schoolgirl skirt (burgundy, for Wednesday) over my hips, pull up the zipper, and leap to my feet.
My words tumble out in a rush. “Well, he’s here now, and the Horn’s safe, so we’re all good—”
“Tell you one thing that’s the gods’ truth,” Mordred says softly, locked on Zephyr like a heat-seeking missile. “You’re still so scared I’ll end up stealing your crown and warming your throne and fucking your consorts, sweet cuz, that you’re pissin’ yourself in that pretty green armor. And that’s no lie.”
In a blur of speed that’s almost too fast for the human eye to follow, Zephyr unsheathes his double swords in a hiss of steel on leather. Slicing the deadly blades through the air till they sing, he springs for the demon with an animal snarl of rage.
Chapter Eighteen
Mordred
I don’t know why I always gotta jerk my cousin’s chain. Always have, ever since we were tykes.
Maybe because he always makes it so gods-damned easy.
Maybe because I always burned to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his pretty face.
Either way, my royal pain-in-the-patootie cousin is supernaturally quick, that’s a Fae thing. Only his rabid snarl gives me a blink of warning to defend myself. I summon my trident into my outstretched hand and swing the shaft sideways, like a staff, to catch both of his descending blades with aclang!
The clash of my demon-cursed silver against his moon-blessed steel rings through the joint like a church bell. Cousin Z’s strong as fuck, because dragonrider. The force of his blow jars my bones, no lie, he drives me a step back. I pivot on one foot and absorb the impact through my braced shoulders.
