Chapter Three Zara

Oh, hell to the no.

That's all I can think.

Because I'm not gonna dwell on the way my whole body just shriveled up with guilt and shame. I'm not gonna spiral like a goddamn pinwheel over the shit that went down with my mom.

I fucked that up. I did. I couldn't control my own lightning. I took the roof off the Double Gem. I was a kid, I was just coming into my power, I was hurt, attacked, terrified, trying to help, blah blah blah.

Here's the bottom line. Eighty-seven innocents ended up dead. Including my mom (who wasn't exactly innocent). I can never atone for that.

Never.

Yeah. Maybe that means I don't deserve to be queen.

But that doesn't mean Cleo does.

I mean, where was she when Avalon was dying, due to the late king Oberon not having an heir? If she's who she says, that was her fucking mess I just cleaned up over there. Not that I'm complaining about hooking up with Ash and Zephyr. But the Dark Fae King's definitely making life for me and my guys even more complicated and contentious.

Long story short? I'm sure as shit not about to bow down to her in homage.

I lick my upper lip, sticky with glitter gloss yet somehow dry as fuck, and search the sea of accusatory faces turned toward me all over this party boat. I don't know these people from Adam, they're all witching world aristocracy, sleek and well-bred, the way a runaway wild child casino rat like me could never aspire to be .

They're pedigreed greyhounds.

I'm a junkyard dog.

But, fuck, the look on all those faces is identical. Unfriendly. Judgy. Condemning me for more than what I did.

They're condemning me for who I am .

These people don't know me. They only know what the media—and that bitch in heels on stage who calls the shots—wants them to know.

Still, that look of collective condemnation, like I'm something they just scraped off their shoe, makes me want to shrink in my stilettos.

"Take a breath, babe." Neo's gripping my icy hand firmly in his warm grip, which is part of what's keeping me anchored. "No one's making you do anything. It's all some kind of mixed-up misunderstanding. We're gonna sort this out. Together."

"It's a blooming lie, that's what it is." Ronin's looming protectively at my other side, still scowling and planted like a tank between me and my exes. "That Oberon kid fucking died due to Messalina's shit. That's the whole bloody reason Zeph kidnapped you, Zara. Either Messalina was fibbing to him about her kid being dead all those years, or she's fibbing to the whole witching world now. Either way, she's a liar."

Lucius is standing guard on his own, crouched like a hunting wolf, staring intently at the stage. He's all sober and respectable in his vintage tux and tied-back hair, brow furrowed and eyes fierce.

But he's not as civilized as he looks.

A continuous growl rumbles from his powerful chest.

Shit, I really hope he's not gonna shift. The last thing we need right now is him wolfing out.

Plus I can't tell what anyone's thinking, because someone in this mob's apparently packing a nullifying object.

Yay.

That's when my snake slithers into the spotlight and saunters straight into the sea of news cams.

"Talk about a fairytale," Vasili sneers in a cool voice that carries from stem to stern. "A lost Aquarius queen. A dead Fae princess miraculously risen from the dead. That's certainly an imaginative story. Manufactured in the nick of time by a failed queen who'll obviously say anything to cling to her pathetic crown. Truly, darlings, are we buying it? "

He jabs that pointed question right at our viewing audience, then deploys the lifted Romanov eyebrow for effect. He's really talking to the witches and warlocks at home. Like, the commoners who are my real subjects, the ones who can't have kids and are scared and helpless and losing their witchcraft due to this endless succession of weak and unmagical Aquarius queens.

The ones who need me.

The ones going extinct.

A few of the looky-loos on board shift and mutter. These aristocrats might be like the spoiled citizens of the Capital in The Hunger Games . But they're not all Team Messalina.

Yet.

A tiny trickle of hope seeps through the burning weight of my shame. I lift my head, straighten my shoulders, and stare straight into the cameras I've been avoiding my whole life.

Gimme a chance here, people, I'm trying to say. Gimme a chance to save us.

