Page 27 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
“Take another step and I’ll end it,” I told her, and although I wasn’t sure that I could actually kill myself with the tusk—I’d much rather kill Agma—the threat was enough to make her pause. Whatever it was that the cabal and the coven needed me for, it was more than just a simple alliance.
I could see it written all over Agma’s face.
I stumbled back, and then, using another inked spell on the inside of my upper arm, I broke the locks on the cages where the werewolves were being kept. Connard stayed clinging to my shoulder the entire time, nails digging into my skin.
“Pack Ebon Red owes you a favor,” one of them said after shifting into human form. “Follow us.” The girl immediately melted into her wolf form again, shook out her thick coat, and took up a sentry-like position on my right side. Another of the wolves did the same on my left, the rest gathered behind us.
Carefully, in a dead and disturbing silence, we edged down the steps of the dais and toward the back doors of the sanctum.
I’m not sure how far we might’ve gone if those same doors hadn’t opened inward, and if I hadn’t found myself staring at a panting, red-faced Graceley Spells.
My lips parted, and I swallowed so hard that I actually pricked my skin with the end of the tusk. A single drop of blood welled and slid down my neck to soak into my robes.
I could just imagine in some strange alternate world that Graceley was here for that epic part in a human wedding ceremony where the officiant asks if anyone objects to the marriage.
Would she have done it if I’d still been standing up there? Yelled out her objections and claimed me? Did I want her to do that?
Now was not the time to sort through my messy emotions.
She had her husbands with her—Argent, Caine, and Spectre—as well as that demon guy I’d glimpsed for a hot second. Not sure how I felt about him, but, much as I sorta disliked the others, I’m not sure I’d ever been happier to see a cockfest in my entire life.
“Hex,” Graceley breathed, and even though I shouldn’t have been able to hear her from such a distance, I did anyway.
I picked up the pace as the crowd just stared at me from either side of the room.
The Three were the biggest threats and the most likely to move on me—the Crone, in particular.
“Graceley Spells,” she said, her voice ancient and croaking, her long, crooked fingers cracking as she curled and uncurled them, likely getting ready for a spell of some sort.
And not a one of us could stand up against the Crone.
I’d been hoping her fear of my death would get me out the door, but …
The big demon dude, the one with the ebony skin and the white lines crisscrossed over it, stepped forward. His gaze met mine, copper eyes shimmering, and I felt a strange jolt.
Like, uh, a soulmate jolt? But nah. No way. No fucking way.
If Grace were my soulmate—she was, I knew it as intrinsically as anything I’d ever experienced in my entire life—then she certainly would’ve mentioned this guy before, right?
I brushed the feeling off, making my way slowly and surely down the aisle.
Coven Wyrmwood’s Mother and Maiden both were watching me with tight expressions on their faces, but I guess they assumed the Crone would take care of this situation for them because they didn’t move a finger or chuck a hex, curse, or any other malediction my way.
“Taking Hex Sorciere from his wedding today will constitute an act of war between Coven Wyrmwood and Coven Apothecary. As the high priestess of your coven, is this a declaration that you’re willing to make?” The Crone smiled and I swear, she had spiderwebs in her teeth.
“Allowing the Mother of Coven Apothecary to die because you couldn’t spare the groom for a few short hours on this sacred night was already an act of war, Crone Wyrmwood.” Graceley lifted her chin, and my heart skipped over several beats. I almost lowered the tusk from my throat, but Con reached out and swiped a pawful of claws across my cheek.
“Focus, nincompoop,” he hissed at me, and I gritted my teeth against the pain, pushing the tip of the tusk further against my throat. Another drop of blood swelled, fell, sunk into the fabric of the robe.
Ouch.
I was already feeling lightheaded, but not from blood loss—from the ivory itself. A full-blooded demon could scarcely hold pure ivory in their hand let alone stab themselves with it. I might’ve only been a half-breed, but I was feeling it.
We needed to get the fuck out of here now.
If I didn’t give Grace my full summoning name before my grandmother woke up, this entire coup would be for naught.
