Always Practice Safe Hex (Stay a Spell, #4)

by Juliette Cross

“If I got angry every time a man was condescending to me with sweetie, honey, baby, or any number of belittling names to knock a woman down a peg, I’d be nothing but a ball of rage. Now let’s get back to business.” The fact that she could brush his behavior off and return to our task so easily told me two things. First, men who treated women this way were pigs and should be taken to slaughter. And second, she was more bewitching than I ever realized.

FACTS.

As soon as she walked away, Henry collapsed forward, sliding both hands into his hair, he lowered his head, pressing his forehead to the table. Then he banged it lightly three times.

Oh Henry, ILYSM

I liked this game. Where she tried to figure out if I was lying to her or not. I always told her the truth. Except that one time. But it was necessary. I lied to her when I accused her of using her Influencer magic to warp the judges at the semi-finals. That was a ruse to distract her from the fact that I wanted to tear her clothes off and fuck her on the lobby floor. Still did, actually.

“We may be rivals, Lavinia. But it doesn’t make me want to fuck your brains out any less.”

uhhhh say LESS.

“Of course! What are sisters for if not for free services,” I teased. “Speaking of services, are you going to let Gareth service you?” Everyone thought Clara was this sweet and innocent little thing, but underneath all the soft prettiness was a wildcat.

After all, I knew about grim auras. They nurtured and breathed fire into desires that were already there. They didn’t create ones that weren’t already brewing underneath the surface.

“Also, loquacious?” I arched a brow. “Trying to impress me with your big vocabulary?” “Since you’re unwilling to check out my big cock, I thought it second best.”

Of course you like tender and sweet. Who doesn’t? What I mean is, you tend to choose men and women you can dominate. And from what you’ve told me about Gareth, he does not fit into that category.”

“Are you the spiderman?” I asked, our breaths mingling, mouths inches apart. “No, Lavinia.” He shook his head then dipped closer to me. I was sure he would kiss me, but he skimmed his nose along my jaw until his lips brushed my ear. “You are,” he grated, biting my lobe. “And I’m so fucking caught in your web.”

The thing about grims was that our inner demons weren’t simply psychological struggles or conflicting emotions. They were sentient creatures, given life by our ancestral curse. Not just dark magic, but black magic. Blood magic. It was sealed to our souls by our twisted, malevolent forefather and the things he’d done. The unbreakable spells he’d cast.

And when he granted me smiles like this one that struck me near mute, I wanted to kneel in front of him and do anything he asked. Or commanded. Preferably commanded, actually.

“Yeah. I know I’m weird, but I tend to cry when I’m really happy.” His small smile was so tender, so dear. He lifted a hand and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “What do you do when you’re sad?” “I get angry and want to break things.”