Hips swaying, lips smirking, the focus of every eye in his violet tux, Vasili catwalks to the rail that looms over the main deck. Then he sneers down his perfect nose at the queen bee on stage.

"It's really too bad for you," he purrs, "that it's the witching world Senate, not the lame-duck queen, who holds the constitutional power to elect our next sovereign. You'll just have to get with the program, Lina. They've chosen her . Zara. The Gemini queen."

Messalina strides to the platform's edge to meet his challenge. She's elegant as fuck in her glittery purple gown and heels, electric light sparkling in the tiara that crowns her twist of fiery hair. All spiffed up in a way that looks effortless.

And just totally at ease in the spotlight. In a way I'll never be.

In that one way, she suddenly reminds me of Cleo.

"After tonight, Vasili Romanov," Messalina breathes into the mic like she's Marilyn Monroe, "knowing there's another claimant—a worthy claimant, one whose discretion is flawless, one whose commitment to duty is unimpeachable, one whose reputation is beyond reproach—I assure you, the Senate will reconsider. I've already petitioned, as is my right under witching world law, to bring a vote to the floor. "

My blood congeals to a slurry of ice.

My gut clenches in a fist of dread.

Wow. That's, like, a blow. She's obviously been planning to shake up the succession for a while. Probably since those first scattered rumors about a rival claimant popped up in The Inquisitor last winter.

Neo tightens his grip on my hand and whispers, "Oh, sugar."

Which is his way of swearing.

"You ‘lead' the Senate. In. Name. Only." Vasili cracks each word like a whip. He's standing on familiar terrain and crackling with confidence, because he teaches our Foundations of Witching World law class as part of his adjunct professor gig, and he's a holy terror behind the lectern. (I'm not kidding. He literally makes his students cry.)

So he has no problem contradicting the queen, natch, with total Vasili snark. "Your role in the Senate is purely a ceremonial function. And it's barely even that."

That's my Goblin King. Sticking up for me.

"So, um, he's actually right, Your Majesty." Much more respectfully, Neo trots up to stand right next to him. Of course, since we're linked, my bookworm draws me forward with him. Even when more hostile scrutiny from this unfriendly crowd of bluebloods is literally the last thing I need. "My dad's president pro tem of the Senate. Bringing a vote to the floor, well, that's his responsibility. And he supports Zara."

He sounds all polite and apologetic for contradicting her, but totally determined in a way that warms my cold and shellshocked body.

My guys are with me. They're solid.

Even the three who are missing.

Right?

Besides, I'm common-law mated to half the scions of the twelve major clans in the witching world. For fuck's sake, I'm the Gemini scion myself. By mating Zephyr, I'm actually legally married to a political ally, if you buy into that whole Dark Fae custom. (Which is, like, a major bone of contention in my harem. And wouldn't it be great if Zephyr were actually here tonight, instead of being MIA?)

Anyway, my point is, she can't get rid of all of us.

Can she?

Obviously, Neo's argument would hold more weight if Senator Mercury was standing here next to us. The way he's supposed to be .

Across the crowded deck, Messalina looks right into my eyes and smiles in a way that makes my skin crawl.

"I'm afraid Senator Mercury has… reconsidered," she whispers into the mic. "Now that the whole witching world has seen… this ."

Right on cue, the huge LED screen behind her lights up in a blaze of color. The familiar contours of my bedroom flash into view. It's a video feed, my room at night, lit by the warm golden glow of my study desk lamp. Judging by the angle, this view was shot from inside the vacant domus across the street.

My stomach sinks to my stilettos.

"Oh, fuck," I whisper.

The stalkerazzi strike again.

There's my sweet Neo, all buff and nakey, kneeling on hands and knees in my big medieval bed. With Max's dick stuffed in his mouth and Vasili's cock buried in his ass, at the perfect pornographic angle for all three of my guys to be fully visible. Max is gripping a fistful of Neo's curls for control, his lithe body pumping strongly into our bookworm's sweet mouth, with Max's buttery blond hair slithering loose around his suntanned shoulders and his shifter eyes flaming with purpose.

