The Family Spells: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance Read online

  Table of Contents Table of Contents

  Front Matter Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Signup for my Newsletter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Back Matter Author's Note

  What The Hex? Cover

  I Was Born Ruined Cover

  Elements of Mischief Cover

  Very Bad Wizards

  Pack Ebon Red Cover

  Pack Ebon Red Chapter One

  Keep Up With The Fun

  More Books By C.M. Stunich

  About the Author

  My new motorcycle riding soulmate is half-demon, half-witch and all douche.

  The Family Spells

  The Family Spells © C.M. Stunich 2018

  Excerpt of 'Pack Ebon Red' © C.M. Stunich 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.

  www.sarianroyal.com

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

  The The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  This book is dedicated to all the beautiful rescue animals I’ve had the pleasure to work with over the last year. You are worth all of the heartache, all of the joy, worth every dollar spent, and every moment washing matted fur, applying medicine, or placing you into the arms of your forever family.

  Thank you for giving me life, and allowing me to briefly be a part of yours.

  And if you’re looking for a new pet, please considering rescuing.

  You can’t change the world for every animal, but for one animal you can be the world.

  Sign up for an exclusive first look at the hottest new releases, contests, and exclusives from bestselling author C.M. Stunich and get *three free* eBooks as a thank you!

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  As soon as I saw my next customer pull up on a motorcycle, I knew I was going to hate him.

  "Entitled ass," I murmured as I went back to browsing spell sites on my phone, trying to get a handle on what sort of look I wanted for the store's web page. There was no point in being Ms. Customer Service with this jerk; he'd just parked his Harley in a handicapped space. Based on the way he swaggered up to my front entrance, I was guessing he was most definitely not qualified to use that spot.

  I thought about calling the tow truck service on him, but Passionate Potions and Seductive Spells had had a slow sales week. A dickhead customer was better than no customer at all, right?

  The man shoved the doors open, rattling the old glass in their panes, sending the bells merrily tinkling. His boots were loud as he pounded across the ancient wooden floors, heading toward the Sex and Intimacy section at the back of the shop.

  "Morning," I said, flicking my finger across the screen of my phone. Magic had come a long way in the last hundred years, but there really was no good substitute for an iPhone, now was there? It couldn't make fire tornadoes and chuck them at bad guys, but it could show me an ad for a pretty amazing witch hat that I just had to have. I told myself I was ordering it for the shop, but … that would be a lie. Some women have shoe addictions, some purse addictions, but me, I had a hat addiction.

  My customer grunted at me, his cinnamon and sandalwood smell tickling my nostrils and making my nose twitch. Most people wouldn't be able to pick up on such a subtle scent, not with the layer of incense smoke and the stink of herbs in the shop. But I was a witch, and witches had better noses than werewolves. True story, even if they refused to admit it. My husband, Caine the half-wolf, and I had healthy debates on the subject.

  Either way, it was a useful skill to have, especially since I now knew, based on his smell, that motorcycle guy was a witch-demon hybrid.

  Goddess, that man smells nice, I thought, entertaining only a niggle of guilt at getting pleasure out of another man's scent. I had three husbands of my own, but according to the Oracle, there was a fourth soulmate waiting out there for me somewhere.

  I snorted under my breath, and swiped over to the next page of my shopping addiction.

  I had another soulmate, but I was never going to find him. At age thirty-two, married three times over with four kids, finding our fourth was starting to seem like an impossibility. Besides, even if I did find my fourth and final soulmate, the jerk who'd just pulled up on the motorcycle was most definitely not him—even if he did have a sweet ride and an even spicier smell.

  “What a delightful dish,” my familiar, Bast, purred, sitting on her usual shelf behind me. Every once in a while, I had a customer get the ever living crap scared out of them when she moved. Most people were simply not used to a serval—a thirty pound African wildcat—hanging out in a shop in a Seattle suburb. She sniffed the air as I continued to browse for hats online, and then sighed. “He has a familiar, too, but the poor thing isn’t with him. I would’ve liked to see what he looked like.”

  I snorted, but didn’t bother glancing up, enjoying a quiet afternoon in the shop, and a well-deserved break from the kids. Two of my hubbies had the babies covered, while my third was in the back, taking inventory. I magicked my black-and-gold pentagram emblazoned teacup into my hand, and took a sip, letting the steam tickle my nostrils, the honey soothe my throat.

  Ah, pure bliss.

  "You don't have any crystallized rose petals?" the prick in aisle one barked out at me, and I cringed, sloshing tea onto the counter. He didn't even bother to pop his head around. I glanced up and found just the top of his orange-streaked black hair showing above the shelf. My eyes narrowed.

  "Not in stock currently, but I could order them," I replied, my voice as calm and relaxed as I could get it. I had a tendency to lose my temper before an argument even escalated from cold to warm. Crystallized rose petals, huh? I thought as I swiped through my mental spellbook and tried to figure out what this guy might need them for. Erectile dysfunction spells were definitely at the top of my list. "Did you need red, pink, white, purple or black?"

