Resting Witch Face (Stay a Spell, #5)

by Juliette Cross

“Yes. Mom and Dad will stay and help out here. Don’t worry. I’ve taken care of everything.”

Devraj’s tearful smile at Serena Savoie stepping in for his own mother, who died centuries ago, was lovely beyond words. Devraj deserved the family he never had.

I relished the idea that pretty damn soon, she wouldn’t be able to run away from me at all. I let her go and turned abruptly then headed toward the trio at the bar.

“Let me rephrase. I expect you all to give her the utmost respect and look out for her safety at all times, especially when we are in England. But know this…she is mine to protect.”

They were getting ready to slip away to the Monteleone for the night. Tomorrow, they’d fly to the south of France for their honeymoon.

Smiling, I held up my glass. “Congratulations, my friend. You deserve all the happiness.” He clinked the glass of Bourbon he held in his own. “So do you, Ruben. You deserve it as well as I do.”

“It’s about time you did something about that, isn’t it? You’ve put the hunt off long enough.” “A decade isn’t so long for vampires as old as we are.” “It’s been twelve, my friend. And twelve years is an eternity for anyone living as a monk.”

It was true that twelve years seemed like a blink in time when you’d been born in the early 1600s. But these past years without her had been an acute kind of agony. Only being close to her had kept me true to my word.

“She needed space.” More than space. I can’t trust you. “I gave it to her. Being n...

“You can’t let it go any longer,” he murmured, an edge of pity in his tone. Then he squeezed my shoulder and walked toward Isadora, who was just then looking around for him.

moment. I wanted nothing more than to soak in the dawning awareness sliding across her delicate facial features that something had changed between us. I was no longer going to play nice and give her space.

I was done waiting for her to realize she could trust me. As her only lover. As her partner in life. As her devoted mate. It was time to erase the space between us and hunt her, woo her, worship her the way she was meant to be as my one and only.

“Time’s up, Juliana,” I whispered, grazing my lip against the top shell of her ear.

I raised my head and pinned her with a look I knew told her my intent. I wanted her aware and ready for what was coming. She didn’t ask me what I meant because she knew.

I knew I was right. It was finally time to make Juliana Savoie mine.

I poured the two cups of crawfish tails into the pan of sizzling butter, added the green onions, and stirred, humming to the song “Prologue” by my favorite singer Loreena McKennitt.

Nowadays, there were three more tiny supernaturals who needed lots of attention. I adored my niece and nephews, and I loved having Mateo and Evie in the house with their young family, but sometimes, I just wanted some space and peaceful silence. Like now. So I could finally unwind and have a chat with Z, our very old black cat, about what was on my mind.

Right now, there was only one thing on my mind. Or rather, one vampire.

“No telling what kind of food I’ll be eating in London, Z, but I can tell you they won’t have this.”

I didn’t even try to pretend that I wasn’t cooking my favorite comfort food because I did, indeed, need comfort.

Even years later, I’d wake up in a panic after dreaming of him—tangled limbs, sweat-soaked sheets, bruising grips, and pounding flesh. It would feel so real for that split second before I fully awoke that I’d choke back a sob when reality washed over me. But the softer, sweeter dreams were the worst, cradling me in such tenderness that my heart broke—again—the second I opened my eyes and realized they weren’t real. Not anymore.

Still, it had been the right choice. It had been my only choice.

Thrilling because the mere hint of being the full focus of Ruben’s attention, of being the object of his desire again, was beyond beguiling. But terrifying because…well, because I didn’t want to resist him anymore. I wanted him. His words had shocked me because I hadn’t realized he was still even interested after all this time.

After receiving that anonymous text on Violet and Clara’s birthday two years ago, I was sure he’d finally moved on. Strange, too, because we’d started to talk more again, and I’d even wondered if we might mend some of what we’d broken.

after we’d argued that day about how to handle a particular rogue vampire in New Orleans, someone else—the one who’d sent that text—wanted to remind me that vampires couldn’t ignore t...

The picture that had been texted to me, which I’d deleted after getting wildly drunk that night, flickered to mind. Ruben on a red velvet sofa, a petite brunette sitting on his lap. He had one hand at her nape, tilting her head back, teeth in her throat, his other hand clenched mid-thigh on her leg. It was the woman’s expression that still haunted me the most. Half-lidded eyes, mouth open in ecstasy as she, obviously, wa...

As if someone had taken a dull knife and carved out my heart, that picture had reminded me why we couldn’t be together. I was a possessive bitch, and I’d never abide him drinking from others if we were together again. The experience of being bitten was intensely sexual, regardless if there was sex or not during the drinking. Or so I was told.

“I could never do that even if we did date again. The risk hasn’t changed.” Then why did the risk feel so much less? Probably because I was confident in my station now. Still, that didn’t mean it was safe to let Ruben bite me and drink my blood. “But it’s kind of unfair if you ask me. One of the greatest advantages of having a vampire boyfriend or girlfriend is experiencing the pleasure of their bite.”

