Read Shamelessly Spellbound (Spells That Bind Book 2) Online
Authors: Cassandra Lawson
Shamelessly Spellbound (Spells That Bind Book 2)
Shamelessly
Spellbound
~~~
Cassandra Lawson
Copyright ©2016 Cassandra Lawson
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by J.N. Sheats
Proofreading by Kendra’s Editing and Book Services
This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events
are creations of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people or
events is purely coincidental.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a
copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by
federal law enforcement agencies and is punishable by up to five years in
prison and a fine of $250,000.
Moon Virus Series
Psy-Vamp Series
Safe Hex With a
Vampire (Book 2)
Vampires Prefer
Blondes (Book 3)
The Vampire Will See
You Now (Book 4)
Vampire in Geek’s
Clothing (Book 6)
Spells That Bind Series
I want to thank my wonderful husband and children who were
patient with me as I worked hard to get this book completed two months ahead of
schedule. I know it is not always easy for them to put up with my crazy musings
and those moments when the characters in my books demand my attention. This
book also wouldn’t be possible without the support of my fabulous beta readers,
Kari, Levenia, and Ria. The suggestions and support I get from these wonderful
ladies has really helped me grow as an author.
The Lover
“He loves me. He loves me not.”
I hadn’t played this game since I was a young girl, and I
wasn’t sure what inspired me to behave so foolishly today. Love had a way of
bringing out my frivolous side, making me act young and carefree.
“He loves me not.” As I plucked the last petal from the
flower, rage bubbled up inside of me.
“He loves me not!” My shrieks echoed off the walls of the
empty room. It’s not as though I needed a stupid flower to tell me the truth. I
wasn’t a naïve little girl who believed life was like some stupid romance
novel. What had me so angry that I wanted to hunt the bastard down and carve
out his heart with a spoon, was the message he’d left, canceling our date. It
was an old message, but I still listened to it from time to time, just to hear
his voice when I was alone.
“Why can’t you see we belong together?” I breathed out,
staring at his picture on my phone. Trevor had a reputation for chasing after
every witch who smiled at him. He’d been with more witches than I could count,
so one would think I’d want to steer clear of him, but I was the one for him.
Unlike those other witches who tried to weasel their way into his life to
elevate their status with the Council of Witches, I didn’t need Trevor to move
up with the council. I wasn’t using him for power or money. I loved Trevor. I
was the only woman who could make him happy.
“I’m supposed to be your one true love,” I murmured, running
a finger across his beautiful image on my phone’s screen.
They say time heals all wounds, but that’s a lie. In the
months since Trevor ripped my heart from my chest before thrusting the tattered
remains back in my face, the wound had festered, until I thought the pain would
kill me. That pain forced me to consider drastic measures. Here, in the
basement of my home, I’d spent hours thinking of ways to make Trevor suffer for
hurting me.
“I should kill you, my love,” I spat at his image. “Of
course, I could never do that. No, you’ll be punished for hurting me, but then
I’ll forgive you, and you’ll spend the rest of your days making up for the pain
you’ve caused.”
My panties were wet from thinking of the many ways I’d make
Trevor suffer and beg for my forgiveness.
“Such a bitter little witch,” the demon reclining on the
sofa observed in a bored tone.
“When did you get here?” I demanded. I hated her, but I
needed dark magic to get Trevor. The demon had long blonde hair, eyes that
changed colors based on her mood, almost androgynous features, and a lithe
figure. She was a lower-level demon, so I knew this was her true form. To
humans, she would appear different, but it took a lot of power for a demon to
hide their true appearance from other preternatural beings—power this demon
didn’t possess.
I didn’t know the demon’s name, but it didn’t matter. I
needed to purchase one item from her, and then I’d never have to see her again.
She shrugged a bony shoulder. “I’ve been here long enough to
want to puke from your mooning over the warlock. Why not go find another one?
There are many warlocks with fabulous cocks to help you forget this one.”
“I would think you’d be more concerned with me paying you
than offering me unsolicited advice,” I snapped at her.
Her eyes turned a shade that could only be described as
molten gold, and she looked offended. “Not all demons are as greedy as you
might expect. Listen, I’ll sell you the potion, but I can’t help thinking you’d
be better off finding a different warlock to focus your attention on.”