  "I need red," he growled, like I was seriously pissing him off. "There's an empty jar labeled Red Petals. Do you know anything about how to stock a store properly?"

  My narrowed eyes began to burn with the fires of a righteous rage, and I gritted my teeth.

  "With a store that has as much inventory as ours does, it'd take tremendous amounts of overhead to keep everything we carry in the back, just in case. Like I said, I can special order some and get it here by Friday, or else you can just wait until Monday when the next shipment comes in."

  I heard jars and books being slid around angrily on the shelves, and seriously debated storming back there. Chances were if I did, I'd end up tripping on my own display and landing face-first at the asshole's
feet. Nah, I'd just stay back here and focus on my shopping.

  "If you don't have what I need, I'll go elsewhere. It's clear you're not interested in my business," Dick Face ranted as his boots pounded back around the shelf and toward the front counter. I ignored him. Mostly.

  "Good luck finding even half of what we carry in any other store. My coven has a half-vampire, a half-fae, and a half-wolf in it. Nobody has our expertise or our selection." Dick Face continued on toward the door, scoffing under his breath, and I couldn't help myself. I decided to throw out another barb.

  That was what changed my fate, lashing out with an aggressive quip. Funny how fate works, isn’t it?

  "If you're looking for ingredients for an erectile dysfunction spell, I've got a recipe that doesn't need rose petals that works twice as well."

  The man stopped with his hand on the door, the bells just starting their happy tinkle.

  That's when I lifted my face, meeting his bright orange eyes dead-on.

  Every witch knows that you can recognize a soulmate by their eyes, that penetrating stare that cuts deep into the heart, those fireworks that explode behind the eyes, that hot heat that travels straight to the loins.

  "Oh fuck," we both said at the same time.

  Dick Face stumbled back into the door, breaking the old glass pane as I scrambled off my stool and ended up falling against the display shelf with the herb jars on it. They crashed to the floor around me, the pungent smells of dried lavender and mint perfuming the air. Bast raised her back in an arch and hissed like a real wildcat, but I’m pretty sure Dick Face was too busy staring at me in shock to even notice that she existed.

  "This isn't happening," he said, scrubbing his tattooed hand down his face. "No fucking way."

  "Grace, are you okay?" a soothing baritone asked from the direction of the office. Within a few seconds, I had Spectre staring down at me, his pupils so dilated his eyes were nearly back. Side effect of being a vampire-witch hybrid, Spectre could get … excited sometimes. Slowly, with that extra special touch of the undead, he looked up and found Dick Face staring at me like I'd grown a pair of horns.

  Worse.

  It was worse.

  So much worse.

  The entitled asswad on the motorcycle wasn't just a rude customer with a bad attitude, he was my missing soulmate and the last member of my soul-circle.

  Holy flipping witch hats.

  "I'm as shocked as you are buddy," I whispered as Spectre crunched over the broken glass and helped me to my feet. As always, when our hands met, I felt a rush of heat wash over me, making my nipples pebble to hard points. We'd been married five years now, and I still couldn't get over how aroused I got at just the sight of Spec. Tall, dark, handsome—he was every hottie cliché in the book and then some.

  "No, you're not," Dick Face said, and then he was throwing himself out the front doors and heading straight for his motorcycle. But I wasn't about to let him get away, not a chance. There were other factors at play here besides my own romantic fulfillment.

  “What the hex is going on?” Spec asked, trailing his nails down the inside of my wrist and making me shiver. I looked up into his lavender eyes, and bit my lower lip. How do I explain without freaking him the fuck out? I can’t just blurt—

  “Soulmate.” I choked out the word, and then turned, dragging Spec along behind me as I pushed the doors open and stumbled into the surprising warmth of an October afternoon. There were clouds covering the sun, and a near guarantee that we’d be getting a storm sometime soon.

  “Soulmate?!” Spec choked out as I released his arm and moved to stand in front of Dick Face’s motorcycle, curling my fingers around the handlebars, and glaring daggers at the asshole.

  "Where do you think you're going?" I asked, because there were spells that only complete soul-circles could cast, spells that I hadn't been able to afford to pay another coven to do for me because they cost literal millions. And sitting right here, on this stupid motorcycle was my best chance to save my mother's life.

  "Get out of the way," the tattooed prick growled at me, sounding more werewolf than witch. I might think he were both if I wasn't already married to one of those. Oh, and if he didn’t have the very distinct cinnamon spell of demon.

  I caught his gaze again, even though it was damn near impossible for me to hold it. Fireworks crackled behind my eyelids, and my stomach twisted into a nervous knot. And my lady bits? Well, those fucking bits were enthralled.

  Six foot two or three, dark hair streaked with orange, and tattoos made up of swirling purple skies, glittering constellations, and a whole galaxy of planets. His eyes were almost as orange as his hair—demon eyes.

