Page 1 of Gemini Christmas
Chapter One
Zara
You haven’t lived until you’ve raided the insane last-minute shopper scene of a world-famous outdoor Christmas market in Wonderland, Colorado—two days before the holiday—with a drop-dead gorgeous, six-and-a-half foot tall warlock who strongly resembles David Bowie inLabyrinth,a scowling Russian dragon shifter who deeply distrusts crowds, and a tattooed sex demon wearing a Santa suit.
Like, for real.
You haven’t.
“Ho ho ho,” Mordred bellows from the heart, definitely using his outdoor voice. “Who’s been naughty, babes?”
“Uh, pretty sure that’d be all of us, Santa,” I toss over my shoulder with a saucy grin and a puff of frosty breath.
I’m cosied up at the counter of thegluhweinstall that’s nestled between a noisy kiddie train ride and a life-sized Nativity display (complete with manger, livestock, and angel) in the narrow cobblestone street of this Bavarian village. I admire the vibe as I juggle a bag of mulling spices and a package of cinnamon sticks I’m in the process of buying for the big Christmas Eve bash Neo’s dad is hosting.
My warlocks and I are the guests of honor. But we don’t plan to arrive empty-handed.
Max is looming protectively at my shoulder, growling at anyone who even thinks about crowding me. He’s determined to protect me and my pregnant belly from the slightest jostle.
Which is not something I asked my alpha dragon shifter to do. But I’ve learned to accept it’s totally impossible to prevent.
More usefully, Max is also schlepping our ever-growing mountain of purchases.
Vasili lounges elegantly against thegluhweincounter at my side. His function is purely ornamental, since he’d never deign to carry our loot. In V’s defense, he does readily hand over his black card to pay the vendor for my latest round of purchases, while sipping delicately from a steaming mug of mulled wine so he won’t smudge his lip gloss.
Vasili is definitely giving Mordred’s Father Christmas moment the side eye—sneering slightly as our resident demon throws back his head and bawls out a deep belly laugh. But at least V isn’t actively mocking our sex demon’s Santa suit.
Which means Vasili the Goblin King is in a festive mood.
I mean, you know, for him.
“Bah, humbug,”V murmurs, following my thoughts through our mating bond with lethal precision. Over his mug, his ice-blue eyes flash with that pointed wit everyone back home at the Academy hopes and prays he never stabs you with.
“Aw, c’mon, babydoll. Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Mordred sidles up between V and me at the counter, swarthy face framed in the white fur trim of his Santa hat, dimples flashing above his midnight-blue goatee. The demon’s tiny fangs (because he’s also part Fae) gleam in a mischievous grin as he leans in to nuzzle my winter-cold cheek.
“That’s coal in your panties for you, am I right, naughty girl?” Mordred whispers in my ear, with a puff of warm breath that smells like spiced rum.
I blink up at him in confusion.
When his soft lips brush my ear, a wisp of chill races down my arms and makes my fingertips tingle.
Cheese on toast. That demon rizz is potent.
Still lurking behind me, so he overhears the “coal in my panties” comment with his sharp shifty senses, even grumpy Max gives way to an indulgent chuckle. It’s been fun for all of us teaching Christmas lore to Mordred, who’s never been on this plane for the human holidays.
“Coal in mystocking, Aquaman. Something else in my panties if I’m good though, huh?” I wink at our sex demon (who, of course, winks back). Then I transfer my mulling supplies into Mordred’s willing arms and breathe in a lungful of crisp mountain air that’s tangy with allspice and orange peel.
With a contented sigh, I lean into the comfort of Max’s toasty dragon heat lurking behind me.
Max burrows a hand into the pocket of my hot pink ski parka so he can cup the curve of my belly in his possessive grip. I tilt my head back so he can rub his jaw into my ponytail. Our dragon is scenting me with his scorched brimstone mating scent.
That’s something the noisy stream of normals thronging past, with their blunted mortal senses, doesn’t need to know.
The wine-pour girl, a cute brunette who’s rosy-cheeked with cold despite her thick Christmas sweater and knitted headband, gives us all a curious look across the counter. She’s clearly concluded I’m with Max. Just as clearly, she’s tucked Vasili into the gay friend box.
So she doesn’t know how to deal with me getting kissed like that by Santa.
When Santa leans in and kisses Max too, nuzzling Max’s jaw and teasing the corner of his mouth until Max turns his head and kisses him back, that clears things up in the chick’s noggin.
