Page 57 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
This was home to me … and it smelled of Monster.
Every square motherfucking inch of it.
I put my hands on the island, looking askance at my mother who sat at one of the stools on the far end. My father stood beside her. He was a good man, but he was weak. Unsurprisingly. He almost had to be, in order to get along with Abigail. She would never be able to handle someone like … I glanced over at my husbands as they lined up on the opposite end of the island.
Well, Argent and Caine did. Spectre went about making a pot of tea for everyone, even though his hands trembled and he had to pause a few times to catch his breath.
“You’re welcome,” Caine growled out, and I had to grit my teeth against a sigh.
It wasn’t as if my husbands didn’t love their in-laws, but … ‘like’ was a very far away thing.
“I was going to start off with a thank you,” Abigail began, looking over at me and letting her eyes sweep me from head to toe. “But you didn’t let me get there. Graceley, do you have something you want to say to me?”
“Excuse me?” I queried, blinking through the sudden rush of fatigue. This was a lot to deal with the day after waking up. Ideally, we’d have another week at least of bedrest. But we had kids. And we had a house, a shop, a coven.
Rest wasn’t exactly in the cards for any of us.
Calla looked pointedly at my belly and then lifted her eyes to my face, mouth pinched.
I blanched.
Crap.
My eyes shifted to one side, and I had to wonder what exactly it was about Abigail Spells that made me feel like a teenager all over again.
“I’m pregnant, yes,” I concurred, biting my lower lip and wondering how I got myself into this mess. I mean, I was aware that a dude coming inside of me could result in pregnancy. What I meant was, how did I end up with a half-demon motorcycle-riding douche as my soulmate, and why did I have sex with him in the first place? Also, why was I not at all upset about any of this?
“I see,” Abigail replied softly, staring down at the mug of tea Spectre passed her way. She glanced up at him before turning back to me. She didn’t see, not at all. She likely assumed one of my husbands was the father.
I accepted the funky handmade Christmas mug from Spectre and studied the molded clay design on the side, that of some mistletoe. The whole kissing under the mistletoe thing is actually an ancient Pagan tradition; the Romans used it for fertility rituals. The mug was certainly apropos in more ways than one.
“Thank you,” I murmured, and Spec offered me up a mysterious smile that had my neck throbbing in a most inappropriate sort of way. I looked back at Abigail and sipped the tea. Peppermint with just a dash of cream. My favorite holiday treat.
Spec was one of those deranged nuts who liked to start Christmas after Halloween. How is that even appropriate for a vampire? He should respect the dark sanctity of All Hallows’ Eve. I smiled into my cup and then paused as a holler of pain echoed down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“Connard, you fuck!” the voice yelled, and I snorted. Nobody else laughed, but Spec smiled wider and Caine grinned. Argent remained stoic, his eyes on Abigail, as if he already suspected her of something. “You shitty, annoying, talking animal sidekick butthole!”
“There are children present!” the cat gasped, skittering down the stairs and slipping on a decorative rug on his way out the back door. He yowled in rage, tail puffed, as he sprinted past.
I soon heard footsteps on the stairs.
Weak, shaky footsteps.
There was a loud sound, and I cringed, imagining Hex flying down the stairs, wondering if the house would bother to help him seeing as he wasn’t a member of the Spells family.
Yet.
An oof was followed by several more creative curse words that had my mother gaping, my father cringing, and Calla and her husband exchanging looks. Caine roared with laughter as Hex finally dragged himself into the kitchen doorway, bleeding from cat scratches to the face.
He looked around at the gathered crowd and grit his teeth. At the very least, he had the grace to blush slightly.
“Mornin’,” he grumbled, slumping against the side of the doorjamb. He was wearing a pair of Spec’s Ouija board joggers and nothing up top but his own skin and ink. He was … absolutely glorious. When he reached up to scratch at the back of his head, the pants sunk lower, and there was a hard, flat bit of midsection just begging me to drool over it.
“Graceley,” Abigail hissed, and I snapped my attention over to her as Caine’s roar of laughter shifted into a sneer.
