Page 128 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
Monster had the magic to break the glass; he could fix it, too.
If … it was even really broken at all. Perhaps it was an illusion? I couldn’t tell. He was that good at what he did.
“Enough with the theatrics,” I commanded, my glamoured hair swirling in the snowy wind that howled through the empty crevices where the windows had once been. The atmosphere had shifted from cozy and warm and sheltered to violent and dark and cold. “Tell me.”
Monster was breathing hard now, his hands curled around the edge of the table, claws dug into the wood. His eyes were closed, face turned away from me. I could smell him, as always, this musky sweetness, a floral bouquet of Hael flowers and charcoal. I wetted my lips and pushed back against my body’s natural urge to give into his scent. If he really came at me, he could probably get me to submit to him.
It’d be sexual assault, of course, but he could if he truly wanted to.
I wasn’t sure that I could fight an unshackled onslaught of his magic.
“In order for me to be frank with you,” he whispered, the deep baritone of his voice a soulful accompaniment to the howl of the wind through the broken windows, “then you must swear that you will keep my revelations in your hands and out of Grace’s.”
I narrowed my eyes to slits, resting my hands in my lap. If I weren’t so drained from the spell we’d cast on Grace’s mother, I’d have snapped my fingers and fixed the glass myself. But it wasn’t worth it—not when I would soon have to face my mother on the other side of the Veil.
“Promise me,” he breathed, his voice a low growl. “I won’t ask for a contract between us; a fresh magic mark on your wrist would tell Grace more information than she ever needed to know. But if you make this promise with me and then break it, I will destroy you.”
He sat back and snapped his fingers, encouraging the glass shards to melt together and reform into sheets. The windows repaired themselves, the Christmas lights, even the mug with the wolves on it. The tea was long-gone, and the lodge was a mess of melting snow and toppled holiday décor.
“What fresh hell is this?!” Abel choked out, stumbling into the room to stare at the pair of us. “Are you both nuts?” He was so similar to Caine; I almost liked him. Or I might have if I even liked Caine. My wife’s husband was a pain in the ass.
“Leave us,” Monster commanded, reaching out and grabbing onto Abel’s hand. As soon as he touched him with his aphrodisiac-laden skin, Abel’s eyes went slack and his lips parted. He stumbled a bit when Monster released his wrist, but he did as he was told, stumbling away to grab the broom, a faraway look in his eyes.
From a single touch.
Just one touch.
“My patience—which is notoriously thin—is starting to break. Please, enlighten me, Monster.”
He wrapped himself in his wings and leaned in toward me again, eyes blazing with power. He was a category nine demon, one of a handful in Hael. Last I’d checked, there were less than three dozen royals with that same ranking. I wasn’t sure how things had changed in the fourteen years since I’d spent time in Hael with Monster and Graceley, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were even less now.
Demons, like faeries, enjoyed the slaughter of their kith and kin.
Holiday gatherings, the way humans and witches and wolves did it, were not events that the fae or demon-kind looked forward to. They were political matches; they were nightmares.
“As far as your definition of soulmates—that is, souls who have crossed paths many times and created meaningful connections—then yes, I am Graceley’s soulmate.” Monster exhaled and closed his eyes briefly, opening them up only once he’d regained some of his rapidly retreating self-control. “Your soulmate. Caine’s. Spectre’s.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Hex’s.”
My chest tightened at the pain in his voice, but I would not give into his nonsense. I did not feel sorry for him. He and he alone chose to roll Grace, to break her with his magic, to hand me all of her broken pieces so that I could nurse her back to a full recovery.
“What is it that you want out of this then?” I asked, annoyed at myself for the slight crack at the end of my words, as if I actually cared. As if I were emotional at all about this.
“Grace is too soft.” Monster dragged a single claw along the rim of his reformed mug. “She makes decisions with her heart and not her head.”
Truth.
My wife was far too kind for her own good. Which, of course, is why I was by her side always. I would never call myself kind, not in any sense of the word. Although my cold heart had melted in regard to my family, the rest of the galaxy could be damned for all I cared.
