Hexed (Never After, #6)

by Emily McIntire

You can’t ever count on a man, but you can always count on the poison that will kill him…or whatever that saying is.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever studied the beauty of poison.” My eyes peruse him. “Doubtful. Honestly, it’s a lost art. One people don’t take the time to truly appreciate. There’s a beauty in my potions.” I pause and give a self-satisfied grin. “That’s what my best friend back home calls my little concoctions—potions, like I’m some witch here to steal your soul.”

In my experience, it’s better when men can’t talk anyway.

Heaving a heavy sigh, I drop my head back and stare up at the sky. Waxing crescent moon. Fantastic for acting on new beginnings. I should have never claimed I wanted to be a better person. It’s not like I meant it anyway. Being good is overrated. Now the universe is mocking me.

I offer a new trinket for her to add to her collection of gizmos and gadgets, and she melts.

I slip my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “Do you keep your name from them too, or am I special?” She laughs, and it tugs me in like a scarf around my neck. “You’re a man, honey. I’m afraid there’s nothing special about any of you.” Grinning, I step closer, and the space between us hums like a string being plucked until it vibrates a deep, dark note. “Sounds like you haven’t met the right man.” She smiles back, and her eyes dance with mirth. “Sounds like something the wrong man would say.”

That’s the thing about grief, I guess. It steals the air from your lungs just as you’ve finally figured out how to breathe.

Energy attracts energy, so when two people have a similar vibration, it’s easy to feel.

Enzo Marino is the worst kind of distraction.

She’s unhinged in a visceral way that makes her ruthlessness look like art, and I’m hypnotized by the sight of her.

Self-loathing mixes into the lust I’m feeling like a volatile cocktail; it’s an internal war where I’m both the savior and the villain.

I’ve been here at some florist called A Rose by Any Other Name for the past hour, staring at thirteen different flowers that all look the same, smell the same, and make me want to kill myself the same.

The way her neck is elongated, her hair flowing down her back, and the sun setting behind her makes her look like an actual siren come to shore, tempting even the most loyal of men. I’m fucking gone while I watch her. The world could light itself on fire behind us, and I don’t think I’d care.

She’s trying to joke, to make some of the heaviness drop away, and I get it. Sometimes when you open up old wounds, the weight of them makes you feel you’re sinking in quicksand. The humor is a way to drag yourself back out, to find a little hope when everything around you feels like it’s pushing you down.

“That’s…strange.” “Says the girl who chants to the moon,” she bites back.

“In a different life”—I bend until my mouth is centimeters from hers—“I would do anything to make you mine, and I’d bring you any person who’s wronged you and make them beg for death at your feet. All you’d have to do is say the word.”

“In a different life…” I pause, emotion suddenly clogging my throat. “I’d love you out loud.”

“You said I am who I am because of you,” I whisper, pressing my nails into the insides of my hands until red drips down my fingers. I step forward, my heart pulsing with rage and vengeance until its inky poison pumps through my veins like blood. “Just wait until you see who I become in spite of you.” Pushing past him, I walk out the door. I walk out of his life. For good.

“I need your help,” she says. “Anything you want, piccola sirena, and it’s yours.” I press another kiss to her hand. “Want me to burn his kingdom to the ground?” “No,” she whispers, her eyes flicking up to lock on mine. “I want to burn him to the ground and take his kingdom for myself.” Anticipation lights up my insides, and I cup her cheek, ghosting my thumb across the planes of her face. “Then let’s make you queen of the ashes.”