“I love him,” I whined, annoyed that I sounded so pitiful,
but unable to hide my pain.
“Whatever,” the demon scoffed, sounding exasperated. “Like I
care what you need this for.”
Holding out a vial, the demon smiled, revealing pointy
fangs. “You know the price, right?”
“The money will be transferred to you after I have Trevor,”
I insisted, meeting her eyes, which were now an icy blue.
She let out a cold, humorless laugh. “I don’t think so.
There’s no money-back guarantee on this potion. If you follow the instructions,
it’ll work. If not, that’s your problem.”
When I hesitated, she slid the vial back into her jacket
with a shrug. “Fine,” I relented, and walked across the room to get the
envelope of cash from my purse. After I handed her the cash, the demon placed
the vial of bubbling purple liquid on the table.
“How does it work?” I asked, allowing my fingers to trail
across the cork lid.
“Like the fairy tales, give it to him and then kiss him.
It’s best if you add it to his drink, but don’t put it in a hot drink. The
potion reacts poorly to heat. After you kiss him, he’ll be yours. There’s a
little something added to the potion to make him more susceptible to sexual
advances. Just make sure he doesn’t end up getting too friendly with another
woman or he’ll be hers. If that happens, don’t come running to me for a fix.”
“No true love clause to worry about?” I asked, only
half-joking.
The demon considered my question carefully before
responding. “There isn’t technically a true love clause, but it could be a
problem if he falls in love. That sort of bond can mess with the results.”
“Don’t worry. He’s not in love with anyone,” I assured her.
“Once I have Trevor under my control, I’ll never let him leave me again.”
“One more thing,” she began and then hesitated.
“What is it?” I demanded. “Is there a problem I should know
about with the potion?”
“It’s not that,” she assured me, looking somewhat nervous.
“If another woman should become an issue, I may know of a way to get rid of
her.”
“All I need to do is give him the potion and kiss him. What
could go wrong?”
“I’m just offering you a back-up plan,” she said with a
shrug. “If you don’t want to know, I’ll leave.”
“Wait!” I called out quickly before she could transport
herself back to the demon realm. “What is the other option?”
“There’s a demon by the name of Zahrel. If you summon him,
he’ll help you get rid of any woman in your way.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked suspiciously. From what I’d
heard, no demon did anything without a price.
“Zahrel is looking for a woman to keep him company in his
prison,” she explained. “He’s also looking for a short reprieve from his
prison. Just make sure you tell him Ari referred you to him. I don’t want to
miss out on my finder’s fee,” she added before transporting herself out of the
room.
“Zahrel,” I murmured, wondering why I was bothering to
memorize his name when I wouldn’t need his help. I had the perfect place to get
Trevor under my control.
With a contented sigh, I reached for another flower.
Melina
This was my fourth therapist in as many months, and the only
thing I’d gotten out of my visits was the ability to tell my life story in less
than a shrink’s hour. I still had no idea why they called it an hour when I
only got forty-five minutes with the therapist. None of the therapists I’d seen
had made it far enough to get to the real reason I was seeing a counselor. By
the second time they asked me how I felt, I was ready to lose it. They’d all
been too stupid to realize I was pissed, and one had even commented on how good
it was that I was
getting in touch with my feelings
. After threatening
to transport two therapists to the demon realm, I’d decided to avoid seeing
another witch therapist and try to find one who might be better equipped to
handle my temperament. I couldn’t really transport anyone other than myself to
the demon realm, but most witches had no idea what I was capable of.
Taking a deep breath, I began my story.
“There are moments that define who we will be as adults. In
a messed up turn of events, most of those moments shaping my life happened
before I was born. You see, my mom is absolutely perfect, and I don’t mean that
in a sarcastic or bitter way. The woman is truly a great mom, and everyone who
meets her loves her. She’s also beautiful and elegant. It should come as no
surprise that she married the equally beautiful Demetrius Talbot. Everyone knew
what type of children they’d have, and they followed through by having six
perfectly exquisite daughters. Each one has their father’s golden hair and long
elegant fingers. They were also blessed with their mother’s catlike green eyes
and delicate features. As if that’s not enough, they’re also sweet-tempered,
loving, and patient.”
