Sex With Your Hex Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Sex With Your Hex

  ISBN 9781419922626

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Sex With Your Hex Copyright © 2009 Riley Ashford

  Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower

  Photography and cover art by Les Byerley

  Electronic book Publication August 2009

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Sex With Your Hex

  Riley Ashford

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Jacuzzi: Jacuzzi, Inc.

  Parcheesi: Essanar Company, Inc.

  The Binding

  Chapter One

  “I would rather marry a spider troll,” said Rosemary Thorne. She stood in the Thornes’ kitchen, the very place she’d learned to both cook a roast and create a hex, and faced her mother over the rectangular, rough-hewn table that had passed from mother to eldest daughter since the 1600s.

  Sarah Mills had been the first owner of the table. She had lived in Salem at the time of the witch trials, but had been accused near the end of the madness. She’d escaped the gallows, and not long after, escaped the town. The Mills and the Thornes had been two of the first families to settle California. Rosemary and her sisters had been born and raised in Nevada City, a small mountain town in the northern part of the state. Her gaze lovingly traced the marks and age spots of the remarkable piece of history. As the firstborn daughter, Rosemary would be given the table after she married. Hah. A parting gift for pledging her life to that…warlock.

  “Rose, dear…” Her mother sighed. Thea Thorne put down her cup of chamomile tea and waved a chair out from the table. The legs screeched across the wood floor. “Please sit down.”

  Rosemary sat, slapping down the offending parchment that had just arrived. “It’s bad enough I have to marry at all. But to spend the rest of my days as the wife of a man who practices the dark arts…it’s intolerable.”

  “Another silly story spun by rumormongers. Drake Dundrury is a very respectable warlock and one you seemed to like just fine a few years ago.”

  Rosemary remained silent. She had never told a soul about why she’d stopped talking to Drake. It was her pain. She owned it fully and wouldn’t share it.

  “It’s our way, Rose. You are the eldest daughter. And that is your blessing and your burden. You are bound by laws of the craft and the traditions of our people. You’ve known for sixteen years that you belong to Drake and he to you. The spells are long cast.”

  Rosemary was on the verge of tears. Her mother held no sympathy. She had been the eldest Mills daughter who’d been Bound to the eldest Thorne son. They loved each other deeply and it was a relationship Rosemary had grown to appreciate and to envy.

  When Rosemary was five years old and Drake seven, their parents had signed the marriage accord and completed the spells that had weaved together her and Drake’s future.

  Warlocks were allowed to practice seduction and to take physical pleasure as it suited them. Their brides-to-be, however, were expected to remain virginal and ignorant until marriage.

  Oh botheration! Could she help it that she begrudged Drake the knowledge that would benefit her on their wedding night and every night after? Did it really matter? He had managed to break her heart before they’d even had a single kiss. As a young teen with a romantic heart, she had believed that she loved him.

  How could the man who knew he would be her husband betray her?

  It wasn’t betrayal, reminded an inner voice that sounded too much like the dulcet tones of her mother. It was no more than what is expected of a warlock before his Binding.

  Phooey. The horrible night when she’d found… Oh, who wanted to think about that? At her angriest, Rosemary had spent time researching ways to break her Binding to Drake. Since the spells cast by powerful witches and warlocks invoked love, she was screwed. Love spells, potions and hexes were dangerous, if only because the purity of the strongest human emotion made them damn near impossible to break. No one in the history of the clans had ever successfully broken a Binding. No one.

  Her diligence and desperation had forced her to dig through the most ancient of texts. In one dusty, crumbling book, she had found the only way possible to dissolve a Binding. And she would rather marry Drake than use that too terrible get-out-of-Binding card.

  The Binding… Her throat knotted with dread. Once the final ritual had been completed, the couple was joined, in all ways, only to each other. It terrified her to think about being alone with Drake on their wedding eve, much less for the rest of their lives. She’d spent the last three years avoiding him. In truth, she had thought more about the night she’d found him doing you-know-what to you-know-who in the last few days than she had in a very long while. She had begun to wonder about the veracity of her own memories. But she’d held on to her anger for too long to give it up now.

  “The whole thing is archaic. Barbaric. We live in modern times,” said Rosemary.

  Her mother patted her hand. “We may exist alongside the modern world but we do not live in it. You know very well that your powers will be intertwined with Drake’s. The Binding is not only emotional but physical. And it’s permanent.”

  Rosemary slumped in her chair, her gaze on the creased parchment. “It doesn’t seem fair to not have a choice in love.”

  “Your hearts chose each other long before your stubborn natures could interfere. The ritual is as old as time, Rose. You are meant for Drake.”

  Rosemary unfolded the crisp, thick paper and read again, with the same sense of longing and loathing, the words Drake had written—

  I, Drake Darrius Dundrury, warlock-warrior, request the honor of the witch-maiden, Rosemary Selena Thorne, to Castle Dundrury to complete the Ritual of Binding that we may live as husband and wife in good stead and good faith until death do us part.

