Page 7 of Gemini Christmas
Hearing these words, the drowsy dragon caged in my shifter’s skin raises his head with an interested rumble.
“That sounds nice,” I say to Ronin hopefully. “I am very hungry.”
“Dude, you’re always hungry,” Mordred calls from the very back, where the demon sits happily buried to the chin in parcels from our Wonderland shopping. Some of those gifts are for Mordred, but Ash is firmly preventing him from snooping.
“I am dragon,” I say with a shrug. “Therefore hungry.”
“Awww.” Now, clearly, that demon is teasing me. “You want a candy cane, blondie? Or a Christmas cookie? I got a big tin of ‘em in here somewhere—”
“Nice try, grabby hands.” Ash chuckles from his seat next to Mordred. “If Max wants cookies, you give that bag to me. I’ll get what he needs.”
“I will wait,” I tell them. This is easy for me to say, because my dragon wants much more in our stomach than cookies. “We are certain to arrive soon. Neo has said so.”
“I hope so. But I haven’t actually visited this property in years. Not since I was a kid. That’s the whole reason I bought this phone.” Neo is buckled into the heated passenger seat beside me, frowning over the unfamiliar mobile phone he purchased when we landed in Denver and trying to coax the navigation app to function.
“Too bad we don’t have a weather witch in this harem, huh?” Ash sighs. “That’s a Seelie gift, but it ain’t one that runs in the family. Sorry about that.”
“You have nothing for which to apologize,” Zephyr says warmly. “We would not exchange the Seelie we have for any other, my consort.”
“Aw, shucks, Sparrow. Happy to hear it.” Ash grins and slings a thick arm around Zephyr’s narrow shoulders in a hug.
Zephyr has not said much since he climbed into the car. By now, it has dawned upon me that this dragon-riding Fae—raised from childhood on the wing—has never before ridden in a car. Under the dim rear light, framed by the wall of our luggage piled against the hatch, Zephyr’s olive-toned skin looks nearly green.
With alarm, I realize he is very close to being carsick. But we all know better than to suggest such a thing to His Moon-Dazzled Radiance, Zephyr, the Dark Fae King. These days, the Dark Fae King can be very touchy.
He is especially touchy with Vasili, who is also seated in the back row. Fortunately, Vasili has turned his pale face toward the window and says nothing.
Ash and Mordred have placed themselves between Vasili and Zephyr, to keep those two as far apart as possible while they are quarreling.
Again.
For my part, I will be thankful when those two of our mates—Vasili and Zephyr—finally stop fighting and start fucking. I no longer take sides in this war for dominance that periodically flares between them.
They are two of the strongest kings our sovereign has mated, both of them vying to occupy the Throne of the First King. The one who is first among the queen’s mates. This volatile situation is further inflamed by the inferno of combustible sexual chemistry that smolders between Vasili and Zephyr.
Since Zara was crowned, the Throne of the First King has stood empty.
And nature, as they say, abhors a vacuum.
In truth, Vasili and Zephyr are deeply in love. Powerful allies against any threat to our sovereign or our mates. But they are, both of them, very proud. Neither will humble himself to bend for the other.
So those two have been intimate. But they have not fucked.
I know their infernal stubbornness frustrates my Zara.
Just as it frustrates me.
Beside me, Neo tugs off his knitted reindeer hat and tosses it aside with a groan. It seems our bookworm is also frustrated.
“Darn this thing.” He frowns over the smart phone’s tiny lighted screen, brow furrowed and eyes intent behind his spectacles. “I’m not getting any bars. So I can’t get through to my dad. I wonder if I got a bad SIM card.”
“Could be our girl’s amperage dicking with the signal,” Ronin suggests. “Happens sometimes when she dreams, doesn’t it?”
“Or one of the babies,” Lucius says quietly. He sounds thoughtful, not worried, but I listen closely to what ourheadmaster is saying. “Zara is an extremely powerful lightning witch. If that gene proves dominant in her offspring—lightning witchcraft—it’s been known to manifest in the womb. Once the cerebral cortex has formed and the neurons begin firing—”
“There!” Neo cries suddenly. “The turn. Max, you’re driving right past it!”
Obscured by curtains of blowing snow, I have nearly missed the discreet wooden sign that readsCapital Peak. Private Residence: Invited Guests Only.
