Page 73 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?
If I had wanted her …
He didn’t want me; I didn’t want him.
If we could just make it to March, I would never have to see him again.
Seeing as the forget-for-now tonics didn’t work when the subject of them was in close physical proximity to a person, I switched tactics.
“Graceley,” Argent began softly, turning back to me. But I wasn’t listening. I sat my coffee down on the kitchen island and turned toward the back door. After slipping my feet into black slippers, I headed outside and down the steps.
A few careful minutes of poking around in the bushes, and I found what I was looking for.
A nice, big fat banana slug with plenty of slime to harvest.
Delicious.
I went back inside and carefully scraped some of the slime from the slug while both Argent and Hex watched, the former with no small amount of sympathy and the latter with sheer horror in his gaze.
Because I was scraping a slug with a butter knife, because I was about to drink something that would haunt my dreams, nightmares, and probably every quiet, waking moment I had for years, I could pretend that’s why I was in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.
In reality, it was because of Monster.
Motherfucking Monster.
An entire week of being trapped in our house with Monster was too much for this werewolf. I didn’t trust ‘im for shit, but not for the same reasons as Argent or even Grace. Oh no, I had suspicions of my own.
“Alright, shitface,” I said, pausing at the top of the stairs to look around at the sheet-covered furniture and old leaves on the apartment floor. Monster stood beside me, his face an emotionless mask, a heavy glamour in place that made him look like some boring-ass bank manager or whatever the fuck. “You like your new digs?”
I didn’t care if he did or not, but I’d agreed to come up and show him around the apartment, take the shrouds off the furniture, that sorta thing. I moved over to one of the windows, opening it wide and looking out at the cobbled street outside.
It was fairy-tale perfect over here. Big tall black light posts with frosted glass bulbs, already decorated for Christmas with lights and real garland, spelled to stay fresh. The large stone flowerpots that lined the sidewalk were filled with poinsettias, also spelled, and so vibrant and red they looked fake at times.
All of which was Graceley’s work.
As soon as we’d walked into the store this morning, she’d breathed a sigh of relief, grabbed her apprentice—a girl named Mahou—and set about decorating like a manic person. Pretty sure she just wanted to get away from this asshole over here.
I turned around to find Monster approaching the fireplace. He rested his hand atop the mantle as I did my best to resist tearing out his fuckin’ throat. As a family, we’d discussed the dream sex thing the other night amongst ourselves—sans Monster and Hex, o’ course. The result of which was particularly un-friggin’-satisfying. Graceley was adamant that she was half-responsible while the rest of us wanted to kill Monster for invading her dreams when he damn well knew she was too vulnerable and weak to stop him.
If our plans didn’t already include locking his ass behind metaphysical bars for the rest of his miserable existence, I assure you: Argent and I woulda killed the man while Spectre held Grace back. As it were, we needed his help. Damned if I’d ever admit that aloud though.
“You want to tell me about the big-ass owl that was sitting on the edge of our balcony and watching us fuck? You have anything to do with that?” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for Monster to acknowledge me. The expression on his face, boy, it was cocky enough to tip me right over the edge.
The wolf inside of me snarled, and I felt my skin ripple with the urge to shift.
Getting angry with this man wouldn’t do me any good. If I bit this motherfucker, I’d find myself in as big a mess as Graceley once was. All the stories that Argent had told me about Monster came flooding back in, and I clamped down on them. If I thought too hard about that, I’d tear his nuts off with my damn teeth. Or, I’d at least try. His pheromones affected me, regardless of my sexual preferences.
Best I keep a safe distance between us.
“Describe the owl,” he said, and I sighed, moving over to the armchair and yanking the cover off of it. I draped the fabric over one arm.
“Big, brown, four huge yellow eyes.” I snatched the white sheet off the coffee table.
“Hmm,” he mused noncommittally, opening the door to the left of the fireplace. There was a door on either side, one of which led to the bedroom, the other to the bathroom. It was a Jack and Jill sort of a thing, with yet another door that led from the bathroom to the bedroom.