I didn’t think time apart would change the fact that Ruben knew how to use his hands, his mouth, among other divine parts of his body. If he was coming for me, then… “Z, I think I’m in big trouble.”

It was kind of a shock to me, too. But I think I was actually ready for Ruben Dubois. Again.

I’d teased him about taking his honeymoon for so long, but he’d reminded me that on my own honeymoon, I’d likely take my pretty little wife far away from the world for much longer. I hadn’t argued if I was ever able to make Jules my wife, then he was absolutely fucking right. I’d take her far away. And they’d be lucky if we ever came back, as far as I was concerned.

She thought I’d been fucking Beverly? After I knew how she felt about her? I’d only let Beverly keep her job because Jules had insisted she didn’t want her fired. But sure enough, Jules had believed I’d kept her around so I could scratch that itch. If she only fucking knew.

Beverly always dressed in similar attire. She likely thought this was my favorite era since I dressed in a contemporary version of custom-made suits from the 1940s and because I often listened to music of that era to wind down. It’s what I liked to have playing in the bookstore for customers in our lounge area. It had always circled in the back of my mind that she was imitating my likes, probably in some effort to become more appealing to me. She probably thought draping herself in this bygone era would somehow attract my attention.

What she, nor anyone else, realized was that the forties had no true appeal other than being stylish and sophisticated. It was the 1920s décor of my bookstore and club that reflected where my heart lay. But Beverly would never know that or understand. I suppose no one would.

The mere thought of Jules hammered home what must be done.

“I need you to return to the bookstore and pack all of your belongings. This is your last day.”

“It’s easy. You’re fired. That means you’ll leave this job and find one elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner because, apparently, you’ve been under the delusion that there might one day be some chance for us. Let me be clear.” I stood from the stool. “There never will be nor would there ever have been.”

“We have never been through anything,” I clarified for her. “I took pity on you and gave you a job when you begged for one. If there was ever anything other than sire and vampire or boss and employee, it was in your own deluded brain. Now, leave. I’ll have your final check deposited in your account this week.”

The sight of her leaving for good suddenly buoyed my mood. I gulped down the Scotch and strode for the door, a lightness in my step. One more day and I’d be on the road with Juliana.

She wore a blue-gray shawl she’d sewn just for me. She wanted to enmesh all of her Aura energy from the witch’s round tonight into the threads, then she’d give it to me to take on my trip. “For extra protection,” she’d said with a bit of a dimpled frown this morning.

I wanted to argue that she needed this round more than anyone, but I’d also seen how utterly exhausted she’d been since the birth of Diego, Joaquin, and Celine. She probably needed a good night’s sleep more than anything else.

“Well, we can’t all be world travelers, recharging magical energy with whatever hot warlock happens to offer his services.” Mom didn’t say it with venom but rather teasingly.

“This is about Jules, and we need to focus all of our magical energy on her.” “And her protection,” added Violet soberly. That had the hairs on the back of my neck rising. When I frowned in her direction to ask a question, Violet shook her head with a cryptic, “Later.”

“Sisters—for we are all sisters in the round—our attention should be on Spirit’s protective hand tonight. Close your eyes and let’s begin.”

“Mother Moon, Goddess Earth.” Clara’s voice shivered into an otherworldly timbre. Then she spoke her rhyming invocation. It was always a rhyme. “Hear our plea for witchy energy. We ask for your guiding hand to keep our sister safe in a foreign land.” “Well done, Clarabelle,” said my grandmother, using her nickname.

Three generations of witch magic merged in the round, gathering strength with each passing second.

Before I fell deep, I heard Violet whisper, “Stones are old, stones are cold, but blood is colder.”

Whirling couples in black tuxedos, gowns, and masquerade masks danced in a dizzying blur to eerie music. A small orchestra performed the music on a stage. The maestro was covered in head-to-toe black, his face fully cloaked, his long dark hair swaying as he swooped his arms, weaving his baton in the air to the creepy, carnival-like melody. My focus shifted to the dance floor where the couples waltzed in twirling loops in perfect harmony, never noticing me at all. Ruben was there wearing a full black tuxedo, a mask only covering half his face, bringing my attention to his beautiful mouth. He did nothing but watch me.

Dodging through the couples was a familiar, pixie-like girl in a gossamer gown. Her pointed ears and worldly eyes in the deepest shade of purple found me through the crowd. She smiled and dodged away. It was the Goddess, or Spirit, one of the forms she liked to portray when she came to me in this vision realm. “Follow me,” she called over her shoulder, her voice a blend of child, mother, and crone. But it was Ruben who followed her first. “Wait!” I called after them, pushing through the masked couples still whirling on as if they didn’t even see me.