Page 129 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
If I had to kill every fae in Faerie, every creature in Hael, every human on earth, to save my loved ones, it would be an easy decision.
“I will explain it to you, but perhaps we should take a walk?” Monster rose from his chair at about the same moment that Caine tromped into the room, wearing holey jeans and little else. I gave him a look and he returned it with a curl of his lip.
“What the fuck happened down here?” he asked, looking around at the disarray. I assumed that the upstairs windows must’ve remained intact; the chaos had only occurred on the first floor of the lodge. Maybe only in the open-air common area and likely not the rooms.
Such a careful, clever Monster.
“A minor disagreement.” I stood up and Monster followed suit while Caine scowled at us both.
“Minor disagreement, my ass. I’mma have to spend the whole day down here cleanin’ up this shit. You tell me what the hell is goin’ on or I’m liable to shift and tear both your throats out.”
“Stop being such a beast,” I said blithely, giving him a dismissive once-over that raised the hair on both of his arms and the back of his neck. Quite literally, actually. He sprouted fur, and then put his hackles up. “Go teach Hex how to be a proper fourth wife. Make him change a diaper or something. If we’re lucky, he’ll haul ass out of here and leave.”
“Shit, shoot, and spells, you know as well as I do that he ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Caine swiveled his head over to look at Monster. “You know, witches might have better noses, but wolves know what every scent means. Just a drop of fear, of pain, it’s enough for us to pick up on.”
“That means what?” Monster said, feigning boredom. He even yawned and snapped his shadow wings out of existence. “What do you want, wolf?”
“Is this about the soulmate thing?” Caine queried, lowering his voice to a near whisper.
Witches had good noses, yes, but also good ears.
Grace could theoretically step out of our room upstairs and listen in. She likely wouldn’t, but it was possible.
“What soulmate thing?” I inquired politely as the teapot shattered all over again. I gave Monster a warning look that he ignored, his attention focused on Caine rather than me.
“I asked you before, didn’t I?” Caine breathed, looking Monster over before swinging his amber gaze to me. “He’s the fifth, ain’t he?”
“Is it that obvious?” Monster gritted out between clenched teeth.
“Witches get zings when they see their soulmates. Just the way it is. Besides that, the way you look at Grace …” Caine trailed off, studying the demon prince with a guarded expression. “What the fuck you gonna do about it?”
“Nothing,” Monster said, scowling so violently that I truly worried for both my safety and Caine’s in that moment. “I’ll do nothing.”
He turned and swept out the front door as I offered Caine a reassuring look.
“Don’t worry about it, and don’t mention it to Grace.”
“Really? You want to leave her in the dark about this of all things? You know how she is—” I cut him off with a finger to his lips that he slapped away with another snarl and a snap of his teeth.
“Let me handle this.” I shook my head to refresh the glamour on my hair. It might not be real, but at least it looked real, and when it was all tangled—from Monster’s windstorm, mind you—I simply had to give the magic a quick jolt, and voilà. Stress-free haircare. “I mean it, Caine. I’m first wife, remember? The only one who has a legal human marriage to Grace.”
“As if I give any fucks at all about human bureaucracy. Don’t you mess this up, Argent. I don’t like to keep a secret from my wife, especially not about something so important.” He moved over to where Abel had left a mop and bucket and grabbed the mop’s handle. “I’ll trust you on this one; don’t break that trust.”
“Have I ever?” I gave him a small smile that he growled back at. “How could I? After you risked so much to save me.” With a smirk of my own, I took off for the front door, grabbed my coat on the way out, and followed Monster into the snow.
Raeanne’s house had vomited up glitter, pipe cleaners, wooden clothespins, popsicle sticks, and glue onto every surface. It was a madhouse in there, full of werewolves who pretended not to be werewolves, all in human form, all crafting—except for my twins.
I mean, they were babies still, but at least we could pretend to play with salt dough and craft some basic ornaments if they weren’t permanently in wolf form. Something about being around a crowd of other werewolves—whether or not they went wolfy—had turned Ophelia and Legend into howling, chewing, romping nightmares.