Sleek and supple, Vasili's undulating into our bookworm from behind like the snake he is, his pretty face ruthless, his icy gaze burning into Max's over Neo's back the whole time.

Framed in the next window over, there's me. Standing mother-naked, with my wild mane of teal hair floating everywhere, my hands gripping the frame for balance, and my tan lines and pierced nipples on full fucking display.

Again.

Goddamn it.

Behind me looms a half-shifted Lucius—bestial and snarling, fangs distended and eyes burning red—gripping my hips in his taloned claws and pounding into me with savage intent. My mouth is open, my eyes are closed, my face is ecstatic, and my tits bounce with every one of Lucius' pistoning thrusts.

The only one of us whose modesty is quasi-preserved is Ronin, who's sitting between my legs and lurking mostly out of sight, except for his muscled arms wrapped around my hips and his sleek black head buried between my thighs .

Cheese on toast.

Whoever filmed our magic moment literally couldn't have chosen a more pornographic visual. You could charge money for that shit back in Vegas.

Not exactly my most regal look.

We all look fucking debauched.

And this X-rated peep show's streaming live on WNN for the whole witching world to see.

I actually recognize that scene from a few nights back. That was our scorching hot reunion, right after Max got back from wherever he's been vanishing for days on end. Still shots from that same scene are splashed across the last Inquisitor . Now, clearly, someone was also recording us.

Like, with sound.

We don't have neighbors, the cobblestone streets are so narrow the houses practically lean into each other, plus our domus is the only one on our street that's occupied.

So our windows were wide open to the balmy spring night.

Which means the speakers are projecting Neo's throaty moans as he gets reamed and teamed by our two alphas. Along with Lucius' rhythmic, guttural, half-human snarls as he hammers into me.

"Want you to spill inside me, Teach," my magnified voice breathes into the titillated night. "Want you and your wolf to rail me with that thick dick. Want your cum dripping down my thighs. All over Ronin's face."

Standing stock-still at the rail, the real-time Lucius swallows an audible groan. He's always been the most discreet of my guys, super mindful of the need for propriety to protect that teaching gig he lives for.

God, the poor guy is mortified.

I never realized the way his face shifts when he fucks me from behind, eyes glowing like embers, fangs enormous and dripping, scholarly features distorted, wolf ears poking through his Renaissance curls. Like monster porn. It's hot as fuck.

But even I gotta admit that look's not so good for his academic reputation.

Me, I'm way past mortified.

At this point, I'm enraged.

"Blooming hell, we get the picture," Ronin mutters. "Turn that shit off. "

As the scene plays out larger than life, massive and glowing on the screen, Max pulls out of Neo's breathless mouth to fist his barbed dick, which is complicated and shifty and shaped like a devil's forked tail.

I know what comes next. Pumping hard and fast, Max is revving up to spurt all over Neo's face.

Because we recently discovered (kinda by accident) that our innocent bookworm really likes when we make him all filthy.

I don't have to look at the actual Neo next to me to know he's appalled, beet-red with humiliation, waiting in agonized dread for the entire witching world (including his famous Ted Kennedy dad) to see that .

The cum shot.

Hell to the no.

That's not happening.

In my desperate grip, Neo's hand feels like lead. I hum low in my throat, release my guy, and thrust my arms overhead. An electric current of power and rage crackles through me and erupts from my lungs in a vengeful scream.

A bolt of ultraviolet lightning forks from the sky. I hurl all that amperage like Thor son of Odin, straight at the offending image.

The LED screen explodes with a deafening crack! A blinding shower of sparks and shrapnel sends people screaming and diving for cover all over the deck.

Ronin wraps himself around me, protecting me with his own powerful build, which I have all kinds of issues with. That's twice tonight he's thrown himself between me and physical damage.

