Page 50 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
The magic mark had made certain of that anyway.
“Nothing, Mother. But how on earth did he manage to keep the entire coven out of my house for this long?” I desperately wanted to speak to my children, to see them, to hug them, but I had to get some answers first.
Last I knew, we’d stolen Hex Sorciere from his own wedding and very possibly ignited a war. I had to know what was happening.
“The Crone made a deal with him after the first few days—he would bring no harm to you or our coven, he would keep you safe, and we would back off.” My mother hesitated, as if there was something more to it, something that she wouldn’t say.
“What about Coven Wyrmwood—” I started, but my mother made a sharp sound of annoyance.
“Rest tonight, and we’ll bring the children over in the morning. I’ll explain things then.”
“In the morning is not good enough. I want my children now,” Argent growled out, but Abigail brushed him off.
“It’s late,” she sniffed. “The kids are in bed already. Be reasonable. You’re all recovering. Are Caine and Spectre even awake?”
“Not yet,” I said, reaching out to put a hand on Argent’s leg. As much as I wanted to grab our children tonight, we likely wouldn’t be awake long enough to spend any time with them. The morning, far away as it seemed, would work well enough.
“Hex Sorciere?” Abigail inquired in such a way that alarm bells immediately went off inside of me.
“What do you care about Hex Sorciere, Mother?” I asked, but even though I couldn’t see her, I could just imagine her waving her hand dismissively in my direction.
“We’ll be there for breakfast. Let the demon know it best be gone before we arrive.”
And then she hung up on me.
Not unexpected.
I sat the phone aside and used the last of my energy to crawl into Argent’s lap. He pulled me into his arms and tucked me beneath his chin.
“Although I slept,” he murmured against my hair, “I knew you were not with me, and I mourned. I missed you, Graceley Spells.”
I cuddled even closer to him, reveling in his warmth, his smell.
He was right.
Though we’d been asleep and dreaming, I’d missed him, too.
I’d missed all of my husbands.
And … I don’t know how I felt about Hex, but there was something there. Obviously, or else I never would’ve slept with him in the first place. I wanted to go and check on him, on Caine and Spectre, but I couldn’t move.
Within seconds, I was asleep again.
When I next awoke, it was with a massive wolf curled up on my left side. I was lying flat on my belly, faceplanted into a pillow that smelled of lavender and lemon, with Argent on my other side. As soon as I rolled over with a groan, I found Spectre on his knees at the end of the bed, staring down at me.
Light was coming through the curtains, so I could only assume it was morning already.
“Spec,” I murmured, eyes clouding with tears. The soft smile he offered me made the world seem hopeful and … also, extremely dirty, all in one go. He crawled over me as soon as I turned over and without a breath of hesitation, he was sinking his teeth into the side of my neck.
Vamp pheromones raced through me, as pungent and heady as Monster’s, and I groaned, arching up into him and lacing my fingers together behind his back. Spectre was sucking and licking and nuzzling against me in such a way that I felt my thighs spread naturally, welcoming him in.
How could I resist?
The satin nightie had already ridden up enough to expose my aching heat, and Spectre wasn’t wearing anything but for loose black joggers that he shoved down his hips. His cock found my opening easily enough, and he slid into my silken wetness in a single motion, burying himself deep.
When he groaned, the sound was lyrical, a throwback to his days onstage. Sometimes, I wondered if he missed that scene, if he wanted that lifestyle back, but he never alluded to it. Perhaps, by digging himself coffin-deep into the vampire underground, he’d had his fill already.
It wasn’t just about music, being a vampire musician. There was more to it than that; the Bloods were extremely secretive, and there were rules to getting famous. Spectre had broken nearly all of them.
“Your mother’s downstairs,” he groaned finally, moving his bloodied lips from my neck to my mouth. “We should hurry.”
So he said, but instead of picking up the pace, he dragged his hot tongue along the side of my neck, languorously, as if we had all the time in the world.
My fingers parted, the tips digging into his hard muscles. Thanks to a nifty spell, they hadn’t atrophied any over the last four weeks. Clearly, that was a blessing from the goddess herself. Spectre was as hard, as firm, as unyielding as he’d always been, lean and strong. His heart, however, was soft—at least when it came to me.
