Page 75 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
It was just as well.
“Or maybe just try to make it through the holidays without dying first,” Grace corrected, sighing heavily. The winter equinox was a big night for the witch community; big spells would be cast. We were not only still recovering from our spell on Halloween, we were still hearing gossip about other big magic done on that same night.
It wasn’t an immediate concern, but every equinox, every solstice, we had to be prepared for trouble. This year, we now had Coven Wyrmwood to worry about on top of everything else.
“It’s only been a week, Grace. If you need to rest, then rest. The store will survive if we don’t decorate.” She gave me a look as I stepped forward, pulling her out from behind the counter and into my arms. With a sigh, my wife relaxed into them, and I held her tightly against me. As always, she smelled like broomsticks and books, this vague underlying hint of sweet fruit reminding me that she was pregnant.
And not by me.
My wolf side rippled again, but I ignored it. Jealousy wasn’t going to do me a damn bit of good here. If I’d wanted to shut out our moron of a soulmate, I should’ve made a stand sooner. Now, here he was, here we were, and this was happening.
Might give him a hard time, but I’d accepted it.
This was, after all, the last time. I had one more time in me; I could do this.
“In the next life,” I began, and Grace snorted.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” she said, and I grinned against her hair.
“I’ll be born same as I am now—undoubtedly the most handsome man you ever seen, sugar—and you’ll be born same as you are now. Again, why mess with perfection?” I glanced over at Argent as he appeared from the far end of the store, carrying fresh sugar cookies with an almost disturbing level of detail in the design.
When Argent needed time to think, he baked. He baked Halloween cookies, Christmas cookies, heart cookies for Valentine’s Day, that sorta shit.
He placed the tray on a small table near the front door, putting a glass cover over the top with a sign that read Free, Please Help Yourself beside it. We even had mulled cider going. Ambience was a big thing for us.
“Go on, I won’t stop you,” Argent purred at me, and I ignored him. He knew my plans for our future life.
“Argent, Spectre, and—I guess—Hex will be born as voluptuous beauties, and it’ll be me that has a harem of his own.”
“Oh, of course,” Graceley agreed with a laugh, pulling back from me just enough so that she could look into my eyes. She reached up a hand, trailing her fingers over the stubble on my face. There was a glimmer in her gaze that made me suspicious as all get out. This snappy witch woman did not just generally agree to my demands for an all-female harem in the next life without gettin’ all cute and pissy. She cleared her throat, and I cocked a brow. Here it comes, more bad broomsticking news. “Did I tell you that I’m inviting Lulu Witch to the shop for tea?”
“You didn’t,” I said with a tired sigh, reaching up to rub at the back of my head with a hand. Last time we’d had tea with Hex’s grandmother, the High Priestess of Coven Wyrmwood, she’d been cordial but cold. This time? We had her grandson, and she wanted him back.
If it wasn’t pretty last time we got together, it sure as fuck wasn’t gonna be pretty now.
“When did you make that plan?” I asked, holding Grace tight and trying not to think about how good our life had been for the last several years. Peaceful. It’d been peaceful, and full of love. It felt as if we’d just turned the page on that chapter, that we were embarking on something new.
I wasn’t sure that I was happy about that either.
“I haven’t made it just yet,” Graceley said, and then we both paused as the broom in the corner fell over, signaling a significant visitor on the horizon. Grace sighed heavily. “Or … today, I guess. Put the kettle on,” she commanded me, and I licked my lips. I didn’t take orders from anyone in this world but for Grace; she was my alpha female. Nobody else mattered, not the Three, not the Coven, not the president of the United motherfucking States.
Witches didn’t care for human politics whatsoever; we didn’t obey their laws either unless it suited us to do so.
Before letting Grace go, I ran a thumb over her lips, appreciating the pretty candy red color she’d painted them with. I leaned down and traced the seam of her mouth with my tongue so that she’d open to me, a groan escaping her and driving into me like a nail through the heart.
