Page 83 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
“She didn’t trust you to know that information and stick around,” Spectre mused, leaning back and putting one hand behind him for balance. “I see that as a positive. You aren’t driven by power, Hex Sorciere. Your grandma knew you’d rather live your own life than be king. At least, not for the cost that came with it. You’re not a bad person.” He paused there and then, because I think he just realized he was being too nice, added, “although you were a bit of a manwhore.”
“As if you weren’t a slut yourself,” Caine interjected, and the two men glared at one another.
“So what do we do now?” Hex queried as I pretended not to be jealous at the idea of any of these men touching a woman who wasn’t me.
“Why don’t we start with a Christmas tree and move on from there?” Spectre suggested, clearly upset by the fact that—as Fey so eloquently put it—we were late for ‘tree day’. Seeing as Spectre was one of the deranged crowd who enjoys Christmas on November first, the season was practically over for him.
“A Christmas tree?” Hex mused, cocking his head slightly to one side. As a witch, he may or may not have participated in contemporary American traditions. Some covens still celebrated Yule the old way. That is, with sacrifices and blood, ale and dancing. Even the fae celebrated the solstice in their own way—by sending the Wild Hunt across the winter sky.
Thus, we always carried a piece of iron and a piece of bread with us when going out in the evening anywhere near the winter solstice. If you come across the leader of the wild hunt, you throw down the iron. If you come across a lesser faerie, you throw down the bread.
It sounded absolutely insane to me, but Argent said the tradition carried and would be respected. One could, theoretically, survive a trail of angry faeries streaming from the other side of the Veil—the Iron Veil, in this case—with a small piece of iron and bread in their pocket.
“We might be witches, but we’re not puritanical,” I explained with a small smile. “It’s not as if we’re unaware of popular culture.”
“Christmas trees have been around since the sixteenth century; you have a very obscure idea of what popular culture is.” Argent smiled at me, and I snatched up a decorative pillow—in the shape of a candy cane, seeing as Spectre had apparently found some free time today to decorate—and chucked it at my husband.
“Christmas tree, right.” Hex looked so adorably confused that I couldn’t help but set my mug aside so that I could take his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. We deserved some alone time to talk, more than just a stolen conversation over a sandwich. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, and I heard all three of the other men in the room make some sort of sound in protest.
Hex scowled at them.
“How are we supposed to get to know each other if you’re up our asses all the damn time?”
“Remember what I said,” Spectre warned him, standing up and then holding out his hand for both Hex’s and my empty mugs. With an adorable moue, Hex handed over the cups without further complaint. “I’m going to be kind to you, so I’ll let you in on a little tip: sugar and spice make everything nice.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Hex told him as Spectre laughed and moved away, collecting mugs in his arms as he went.
“A polite may I please, good sirs goes a long way,” he called out from the kitchen as Hex sighed and closed his eyes, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose as I dropped my hands to his muscular shoulders.
With gritted teeth, he tried his best. It was a pretty pathetic attempt, but it had to account for something, right?
“May I please have Graceley to myself tonight?” he asked, and Caine pretended to muse on it for a moment, enjoying a shared look with Argent that made Hex bristle.
Spectre reappeared in the doorway, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the wall.
“For one night, I suppose. But if I were you, I’d get used to the idea of rooming with us—and quick. When I joined the family, I slept on the couch for a week. Grace joined me twice for a sleepover, and I ended up with werewolf piss on every piece of clothing that I owned. He even peed on my collection of hardcover books.” This time, the glare that Spectre threw Caine’s way was a real one.
“In regard to your request,” Argent began, and Caine grinned mischievously. “I vote no.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Hex roared, and Caine chortled. He was enjoying this far too much.
“Ain’t you ever watched one of them horrible sister wife type shows? New wife gets her ass handed to her by the first wife.” Caine pointed at Argent who smiled nice and slow and dangerous. “First Wife. If First Wife votes no, then I say no, too.”
