Page 93 of Gemini Hunted
V and Zephyr stand framed in the entrance together, close enough to touch, with Neo’s eager face peering over the Dark Fae’s shoulder.
“Blood of Christ,” Lucius mutters into the fraught silence. “I asked you a question and I fully intend to have an answer. Did Ms. McSnicker unseal that hellhole?”
“She has,” Neo says happily, while Zephyr glares at Mordred and the Goblin King looks cross because we’ve all kept him waiting. “Mal knew the exact spell to unseal the, uh, hellhole.”
Lucius groans and covers his face in dismay. “Oh, dear.”
Chapter Twenty
Draco
The kick of my sniper rifle bucks into my shoulder on the discharge like a punch. Feels like a kiss, when you’re a guy like me, raised on a daily regimen of death and violence.
My silencer muffles the shot, because I don’t need to give away any more intel about where I’m hiding than necessary.
But that hyena shifter I’ve been tracking through the scope?
Bitch is the pack alpha, I’m pretty sure, and she takes my silver-coated anti-shifter bullet (contraband ammo that’s illegal as shit in the witching world) right through the meaty hump of her shoulder. Her mangy carcass flies backward with a yelp and tumbles over the edge of the sea cliff that tucks up against ourdomus.
Oopsie.
She’s fallen, and she can’t get up.
I snicker under my breath. But even while I’m having my jollies, I know she’s still in play.
Shifters don’t make easy kills. Believe me, I know. I’m as trained and lethal as any professional wet boy in the AIB kill squad.
Once upon a time, I did my own wet work for the Mars clan mafia.
But that was before.
Lying on my belly on a big mossy rock behind thedomus, guarding the basement door like my girl asked me, I got drizzle goingpitter-patteragainst my biker jacket and dripping down the back of my neck. But that’s nothing for aníslendingurlike me.
I’d lie naked in an ice storm to keep Mallory safe.
While rain trickles down my scalp and soaks my buzzcut hair, I scan the sea cliff with my scope. I’m waiting for that alpha bitch or her backup to show up for seconds. This isn’t my biathlon rifle and I’m not wearing my skis, but I’m in full competition mode.
Focused asfokk.
I always feel better when I’m packing heat. More centered. More grounded. More in control.
That’s what makes the voices in my head go quiet.
Not good for nothing, is you, Draco?My father’s gruff voice echoes in my ears.Why can’t you be more like you brudder, eh?
The memory of the staggering blow that typically went with that kinda Q, like a burger with fries, bunches my shoulders around my ears.
But the solid feel of the rifle, all that quiet power gripped in my hands, quiets the chorus of shouts and screams in my noggin.
Under the distant boom of the sea on the rocks way below, the rain-soaked cliff is quiet.
Too quiet.
Been a minute since I’ve heard the brassy tyrannosaur bellow of Maxim Rasputin’s big black dragon or the nails-on-chalkboard scream of that Dark Fae bastard’s green monster.
The gray skies are empty.
They’re Zara’s guys, so no surprise, they did what the Dark Fae King ordered. Right now they’re headed for our school on the wing, they’re flying decoys, and they drew off a shitload of those AIB wet boys in pursuit.
