Page 2 of Gemini Christmas
Sorta.
The brunette ducks her head to swipe V’s black card through the square on her smart phone, bites her lip and blushes a little (so cute), then just blurts the shit out. “Don’t mind my asking, I don’t mean to overstep. But… are the three of you, like,together?”
“Mmmmm.” I grin like a cat licking cream from my whiskers.
That’s a trick I’ve picked up from Vasili. When you don’t wanna give a straight answer, just fall back on a hum.
That monosyllable is versatile. It can literally mean anything.
Ever since the Academy jet dropped us off in Denver this morning to spend our end-of-semester holidays with Theo Mercury and the witching world glitterati at the senator’s annual Christmas bash in his luxe chalet in the Rockies, I’ve been reminding myself that we—I mean my warlocks and me—we’re not actually famous in the mortal world.
I’m only queen of the witching world.
No mortal has any clue that’s an actual thing.
So I’ve been trying not to actively flout our polyamorous relationship in front of the entire population of Wonderland, Colorado.
But we haven’t exactly been hiding our relationship either.
“You could say we’re in a situationship.” Mordred winks at the fascinated wine-pour girl, then wraps an arm around Vasili and eases him into our group hug. “Amiright, babydoll?”
By now, the freckled ginger college guy in back who’s been mulling ourgluhwein(while covertly eyeing V’s frosty and unapproachable perfection the whole time) scooches closer to listen.
“So you’re in an actual threesome?” The brunette’s intrigued eyes dart to V. “Or, wow, like… afoursome?”
Behind his rose-tinted John Lennon sunglasses, set in his pale face and framed in the upturned collar of the Italian woolovercoat draped fashionably over his slim frame, Vasili’s own eyes narrow dangerously.
“Uh, kinda,” I say hastily, before V can say something awful. “You should try it sometime.”
“Oh, but I—I couldn’t,” the girl stammers in a rush. “I’m a Methodist, not a Mormon.”
Mordred throws back his head and laughs again. He’s tickled blue (like his hair under that Santa hat) at the ridiculous concept of a half-incubus, half-kraken Unseelie with tattoos and two dicks being mistaken for a God-fearing Mormon.
“Well, it’s your loss, darling.” Clearly bored out of his skull by the wine-pour chick and her flustered confusion, Vasili sips his wine and gives the shy college guy in back a flicker of his Goblin King smirk.
The poor wine girl is still staring at us with her mouth open, holding V’s black card like she’s forgotten what it’s for, when Ronin eels through the festive crowd that packs the narrow street to join us.
Inky hair swirling around his shoulders, looking even more fuckable than usual in his fur-lined leather bomber jacket and a striped Christmas scarf, Ronin pauses to drop a warm kiss on my cold cheek. I breathe in his familiar fragrance of ambergris and bergamot and lean into his caress with a happy sigh.
Ronin grins down at me, then hops up lithely to sit on the counter. That maneuver flashes both the staff and the elderly couple sippinggluhweinnext to us an impressive glimpse of his traffic-stopping ass, showcased in jeans that hug his tight glutes and sinewy thighs.
“Hiya, loves.” Ronin gives all of us his lazy grin, then hooks a booted leg around V’s hips to ease our Goblin King indecently close. “We done having a mooch in the shops, mates? Supposed to be a big snowstorm kicking up. Whole market’s nattering onabout it. Pretty good guess we ought to get off the roads before it hits, yeah?”
Max rubs a protective hand (still tucked in my parka pocket) over the triplets I’m incubating in my tummy. He rumbles a possessive growl in my ear while I murmur with pleasure and lean into him. Then, reluctantly, Max eases away and passes his shopping bags to Mordred.
“I will find the others and get the SUV,” Max announces firmly. “The rest of you must stay with Zara. She is growing tired.”
“No need to hunt for the others, big guy. I’ll just, uh, call ‘em,” I say vaguely.
Meaning I’ll use our mating bond to link up with our absent mates. Because we can’t use cell phones behind the witching wards, we’re all outta practice with electrons.
Not a problem, though. At all.
Halfway through my sophomore year at the Icarus Academy, thanks to an intense but mostly uneventful few months of magical studies under Lucius’ stern tutelage, plus the strengthening bond that connects all of us, I’ve grown into one of the most powerful telepaths in our polycule.
“Anyway,” I assure all my guys, “I’m not tired, I’m super energized. Second trimester’s way better than the first. But, yeah, Max, thanks for getting our wheels. That’s sweet of you.”
“Do not stray from this place, my sovereign. I will find you.Allof you.” Max gives the scene around thegluhweinstall a final suspicious glare behind the polarized shades he’s wearing to hide his golden eyes and slitted dragon pupils from the normals.