When it should be me protecting him.

That's what it means to be queen.

I protect them .

Before we can be shredded by that sea of flying glass, Vasili sweeps an arm sideways and hurls the blast wave away from all of us. His witchcraft flings that airborne debris harmlessly out to sea.

Messalina was thrown hard to her hands and knees, so the shrapnel passed harmlessly over her head. She's clutching her tiara to keep the thing on. Still, she lifts her face to find me across the sea of screaming chaos I just created all over her yacht—and nails me with a look of blazing triumph .

What the actual fuck?

Once the blast wave passes, the shipboard racket goes out like a snuffed candle.

"Cavolo, bella," Cleo says softly into the ringing silence. Gracefully my ex-BFF straightens from where she's crouched at the bulkhead and slips free from Xiao, who's flung himself over her to protect her. "Always so predictable. You've given her exactly what she hoped for, Zara."

"She's lucky I didn't flambé her ," I say, wrathful, in a voice that carries. "How's that for predictable?"

"Who says we still won't?" Ronin growls for emphasis like the bully he is and tightens his grip, pulling me hard into the muscled heat of his chest.

"Do you see?" With a degree of poise I gotta respect, Messalina climbs to her feet, settles her tiara more securely on her head, and speaks into the mic.

But she's not speaking to me.

She's speaking to the scattered sea of news cams that survived my pyrotechnics. To the witches and warlocks watching this debacle from their living rooms all over the planet.

Addressing all her subjects, she demands, "Does the witching world need this wild, willful, wicked Gemini? Is this what we deserve for a queen? Zara Gemini is paranoid. Psychotic. Psychologically damaged and congenitally dangerous. She slaughtered her own insane mother in a fit of rage. The next time she snaps, it could be your loved ones she slaughters."

Well, fuck.

Fuck.

She's not wrong. Is she?

"What the hell ," Ronin snarls. He doesn't need telepathy to feel me clenching up in his arms. "That's bonkers."

Vasili hisses in vicious protest and rivets me with a sharp look (even though he can't hear what I'm thinking). Grimly I evade his searching gaze.

"Don't you believe her, babe," Neo whispers earnestly, reaching for my hand. "Don't. You're not like that. You're good ."

I shake my head and pull my deadly hand away. When I'm this worked up, I'm dangerous to touch. She's right about that .

"Let me go, Adam." With deliberate care, I wiggle out from the shelter of Ronin's protective arms. Ronin (who's a dead ringer for Adam Driver, hence the nickname) is super reluctant and grumbles in protest. But he knows I mean it, so he gives me my space.

I give all my guys some distance, for their own good.

Now I stand alone.

All around me, stunned spectators are struggling to their feet. I've overturned the champagne fountain, destroyed the stage, skinned elbows, bloodied knees. Sure, these people might be mostly assholes, but they're also my subjects.

I didn't mean to hurt them.

Yeah, I've killed the feed and protected what little is left of poor Neo's privacy. I've done what little I can to protect all my guys.

But at what fucking price?

"As for the Senator." Messalina extends a queenly arm to point at Neo, who's looking confused and hurt as he tries to process why I pushed him away. Damn it. "Theo Mercury is understandably concerned for the moral welfare of his only son, who has fallen under the influence of this wicked creature. The Senator understands the importance of placing duty before sentiment. So, yes, I fully expect that he will call the vote."

Poor Neo looks totally crestfallen.

When Ronin prowls over to take Neo's hand and tug him gently into the strength of his body, I'm silently so grateful it makes my chest ache.

God, I love these guys. They're a huge part of the reason I'm even trying to do this whole queen thing.

I square my shoulders and make myself step forward to grip the rail. I want to whisper, but I pitch my voice to carry.

"I never wanted to be queen. That's no secret. It's why the guys had to kidnap my ass in the first place and drag me off to Icarus." I clench the rail and lean forward. "But the witching world needs a queen. A real one, with actual power and shit. We're dying here. We're an endangered species. Some of the old bloodlines, like the were shifters, they're already extinct. That's the whole reason I took the gig."

