Page 10 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
Boom.
A charm to breathe underwater flared to life, lighting up the murky nightmare that lay below the surface. There were small creatures down here, category one demons that hissed and flashed teeth at me. I kept my hold tight on the pistol, and rolled over, putting the gun up through the water and aiming the barrel straight at the asshole with his hand on my ankle.
I finally managed to fire off my second round and hit him in the throat. Hot blood sprayed out onto the surface of the water, blocking my vision. It wasn’t a kill shot, but it gave me a chance to free my ankle and try to disentangle my hair from the other demon’s grip.
“Attacking what’s mine, not a smart decision on your part,” a voice growled, just before magic rippled across the surface and the other witch-eater was ripped away from me with enough force to tear the hair from my scalp. Since I was still underwater, the voice was partially garbled, and for a split-second there, I teased myself with the idea that it was Argent, Spec, Caine … I knew it wasn’t Hex.
Not that I’d want it to be Hex.
When I came up gasping, Monster was there, standing above me with his white hair spattered in blood, his copper eyes narrowed, and his hand through the throat of one of the witch-eaters. He jerked it back, sending hunks of gore into the steamy water. Tiny fish-like creatures snapped it up and disappeared into the murky depths as I scrambled to my feet.
A horn sounded in the distance, followed by the rustling of chains and the jingling of bells. Snapping twigs and pounding hooves followed. Sounded like a goddamn army was marching our way.
“Come here,” Monster growled, reaching down and grabbing me around the waist and under the knees. He hauled me up to his chest as the last of the pain faded from my scalp and ankles. Reaching up to touch my hat, I could feel that most of the healing charms were gone. Next time, it was going to hurt like a witch.
“I am not yours,” I ground out, but those swirls on his skin were already bleeding that aphrodisiac into me. My heart was pounding and all I could do was stare into Monster’s beautiful eyes. It was like that first time we met: he literally swept me off my feet. Of course, he swept me into a deluded, carnal nightmare, but that’s beside the point. “And I’m perfectly capable of running; put me down.”
“Are you perfectly capable of magicking yourself to my house? Because it’s the only safe place in Hael.” He lifted his head and stared off in the direction of the war horn. “An army’s headed this way, Everen Sinnes.”
Everen Sinnes. Pretty, twisted demon tongue for always a lover. Or, more accurately, always my lover. So each time that Monster said it, he was claiming me. I used to love that; I hated it now.
“I’m not going anywhere without my husbands,” I snapped as he continued holding me close. Wasn’t much I could do about it, considering I was being slowly poisoned with love hormones. Sex hormones. Do-it-quick-and-dirty-right-here hormones.
“You don’t have to.” The cool, quiet energy of faerie magic surged through me as my head snapped around, and I found Argent emerging from the trees, wiping blood from his chest. The way he looked at Monster … that level of violence scared me. I didn’t want to see my lover’s eyes filled with that much rage and frustration.
Caine padded out behind him, his coat matted with crimson, and leveled an amber-eyed stare on Monster the likes of which I’d never seen. It’d been Argent and me from the beginning, so Caine and Spec, they hadn’t had to deal with Monster in the same way. I mean, they knew the stories, but they hadn’t seen my obsession, my infatuation, my pain.
“Well, damn. I was hoping you’d die before I had a chance to save you, and then I’d be off the hook.” Monster set me down in the ankle-deep water, drew a spell circle with his finger, and then smirked as he pushed me into it.
The last thing I saw before I landed was Spectre, rushing toward me.
My grandmother dragged me from that hellhole full of idiots and back to the house I’d grown up in.
Didn’t seem so idyllic and shit anymore.
The golden shackles on my wrists and ankles clanked as I sat at the family table and stared into a cup of tea I sure as fuck wasn’t drinking.
Glancing up at the clock, I saw that Grace’s mom had about twenty hours left. Twenty hours until the Mother of Coven Apothecary was dead, and the woman I … had a crush on or whatever … would have her life irreparably altered. Witches were meant to grow old with their mothers and grandmothers; that’s how we were raised, the way our lifespans were set up. I didn’t want Grace to miss out on that—I knew the pain of losing a mother too young.