I looked over to find my therapist listening with rapt
attention. I could tell he was focused on what I was saying because his
appearance was changing, like he’d forgotten to focus on maintaining the
illusion of a frail man with thinning brown hair and glasses. Fading in and out
was the image of a demon who stood well over six feet tall with flowing blond
hair, chiseled features, and disturbing red eyes that were rimmed with orange.
“When my mom divorced, and nearly castrated Demetrius, it
drastically changed the dynamics of life as everyone knew it. Not right away.
It’s not like witch divorce is so uncommon that it shocked everyone. Since
Demetrius was fucking every woman who’d willingly spread her legs, the divorce
had been considered inevitable. Despite the way things ended, my sisters
handled the divorce fine, and my mom is actually good friends with Demetrius.
From what I hear, they get along better now than they did when they were
married. It was a couple of years later when my mom, the lovely and graceful
Viviana, fell in love with my father, the unimpressive and crude Ralph. Yes, my
father shares a name with vomit. He is a good four inches shorter than my mom,
which gives her a perfect view of his bald spot and the flab hanging over his
belt.”
“Your father is a higher-level demon?” my therapist asked,
even though he likely already knew who my father was.
“Yep,” I confirmed. “My dad is scary and ill-tempered most
days. That’s probably where I get my bitchy temperament from. Don’t get me
wrong. Ralph is a loving father to me and my sisters. In fact, he can be sweet
when he puts some effort into it, which is more than I can say for myself most
days. I know people were hoping I’d look and act more like my mom, but that’s
not what happened. I guess I should be thankful I didn’t inherit my dad’s bald
spot.” My dad didn’t really look like that, but it was the form he chose in the
human realm. My father’s demon form was scary as fuck and beautiful at the same
time. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about my demon form, most of the time.
“I’m definitely not your typical witch.”
I didn’t need to elaborate on that. If I wore heels, I could
boast that I was five feet six inches tall, but I hated heels, so I was stuck
with not quite reaching five feet four inches. I had more curves than most
would consider fashionable, no matter which diet spells I tried. Since I didn’t
want to be model thin enough to try a real diet, this was simply who I was. My
hair and eyes were brown—not some lustrous shade of brown people would label
honey, chestnut, sable, or whisky, just brown.
“Do you see yourself as undesirable by witch standards?” my
shrink asked in that soothing voice therapists worked to perfect. I liked the
way he phrased his question because each species had different opinions on what
was attractive.
“No, that’s not the problem,” I assured him. “Sure, when I
was younger I worried about that kind of stuff, but I’m comfortable with who I
am, for the most part. I have six gorgeous older sisters who all tell me I’m
beautiful, and not because they want me to feel better. They believe it. In
case I didn’t mention it before, my sisters are sickeningly sweet. Seriously, I
hate those bitches some days.”
“You hate your sisters?” he asked, looking serious.
“No,” I told him with a sigh. “I love my sisters. I was
joking about hating them. In comparison to them, I am a moody bitch, but I’m
fine with that.”
“Yet you felt you didn’t fit in with other witches growing
up,” he pushed. It wasn’t a question, but he was still waiting for a response.
“Aren’t you a master of stating the obvious,” I muttered.
“I’m steering the conversation in the direction I want it to
go,” he explained proudly.
“Fine, we can talk about the little witch who didn’t fit
in,” I grumbled. “Like that’s even a shock since I’m half-demon. Witches can be
real elitists. Not to sound paranoid, but it’s almost like fate has been
conspiring against me in some way since long before my birth, and it keeps
working to remind me of my differences.”
“Let’s talk about those moments you think made you an
outsider,” he pushed.
Rather than arguing about how I wasn’t an outsider, I
decided to continue with my story. “My tenth birthday was another one of those
moments that defined who I am. Ten is a very important age because that’s when
a witch gets her familiar. A familiar is a lifelong companion, bonded to one
witch before that familiar is even born. There’s a spell performed so they can
communicate with their witch and other familiars. They are more intelligent
than other animals, and I’d been told a witch is never truly lonely if she has
her familiar. Now, you can imagine how the chubby half-demon at witch school
would crave that bond more than others. I couldn’t wait to meet my kitten.”