Now those cameras are pointed at me, and I can see at least some of the looky-loos are listening. Messalina lifts the mic to her mouth, but I rush ahead before she can get a word in edgewise.

Because that bitch has already said plenty .

"I'm talking here. You can go when I'm done. And, hey, newsflash." I scowl down at her. "It happens to be good and healthy for the four witching world races when the queen fucks. When she takes lots of mates and she fucks and she likes it. That's why we're poly, all of us royals. The queen has, like, magical and symbolic value for the whole witching world. Like we all saw in Avalon when I mated the Dark Fae King, the way your actual daughter was supposed to. When I cleaned up your mess."

I don't really wanna say the rest. But I gotta.

This is part of the issue, because her legit heir Cybelle got killed, and this queen's too long in the tooth to make another one. Besides, Messalina has to be making this shit up about Cleo, who doesn't exactly have pointy Fae ears and a dragon she rides, like the Unseelie royals in Avalon.

So I brace myself and say the F word. "I'm still figuring out this whole business. But that's how the next queen's gonna save the witching world. That's how you queen it. It's a power thing. And, uh, a fertility thing."

"Fertility?" Messalina pounces on that word I had such a hard time saying like a cat on a ball of string. "How can you possibly claim to embody fertility when you're deliberately preventing your own conception?"

I suck in a startled breath. My mouth pops open before I can hide it.

Yeah, sure, I'm taking BC shots right now, for reasons. For one thing, I'd prefer to avoid getting knocked up while I finish my stressful and eventful and kinda overwhelming freshman year at the witch academy, so excuse the fuck outta me for that.

Even though my aversion to getting preggo is causing real strain with my shifter guys, who have this really powerful genetic need to breed.

But that shit's private.

It's fucking private .

"There you have it!" Seeing me knocked off balance, the queen rushes ahead. The cameras swing toward her like spectator heads at a tennis match. "Even believing what she claims to believe, this so-called Gemini queen is under medical care to prevent conception! Fortunately, a loyal subject leaked her medical records to the Witching Inquisitor . This shameless slut's infamous exploits with her so-called mates are far from noble. It's debauchery and whoredom. Plain and simple. It's shocking. And sinful!"

In this dump truck of fuckery that's backing into me and upending this load of garbage on my head, one stinking gobbet hits me square between the eyes.

Somehow my medical records from the Academy clinic are getting pubbed in the Witching Inquisitor .

Great.

Man, whoever's acting as Messalina's inside man in the Academy?

That POS has wicked access.

I bite my lip and scan my surroundings. With the sun sunk below the horizon and a breeze kicking up, it's getting chilly out here on the ocean. Beyond the dark tower of the abandoned lighthouse in the harbor, the jagged bulk of Icarus Island looms against the starlit sky, with only a few scattered lights twinkling in the Roman ruins of the village and the Gothic church where we hold our classes.

I grimly resist the urge to hug myself and shiver in my skimpy dress. With Messalina throwing around ten-cent words like debauchery and whoredom , I kinda wish I had a wrap to cover my cleavage.

But fuck that shit. I'm decent. Me and my guys, we're in love with each other. (I mean, leaving Zephyr and Ash outta the full poly love equation, just for now.)

Anyway. We literally did nothing wrong.

While the breeze raises goosebumps down my bare arms, I try to think warming thoughts and glare down at this royal witch who's turned into such a pain in my ass.

"Look, sure, I've got personal shit I'm working through, okay? I never said I was perfect. That doesn't mean Cleo would be an improvement." I twist around to glare at my ex-BFF. "I mean, where the hell were you when Avalon was dying? Where were you when I laid my ass on the line and almost got killed by Mad Queen Maeve breaking that fucking Unseelie curse? You do realize what happens over there affects what happens over here, right? That these two separate planes are, like, linked?"