  With a wave of her hand, Thea made parchment, inkpot and quill appear. “He has made the formal gesture, dear. Send your reply.” She leaned forward. “And stop muttering that spell, Rose. I refuse to allow you to hex the paper.”

  * * * * *

  Drake Dundrury unfolded the parchment that had just arrived and smiled. Rosemary’s polite, formal response was imbued with her hostility. Ah, had he expected forgiveness?

  “She dinna wan’ to marry you,” said the elderly woman sitting like a dowager queen in a red-velvet wingback. She muttered toward the fireplace and flames erupted then crackled along the logs of cedar.

  “Tr
ue, Grandmother. The beautiful Miss Thorne does not want me as a husband.” Drake sat in the wingback opposite Deandra Dundrury and looked at the fire. The tangy-sweet smell of cedar wafted into the air, bringing with it a sense of hope. His gaze traveled along the stone fireplace to the mantelpiece. Only one object was worthy of being placed on it—the urn that held his grandfather’s ashes.

  His grandmother’s bedroom was huge. It included its own large bathroom with sauna and Jacuzzi as well as a reading room that held his grandmother’s beloved collection of books. A grin twitched his lips. She liked Danielle Steele best.

  “The Dundrurys are no more,” said Grandmother. “You’re the last. You canna fail us.”

  No pressure there. He sighed and shook his head, the weight of the world—no, the weight of being last in a dynasty—settling heavily on him. Drake looked at the tapestries that hung on either side of the fireplace. They were nearly as old as the castle, which had existed for one thousand years on the craggy seaside cliff. They told the stories of the Dundrurys, a long line of warlock-warriors who held honor above all things.

  And now he was the only Dundrury male who lived. His parents had died when he was fourteen and his grandfather two years later. The wizened woman with failing eyesight and gray hair was the only family he had left. His heart clenched as he watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. She looked frail and wrinkled and pale. Father Earth! Would he lose her too?

  “Stop worryin’ about death,” she snapped. “I still breathe.”

  Drake laughed, even though he felt more like weeping. His marriage to Rosemary Thorne was more than just the completion of a sixteen-year promise, more than just a witch and a warlock accepting the Binding, more than a man wanting the love of a woman. Marrying Rosemary would save the Dundrury bloodline—and his very soul.

  * * * * *

  Rosemary glared at her reflection in the standing oval mirror. She had spent the better part of the morning in her parents’ bedroom bending to the will of her mother and sisters.

  Thank the Goddess her mother had gone to see to other details. Unfortunately her sisters had stayed to harass her. Given her druthers, she would show up to the ceremony in shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops. Might as well be comfortable as I hand over my life to Drake the Dark. She sighed. Yeah right. She wouldn’t embarrass her family by doing something so uncouth. But when she was installed at Castle Dundrury as its mistress, she’d wear T-shirts and flip-flops all day, every day.

  Her gaze returned to the mirror. Her blonde hair had been upswept and bespelled with diamond sparkles, which flitted in and out of her hair like frenzied fireflies. They’d disappear by the end of the wedding ceremony. Her green gaze looked…well, green, especially with the black kohl her sister Sage had used to outline her eyes. Her lips shimmered pink with regular ol’ lipstick, but she eschewed any other makeup.

  “Perfect skin,” said Sage in a voice filled with envy. “You are a beautiful bride.”

  “Oh shut up.”

  “You have such a sweet temperament, too,” said Ginger. She stood behind Rosemary, straightening out the cream-colored, knee-length dress. Rose’s bosom usually required no bra because, be-damned, she had small breasts. The dress clung to her curves and showed off what little cleavage she could muster. Underneath it, she wore a cream-colored camisole, matching thong, and thigh-high silk stockings that were, of course, the same cream color as everything else she wore, including the uncomfortable high heels. Even her toenails and fingernails had been painted a pearlescent off-white. “I feel like an ice-cream cone,” she groused.

  “You’re as cold as one,” said Ginger tartly.

  Sage elbowed Ginger in the ribs. “You look very pretty, Rose.”

  Despite Sage’s compliment, Ginger was the pretty one. Rosemary eyed the middle Thorne sister. The nineteen-year-old had hair the color of her name, a gorgeous red mane that fell in glossy waves to her ass. She also had a Marilyn Monroe figure, all booty and boobs. The only physical commonality the sisters shared was the color of their eyes. All Thorne women had green eyes, which was a combination of genetics and an ancestor’s beauty spell that had created unexpectedly long-lasting effects.

  Sage was the youngest at seventeen. She had short hair, cut chin-length, as soft and black as a raven’s wing. She was also the most innocent and naïve, which had less to do with her age and more to do with her personality. She helped Rosemary put on five thin gold bracelets. They matched the small gold hoops, three on each lobe, jangling in her ears.

  “Are you ready?” asked Sage.

  “No.”