  "After what just happened?" I asked as Spec moved over to stand beside me, dressed in his own ink, black slacks, and a tight-as-hell wifebeater. "You looked into my eyes—"

  "I look into a lot of women's eyes," Dick Face said, leaning back on his bike and crossing his arms over his chest. He was covered in witchcraft ink, spells etched into his skin in brilliant color from shoulders to fingertips on both arms. My mouth watered, and my ovaries did a little dance at the thought of this guy being my soulmate. Just because you're fated to be together doesn't mean you're fated to be in love, I reminded myself. My mom had a soulmate she didn't fuck, and that'd worked wonders for them for twenty years. Best friends, coffee buddies, knitting partners.

  Dick Face didn't really look like a knitting partner to me though.

  "What makes you special?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, his full lips in an arrogant smirk that I wanted to punch right off of his stupid face. He had big eyes for a douchebag, unfairly long lashes, and the sort of chiseled jaw people go under the knife for. It was too much, really. When I'd imagined finding my fourth and final soulmate, I hadn't exactly let myself dream this big—in the looks department, that is.

  In the personality department, I was finding myself severely disappointed.

  "You're telling me you fell against the door and broke the glass for no reason?" I asked, cocking a brow and challenging the prick. "You didn't feel that connection?"

  "I didn't feel a fucking thing," he lied, gesturing with his chin in the direction of the sidewalk. "Now move, so I can get the hell out of here; I'm late."

  "You were just trying to buy shit for an erectile dysfunction spell. Where the hell could you be off to in such a hurry?"

  "To see my fiancée," he drawled, pulling a pair of shades out of his vest pocket and sliding them on his perfect aquiline nose. When he kicked the engine into gear, I moved off to the side and watched him go. I could hold him here with a spell, and have the upperhand. After all, my soul-circle had four members. Seeing as he was our fifth and final, he had none.

  But there was a cruel twist to his mouth when he said fiancée that I didn't like. If he didn't want to stay and get to know me, then maybe I didn't want to know him either?

  "Are you okay, Graceley?" Spec asked me, putting his hand on my shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. I stepped backward into his embrace, closing my eyes and breathing in the scent of wet dirt and magic, this metallic tang that bothered some people but always comforted me.

  It was the smell of witch.

  "I'm okay," I said as I watched the tattooed mystery man peel out of his stolen handicap spot, and onto the road leading back to the highway. "He'll be back."

  As soon as I said the words, I could taste a bite of magic on the back of my tongue.

  The motorcycle dick would come back.

  The question was: would I want anything to do with him when he did?

  Oh holy fuck.

  I knew I was in deep shit the moment I looked up and saw that woman's eyes, those frustratingly beautiful green eyes, like goddamn emeralds ...

  "Are you listening?" Violet asked, drawing my attention away from the burning tip of my cigarette and over to her face. She was frowning, her silvery hair drawn back and tied in a knot at the base of her neck. Vy wasn't jus
t a witch—she was a demon, same as I was, and she swore she could sense things. Right now, she was sensing the sheer fucking terror taking over my dick.

  I was not going to be bound into some witch chick's harem, no goddamn way.

  Finding my soulmate was not the rush everyone said it would be. Nope, it was the opposite: a complete and total nightmare.

  "I'm listening," I said, even though I sure as hell was not. I was thinking about that witch and her snotty ass retorts about the erectile dysfunction spell. Thing was: she was right. I could not get it up for Violet to save my life. I'd fucked hundreds, maybe thousands, of girls in the past and now, for my fiancée, I was a limp dick. Literally.

  Something was seriously wrong in my life.

  Tapping my fingers against the table, I stared at my reflection in the polished wood, and tried to give a shit about what Vy was saying regarding our wedding plans. It was only two weeks away, on Halloween.

  Thing was, if I didn't get my dick in order, there might be a wedding, but there sure as hell wouldn't be a wedding night. Good thing Violent was part of some crazy cabal that required celibacy until marriage—not for lack of trying on her part though. But no matter how hot the foreplay, I couldn't get an erection, so I played the upstanding citizen card and politely backed out of sex.

  "We'll draw our first circle as a couple here," Violet said, tapping her stylus against the center of the iPad and marking the space with a gold X. "And we'll summon my grandmother."

  I cringed because, holy fuck, talk about a weird family dynamic. Pure-blooded demons were not allowed to cross the Fire Veil—the barrier between our world and their realm—and when they did, they were killed or sent back by a witch group known as Coven Apothecary. But if a person was careful, they could sneak their demon relatives over for an hour or two.

  Demons were practically an alien species to me, even though I shared some of their DNA. I was raised by a witch; my whole life was defined by witch culture. I didn’t who know my demon father was, and I didn’t want to. As long as that asshole was south of the Fire Veil, I was a happy man.