“A kitten?” he asked, his brow scrunched in confusion,
having seen my familiar in the waiting room.
“Sadly, familiars are not invincible,” I continued. “They
may not die of old age, but they can be killed. On my tenth birthday, my
parents went to pick up my much awaited Mr. Whiskers. I’d decided on that
cutesy name the moment my mom had told me he was going to be weaned soon. I’d
even recorded his name with the Council of Witches, so it couldn’t be changed.
My dad set Mr. Whiskers down to open the car door, and the supposedly
intelligent kitten ran into traffic, was hit by a truck, and carried off by a
California condor.”
“You don’t see many condors in this area,” he added.
“See? That’s why I think fate has it in for me. Who the hell
has ever seen a condor carry off a dead kitten right after it was hit by a car?
Three days later, Mr. Whiskers showed up on the front porch in the form of a
California condor. Not just any condor, one who uses a litter box, chases yarn
balls, and purrs while devouring the smelliest cat food you can imagine. He’s
also the neediest familiar in the history of witches, and I can’t leave him
with a sitter most days. He’s in the waiting room now, probably hoping someone
will die since I don’t let him hang around corpses very often. Could my life be
any more messed up?”
“Yet, that’s not really what you want to talk about, is it?”
he asked.
“What makes you think I’m not here to talk about all my
childhood issues?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t get the impression you’re all that
upset about not fitting in with the other witches. You seem to prefer things
that way.”
“You’re good at this,” I praised, and his face lit up like a
little boy on Christmas.
He cleared his throat and worked to get his professional
mask back in place. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
“I don’t date warlocks, not even casually. That’s a good
policy, considering how many warlocks in my acquaintance are total man-whores.”
“So, you have trust issues?” he asked.
“Yes, but that’s not the real problem,” I admitted. “It’s my
demon side that’s a major issue for me when it comes to dating warlocks. I
don’t know where to begin. None of this seemed like a problem until recently.”
Taking a deep breath, I spent the rest of the session
complaining about the most annoying warlock in the world, the one I couldn’t
stop thinking about. It felt surprisingly good to tell someone the truth.
“It looks like our time is about up,” my therapist said when
I’d finished my long rant. “Before our next appointment, I want you to spend
some time thinking about whether your trust issues play a bigger role in your
avoidance of warlocks.”
“You heard what I can do,” I argued.
“And I know your father is more dangerous than you, yet he’s
managed to bond with your mother,” my therapist pointed out, and I hated him a
little for being honest.
“Fine,” I said with a resigned sigh. “I’ll think about what
you said before next week. Can I go now?”
“I do have one question before we wrap things up,” my demon
shrink replied.
“What’s that?”
“I noticed your condo is in a human complex,” he began. “I’m
wondering how you managed to get a permit to keep a California condor there.”
I snorted, not at all surprised that a demon would ask a
question about the law. “Even though it’s technically a human community, the
HOA is run by witches,” I explained. “Aren’t you guys usually lawyers or IRS
agents?”
With eager puppy dog eyes, my therapist nodded. “Oh, yes, we
do love the law. After I failed the bar exam for the third time, Uncle Lucifer
got me an internet degree in psychology from Oxford, and here I am.” He
motioned to his lavish office.
Cautiously, I asked, “Oxford has an internet degree
program?”
“The Oxford School of Law and Agriculture has one of the
finest online programs in the Midwest.” He smiled proudly as he waved a dismissive
hand toward his degree hanging from the wall. “Do you think I’m doing a good
job?” Only a demon can give you a look that is fearful of rejection and eager
to have an excuse to rip out your heart. I’m sure I’d give people that same
look if I gave a fuck about impressing anyone.
This was one of those times I was glad my honest answer was
positive, since I’m not known for lying to spare people’s feelings. When you’re
answering Lucifer’s nephew, giving an honest answer he won’t like could be a
bad idea.
“You’re doing great,” I assured him.
“I want you to keep a feelings journal,” he told me.
“Feelings journal?” I asked, trying to hide my annoyance.
His head bobbed up and down. “Yes. I want you to get in
touch with your feelings. Go ahead and make an appointment with my receptionist
for next week. I can’t wait to hear what you put in your journal.”
And just like that, he lost me. I was beginning to think
therapy wasn’t my thing.