Page 17 of Gemini Hunted
“Exactly. They’re not even following the rules. The time to play it safe is in the rearview mirror. That’s obvi. I mean, it’s not like we have a choice, do we?” Now Zara divides her frustration between both of us. “Not if we wanna pass our finals and keep Cleo’s ass outta my throne. We have to be smart.”
Firmly recalling my duty as proctor and headmaster of our residential college, I tighten my protective grip on her restless hand and force my fangs to retract.
As calmly as possible, I state, “The rules of the Dean’s Challenge forbid outside involvement. Rest assured I intend to take up Nikolai’s interference with the Dean—”
“Yeah, but we have to do more than file a complaint. We have towin.” Zara’s voice drops to a cautious murmur. Her eyes dart to the windows, as though the legion of paparazzi who routinely stalk our celebrity wild child have their arsenal of telephoto lenses plastered to the glass.
Her capable hand tightens around mine, then slips from my protective clasp.
“Cleo’s already cheating,” she whispers, “and with Vasili’s dad in the game, the school board itself is compromised. If we bend the rules, we just can’t get caught.”
It’s times like these that remind me Zara Gemini began her notorious life, before she became the rebel queen of the witching world, as a cat burglar.
With highly flexible morals.
“Hmmm.” Vasili’s hum is noncommittal as he sips his martini, but his thoughts in our bond are guarded. (Even more so than usual, I can’t help noting.) “Are we so certain your charming ex-lover survived the kraken?”
“I dunno.” Tightly, Zara hugs her knees to her chest and looks haunted. “If she didn’t, I just feel like… I’d know.”
“An interesting assumption,” Vasili says softly, eyes hidden behind his smoky lids.
I do wonder what he’s thinking—what he’s clearly hiding. But I know too well this particular warlock (who is not only my lover, but also my professional associateandmy student, at least until he passes his qualifying examinations and graduates next month… assuming he survives the process).
I know him far too well to ask.
The yacht’s anchor chain groans in protest, like a damned soul, holding us moored against the pull of the heavy seas. Even in this sheltered harbor, the cyclone has swollen the tide. Now the currents are truly deadly.
The rules be damned.
Then and there, I make an irrevocable choice.
I shan’t—I won’t—Ican’t—simply sit by and passively observe while my prize pupil, my cherished queen, the precious mate I yearn to bear and nurse my pups—the mate who may already have conceived our offspring, God willing—hurls herself recklessly into danger.
Here is my bottom line.
Maxim and Zephyr were right to balk over this mad scheme. Damnation. They wereright.
My mate is diving back into that lethal sea over my dead and decomposing body.
Bad enough that sweet Neo is out there on deck, exposed to the wicked elements, even as we speak. Doing… something or other… with the storm anchor, with Ash’s strong back and watchful eye to assist. Watching those two circle each other all day—bashful Neo in an agony of blushes, Ash clearly besotted with the boy, but biding his time with an older man’s patience—has lent a rare grace note of sweetness to an otherwise intolerable ordeal.
“Here’s the thing.” Zara releases her knees and uncurls her legs. Spurred by instinct, I rise and move subtly to place myself between my determined mate and the door. “That Horn of Ceres isn’t gonna recover itself. And Neo’s dad needssomethingto help him keep the Arcane Senate in line.”
Abruptly (and inevitably), she flings the blanket aside and shoots to her feet. “Lucius, get the nitrox. I’m going back down. Right now. We need that Horn.”
The hackles rise down the back of my neck. Every hair on my body bristles in elemental resistance.
“Darling, there’s no point appealing to Lucius,” Vasili says, soft and silken with menace, without even looking at me. “WhenI’mthe one stopping you.”
Zara’s head tilts to study him. Her aqua eyes narrow. Purple sparks of irritation dance and crackle along her fingers. The curly ends of her ponytail start floating in the psychic charge she generates when her temper rises.
“Is that so?” she says softly.
God help us all.
In this moment, our queen looks every bit as deadly as that slanderous documentary alleged.
Vasili sips his martini and looks bored with the entire tedious affair, but I know better. He’s an adder, poised to strike.
