Page 39 of Gemini Christmas
“Cheese. On.Toast,” Zara breathes. “Zephyr. This crown is fucking perfect. Like wearing thistledown on my head. Definitely better than Messalina’s old prom queen special. Plus, you know, it solves that whole ‘two crowns’ issue. I mean, no more worrying about which one to wear when, right?”
Gracefully Zephyr drops to one knee and bends his regal head. “All hail the Gemini Queen.”
Neo and Ash are already on their feet, clearly preparing to follow suit. I’m wondering whether I should do the same when Zara lifts a decisive hand to stop us in our mutual tracks.
“Oh, Jesus, no. Don’t kneel,” she says firmly. “No kneeling—none of you. I mean it. Not you guys. You’re all my kings and youdon’tfucking kneel. Not to anyone. Not even me.”
Zephyr gazes up at her in silence, then inclines his chin in a slow nod. He unfolds to his feet as gracefully as he went down.
He even unbends enough to accept the mug of herbal tea Ash steeped for him, since the Dark Fae famously can’t abide coffee.
Vasili is still lounging naked in bed, and no one would ever be fool enough to expecthimto kneel for anyone, even Zara. Still, V cups her chin in his black-nailed hand, looks piercingly into her eyes with a small smile curling his lips, then murmurs, “All hail, little queen.”
He leans in for a kiss from Zara that is far more tender and respectful than the one he just inflicted on Zephyr.
This is a kiss for the ages.
A fairytale kiss.
A kiss infused with all the powerful and complicated love that has grown among the nine of us who share this polycule, very much like the ivy twined around the rafters.
Potent, resilient, and evergreen.
Watching that storybook kiss deepen between Zara and Vasili, Mordred jumps up and wraps himself around me for a cuddle. Ronin prowls around the bed to tuck in against my other side. I wrap a possessive arm around Ronin’s waist, my wolf rumbling happily in my chest, and drench our mate in scent to welcome him.
Ash slings a heavy arm around Zephyr’s neck and draws him close.
Maxim abandons the plate of Christmas cookies (mostly eaten) and pulls an always willing Neo into his lap with an affectionate growl.
“Wow.” Zara surfaces from Vasili’s kiss at last with a dreamy sigh. “The sun’s barely even up, and this is already the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
Softly I tell her and all our mates, “Somehow, I have the distinct sense there’s quite a bit more Christmas yet to come.”
Chapter Eleven
Zara
“Oh my gosh, Dez! You brought us our kitten, yay!”
That happy cry comes from Neo, sitting on the floor near the Christmas tree in a colorful sea of crumpled gift wrap. A vintage Light Fae spellbook—the size of an old-fashioned encyclopedia and his just-unwrapped Secret Santa gift from Ash—is clutched in his careful hands.
“That’s literally so perfect, Dez,” I chime in from my comfy nest on the Christmas cottage’s great room sofa. I’m snuggled under a fleecy Frosty the Snowman throw, still wearing my gorgeous new Christmas crown from Zephyr, like I have all morning.
But I’m heavier on my feet these days, so I don’t jump up right away to greet our new arrivals.
Still, I totally share Neo’s joy, because I’ve been missing our cat like crazy. We all share the feline in our residential college. But our housemate Dez drew the lucky card to take our pet home with her to New England for our extended end-of-term holidays.
“It’s like you’re a mind reader or something,” I say with a wink at Dez.
Because, literally, Dezisthat exact kinda witch. She’s a Valyrian telepath, like Ronin. (Only not the kind that hurls fireballs.)
“Hiya, cobbers.” Dez winks back at me and tugs the sparkly pink knitted cap from her dark curls, then gently places the catcarrier on the floor. “Knew you’d be missing our bubby. And she wasn’t in the mood to be left behind this morning at the chalet, was she?”
“Yeah, no.” Dez’s girlfriend Racetrack shrugs out of her camouflage parka and scrubs a hand through her bristly blond buzzcut. “It’s like that cat knew we were coming to get you guys. Hey, do I smell pancakes? We lit out on this rescue mission before we got any breakfast.”
“Help yourself, RT.” I wave a generous hand at the kitchen. “There’splentyof grub in this joint, believe me. And we can always make more. Merry Christmas, by the way.”
“Back atcha, Z.” Racetrack is already clumping across the floor in her snow boots, her boyish frame fired with purpose, making a beeline for the kitchen. “And, uh, nice crown.”
