Page 51 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
“She can wait a little longer,” I murmured back, not caring if we were twenty or thirty or forty minutes later than we should’ve been. It occurred to me briefly that Monster might be down there confronting her, but the house wouldn’t allow him to engage in full-scale war with Abigail, so I ignored the problem for now.
To be frank, the two of them unleashed upon one another was karmic in a way.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Spectre dropped his mouth to my breast, biting me through the satin of the nightgown and leaving his lips with the faint luster of blood. He licked them clean and stared into my eyes with his lavender ones. Though he shouldn’t, he unleashed what little magic he had left to roll me.
When a vampire rolls someone they don’t know—that is, hypnotizes them in a way—it’s a violation, a form of metaphysical torture akin to rape. But when you know the vamp who’s doing it? It’s a caress, a kiss of magic.
I felt him pulling me under, that toxic, heady combination of witch and vampire magic, the smell like wet dirt and ripe apples. He kissed me hard, with a possessiveness that sent my mind falling down a rabbit hole of memories, until I could feel that very first kiss all over again.
Once upon a time, I’d convinced Argent and Caine to come to an underground vamp concert with me. The lead singer, he’d met my eyes over the heads of the crowd, and that spark had laced my blood. Hot and pungent, a zing of magic and shared connection, the power of soulmates. Now, only witches had the zing, as far as we knew. No other species had ever laid claim to such a thing.
But fuck if it didn’t come in handy.
Spectre had found me after, dragged me backstage, and then he’d kissed me just the way he was kissing me now. He kissed me as if it were the first and last time all over again. A hello and a goodbye, always, just in case. We kissed like it was our last moment on earth, and I knew that if at some point that became true, I wouldn’t regret the way I’d spent my final seconds.
Our tongues tangled with the faint, metallic heat of my own blood, and then he pulled away, returning his lips to my throat, sucking and drinking and feeding on me at the same time he was fucking me. It was my absolute favorite, to be with him like this. I became his be-all, end-all, the satisfaction of his every need.
Besides that, it’d been an entire month since my body had received pleasure of any sort.
Although your mind did wander … I did my best to push aside thoughts of Monster and the field of black tulips, the heat and weight of his body, the copper burn of his eyes. Some of the things I’d dreamed had been old memories, word for word, just as I’d experienced them. Others had been … embellished.
I’d be conscious enough to understand that and yet … what had I done? Fucked Monster in my dreams? The realization of that crashed into me, but that, too, I ignored. In my heart and mind, in that very moment, Spectre was the only thing that mattered.
I relaxed into his magic the way a person might relax into a bottle of red wine—of which I’d be having little of during the coming months. Nope, no red wine for this witch. Just slug slime coffee and heartbreak.
Because Monster, inevitably, always dragged heartbreak along in his wake.
“More,” I begged, tilting my chin up and encouraging Spectre to drink deep. Caine grumbled in his sleep and rolled toward us, his amber eyes opening and locking onto mine. He growled and bared his teeth, shifting into human form so that he could stretch out naked and hard beside us. “As much as you want.”
The lightheaded feeling I’d awoken to intensified as Spectre lapped up the blood dripping from my neck. Each stroke of his tongue across my throbbing carotid was timed with the thrust of his hips and the two sensations reacted together like live wires, firing up my body, taunting my magic.
“Not too much,” Caine murmured, turning onto his back and taking his cock in hand. With a snort, Argent stood up and made his way into the bathroom, slamming the door on the three of us. Likely, he was emptying the already empty nausea in his stomach.
I was too far gone in pleasure to care at that moment, my fingers raking up the jade white color of Spectre’s skin, and then burying themselves in his dark purple hair. I yanked on it as his tongue danced across the last droplets of ruby red, and the wound began to seal up from the natural healing properties in his saliva.