  “Oh the Goddess!” Ginger tugged on a curl that hung near Rosemary’s cheek. “Would you stop your bitching and moaning? Drake is the most gorgeous man on the planet, not to mention the richest. You get to live in a castle in the lap of luxury and you get to play hide-the-wand with him every night.”

  “Hide-the-wand?” Rosemary laughed, genuinely amused. Truthfully, she’d probably enjoy making love to Drake. But the Binding of soul, mind and heart for the rest of their natural lives? Ye gods! It terrified her.

  “You two are lucky,” she said, staring once again at her reflection. “Only the firstborn daughter must do the Binding. You can marry whoever and whenever you choose.”

  Sage squeezed her arm in sympathy. Rosemary’s thoughts tumbled and twirled, a whirlwind of suspicions and hopes and realizations. She glanced at her sisters. “I need you to do some research for me. Some quick research because I’ll need it before uh…you know…tonight.”

  “What kind of research?” asked Ginger, her gaze narrowed.

  “Just…research, okay? Trust me.”

  “We will be happy to do this favor for you,” said Sage, giving Ginger a look of censure. “Don’t worry about your Binding. Everything will work out for the best, Sister.”

  “I know. And I know I must do this. The bride-price Drake agreed to pay will save our family finances.”

  “We are not trading you for money,” said Ginger. “We love you, Rose. I pray to the Goddess every day for you, that you will find comfort and joy in this Binding. Blessed be, Sister.”

  “Yes,” said Sage, kissing Rose’s cheek. “Blessed be.”

  Rosemary smiled, though her heart felt heavy. She was being so persnickety, so whiny…but deep down, she was afraid. What if I am not a good wife? What if Drake doesn’t like me? What if the Binding spell cast so long ago was wrong about us? What if I was wrong about his betrayal? She saw her sisters’ gazes in the mirror, the worry and the hope in their eyes, and took each of their hands. “Blessed be, Sisters. And may the Goddess grant us long lives and love everlasting.”

  * * * * *

  The wedding ceremony was blessedly short and ended with Drake brushing a soft kiss on her cheek. She was too nervous to wonder why he avoided her lips. Rosemary’s heart pounded the whole time, especially when she looked into the warm, dark eyes of Drake and pledged herself to him eternally. Repeating the spells and vows made by their parents sixteen years ago was nothing more than show. The true Binding was made permanent on the wedding night, when the bride and groom shared their bodies and their magic for the first time.

  At the reception held in the big backyard behind her parent’s two-story home, Rosemary stayed as far from Drake as possible and smiled at guests until her face went numb. She’d only had a few minutes alone to read over the material her sisters had gathered for her, but what they uncovered confirmed her fears.

  “If you keep downing champagne like that,” whispered Ginger in Rosemary’s ear, “you’re going to pass out before you get to see what Drake is wearing under that kilt.”

  “Good point.” Rosemary finished off the flute of bubbly and headed to the bar for refill.

  “Go dance with your husband.” Ginger grabbed the empty glass out of her hand, spun her around and shoved her into Drake’s open arms. “Hey, D-man! Is it true what they say about a Scot’s kilt?”

  “Lassie, I’d offer you a peek,” said Drake in a thick put
-on Scottish brogue, “but your sister would cut off my wee bits.”

  “Shoulda snipped you years ago,” said Rosemary, feeling a little dizzy as Drake deftly maneuvered her onto the dance floor. “Then you might not have used your wee bits on that…that…you know.”

  “Will you never forgive me, Rosie?”

  She didn’t respond. How could she? Goddess, she felt lightheaded. And her heart seemed like it was trying to pound right out of her chest. It wasn’t because she felt so good in her husband’s arms. That he felt so strong and warm and virile. No. Being held by Drake was definitely not why she felt flushed and happy.

  “I’m not happy,” she said, to verbally counteract that teeny ember of joy.

  “You’re the one who ran away and refused to speak to me.” Drake executed a spin and twirled her back into his embrace. “You’re the one holding a grudge.”

  “At least I wasn’t the one holding a nymph.” Rosemary swallowed the knot in her throat. “You’re a warlock. You can fuck anyone you want before the Binding. I’m the one who had to cross her legs and wait.”

  Drake stiffened and his eyes went cold. He whirled her off the dance floor then grabbed her arm and led into her parents’ house.

  Having spent many days of his youth in her home, Rosemary knew he was very aware which bedroom belonged to her.

  He hauled her upstairs then into the room that held only her stripped twin bed and packed boxes. He slammed shut the door.

  “The only person I’ve ever wanted to fuck was you. I don’t give a good goddamn what the outdated rules of Binding say… There was no one, ever, in my heart but you, Rosemary Thorne.” His anger was palpable. Rosemary backed up a step and he followed her, an unrelenting shadow of rage.

  Tears pooled in her eyes but she blinked them away. “You don’t have to lie to me. I haven’t been with anyone else. I followed the rules of the Binding. You will have your virgin bride.”