Cleo's supermodel lashes fall over her gaze.

Figures that when I actually need her to talk, she's totally silent. She's a goddamn sphinx .

I huff out a breath of frustration and spin back to the cameras. "Sweet Jesus. Do any of you even know this woman?"

"That isn't your call to make," Messalina says sternly from the stage. "Renounce your claim. Acknowledge Cleopatra Aquarius as your rightful queen. Then you can return to your schoolbooks and your homework—or abandon the classroom and return to your budding career as a cat burglar, for all I care. That's all you have to do. Renounce your claim and bow to her. Then Theo Mercury will convene the Senate to ratify the vote."

Neo rushes over and wraps a protective arm around my chilly shoulders. "Don't you agree to that, babe. I'm gonna call my dad as soon as we're off this boat."

I don't know anything about Theo Mercury. I don't even know if I deserve to be queen. I really don't.

But what I do know is this.

I don't like the way I'm being manipulated. There are way too many unanswered questions still lurking. At the very minimum, we all need time to talk this through, like Lucius keeps saying. I mean, what's the hurry?

And I'm definitely not gonna tolerate my guys getting spied on and violated.

Just the thought has my power rising.

"Zara," Lucius growls through his fangs, so guttural I can barely follow him. He's literally struggling with human speech, because his wolf perceives a threat to me, and he's clawing at Lucius to let him rise.

Still, Lucius drags a taloned hand (practically a paw at this point) through the falling-down knot of his chestnut hair and manages to say, "Let me handle this from here. I beg you. There's—a time and a place—for this discussion. It belongs with—the scions and—the Senate."

Yeah, he wants me to stay calm and show restraint. But he's barely staying bipedal himself.

Bottom line up front? I feel like the time for restraint has passed.

That's why I glare across the deck into Messalina's gloating face and announce where I stand, loud enough for the whole witching world to hear. "Keep dreaming, dancing queen. I'm not renouncing shit ."

"That's truly unfortunate, Zara." The queen's voice hardens. "Because I'm not asking. "

She snaps her fingers like some kinda cartoon character of a witch.

Then it's mayhem.

Doors fly open to port and starboard from the living quarters on my level. A double row of purposeful guys in police uniforms, with broad shoulders and stern faces, tromp out on deck, clutching literal electric shock sticks like you read about. Only these guys are wearing indigo instead of blue.

In a flash, I recognize those unis. They're enforcers from the AIB.

The Arcane Investigative Bureau.

Those boys are like Imperial stormtroopers from Star Wars . They're bad news. They're muscle for the queen. And their reputation is, like, unsavory.

Electricity crackles through me, my hair swirls around my shoulders, and my feet rise from the deck.

But I don't dare summon lightning.

Not with my guys and a bunch of civvies standing right here. Not with the memory of what happened with my mom at the Double Gem front and center in everyone's mind.

Especially mine.

Fuck. For all I know, this entire shitshow was designed to make me lose it on live TV.

While I hesitate, my guys spring into action.

Hair swirling around him in a cloud of ink, Ronin flings Neo behind him, spins clear of all of us, and cocks an arm like a pitcher winding up at Yankee Stadium. A flaming ball of golden psi fire erupts from his palm. His fireball sears across the deck like a comet and barrels into the nearest heavies.

Those guys go sprawling in all directions, electric batons abandoned in favor of yelling and beating out the flames engulfing their imperial unis.

Ronin grins fiercely, eyes flaming gold and teeth gleaming white in the billowing smoke, and winds up to pitch another fireball at the second wave of stormtroopers—who are now uber-focused on him .

While Ronin deals with the incoming, Vasili streaks airborne across the poop deck (levitation is one of his gifts, he can fly like fucking Tinkerbell). With a sweep of his casting hand, he hurls a wall of telekinetic whoop-ass that slams both doors shut on the heavies still trying to push through .

Cue the muffled shouts and pounding while the backups try to shoulder through the barrier.

The living quarters of this megayacht are not exactly Fort Knox. Those doors won't hold long, and there have to be other exits.

Still, I call out, with lightning lurking in my voice, "Way to go, Goblin King!"

Since our psychic channel's still blocked.

Meanwhile, Lucius gives up a losing battle and let his wolf out in a blinding flash of light. He's a timber wolf, all gray and chestnut, shaggy and slavering and freaking massive. His wolf gallops across the deck and launches himself into the back of some guy who's climbing on a table to get behind Vasili's hovering frame with his shock stick.

Those two crash to the ground, leaving V untouched, with the stormtrooper screaming. The wolf's fanged jaws lock into the back of the guy's neck and shake him like a rat.

"You tell him, Lucius," I mutter. Because his wolf doesn't follow human speech.

I drop to the deck and spin to check on Neo. He's the only one of my guys who isn't trained to handle himself in a fistfight.

That's when some asshole from the crowd—a heavyset guy in a tux who isn't even one of the troopers—makes the mistake of grabbing my arm in his big sweaty paw. His ruddy face scowls down at me.

"That's enough, you Gemini bitch. Call off your fuck buddies or I'll—"

I'm torqued pretty tight, and this rough handling I didn't ask for and wasn't expecting really sets me off. With a flash of lavender light and a staticky crackle, the electric shock I call the little lightning rips his grip off my arm and hurls that asshole halfway across the deck.

He slams into the bar and slumps to the deck. Where he lies pretty much unmoving. While the cameras roll, a fussy-looking older woman in a purple feather boa shrieks and rushes to his side.

Her shrill scream splits the night. "He's not breathing. He's not breathing! "

"Oh, fuck me." I look around wildly, spot the defibrillator unit mounted on the wall, and rush toward it.

I'm in the middle of ripping off the plexiglass cover that protects the gizmo when another scream—a heart-stoppingly familiar one—drags my attention to the stern .

Dez is standing at the head of the gangway, with the biggest brute on the whole damn boat twisting her arms viciously behind her back to cuff her. She's really struggling, and the heavy—who's snarling and blistered red and still smoking from a hit of Ronin's psi fire—is handling her so roughly he's about to rip her arms off.

Dez's pretty face twists tight in fear and pain.

"Hey!" I shout. "You leave her the fuck alone, you big bully! Pick on someone your own size."

Dez is, like, the real innocent in this whole shitshow. She's my housemate. She's my friend. She's literally only here to support me. She's not athletic, she's delicate, she doesn't even know how to fight. Her gifts are telepathy and precognition.

She's defenseless.

She's scared.

And she's hurting.

The poop deck is a mess, civvies running and screaming, troopers bellowing commands and trying to impose order and then arrest us I guess, the doors splintering despite V's solid efforts to let more of the brute squad barrel through.

I can't find Racetrack in the fray. And all my guys have their hands full.

My flying skills are still a work in progress. But I snatch the defibrillator, shoot erratically above the scrum, zip over to the bar to shove the thing at the freaked-out chick with the boa (who just about rips the unit from my arms), then hurl myself airborne to help my friend.

Before I can ride to Dez's rescue like the Lone Ranger, Neo (another innocent) rushes across the deck and tackles her attacker.

What my fated mate lacks in skill, he definitely makes up for in brawn and bravery. Through sheer body mass and determination, Neo does manage to knock the jerk into a wall.

Dez stumbles clear of the scuffle, wrists shackled behind her. Face frantic, dress torn, hair falling down in spirals from her sleek ponytail, she scrambles out of the way through the chaos the best she can—

Then her head jerks up and her eyes widen with alarm. Her mouth opens in a horrified O.

That's when she winks out of sight.

Gone in a blink .

My friend. The gentle one. The only one of us who's totally, truly innocent.

She's… just… fucking… gone .

Now I'm the one screaming.

"Dezzz!"