Page 24 of Bewitched (Hexes and Fangs: Holiday Editions #1)

T he moment the liquid touches my tongue, there is an immediate sharpness—a distinct contrast to anything sweet or mild.

My taste buds react fast, drawing attention to the deep, earthy, or medicinal flavors.

It is a bracing jolt, like strong black coffee mixed with a bad herbal tonic or dark ale.

As the bitterness spreads, it awakens a dryness in my mouth with a slight puckering sensation.

Neo walks around me like a black cat poised to attack. She is intrigued. Anticipating eagerly what is about to unfold. Did she just poison me? Not that it matters. My heart is cradled in this rib cage of mine, but only she knows how to feed it. Drop by drop.

"Well?" Her hand dances lightly on my shoulder, pausing just before me.

"Oh, are you bored, love?" I wipe my lips with my thumb. She takes hold of my cheeks and tugs me toward her.

"Open!"

My hands encircle her waist, drawing her in to me. "Make me."

"You can talk, so that’s not a good sign.

" She looks into my eyes. Embodying both allure and terror.

Her form is captivating—elegance draped in darkness.

She moves with unnatural grace, each step measured yet effortlessly, as if the world itself bends to her will.

Her eyes, sharp, glow with an eerie fire—perhaps molten horrors or a deep abyssal black that swallows light, disguised in a green shade.

A smirk plays on her red lips, balanced between amusement and cruelty. "Hmm."

"Disappointed?"

"Yes." She lets go of my cheeks and strides to the counter. Her focus sharpens as she strikes through a task on her list. "What are you afraid of?"

"You couldn’t take that from me." I head over to the fridge and pick up a Coke for myself.

"So you are afraid of losing something." There’s a certain weight in her stare. The kind that lingers too long, becoming almost palpable on my body. Those devil eyes on her target. I love it.

"I was sure you would know by now."

"Your cross bike." She claps her hands like an ecstatic child.

"Pretty close." I take a sip of Coke, seeking relief from the sting on my tongue. I need cigarettes.

"Damn it." She taps the orange pen to her lower lip, her mind lost in contemplation. "I need to test ‘Fear’. That should make the poisoned ones forget about ‘love’." Neo walks to me and brushes her fingers on my wrist, taking away the coke bottle from my hand. "Sit!"

Her voice takes a softer tone, the words dripping with intrigue and playful challenge.

I sink into the chair, already eager for whatever she will do to me next.

She approaches me slowly. Our knees touch.

Her posture is steady but relaxed, one hip slightly shifted, weight balanced in a way that suggests confidence.

The subtle tilt of her head—curious, assessing—adds to the hot moment.

From my seated position, I gaze up at her, catching the way the soft glow of light brushes against her face, highlighting every delicate angle.

Her arms are crossed, fingers tapping on her skin.

Neo lowers herself, her hands resting on my thighs.

"Snakes?"

I crave to kiss her, an electrifying spark igniting my soul. I want to pull her onto my lap, never letting her slip away. Together, I envision our bones intertwining. Rooting deep into the earth.

Neo rotates her wrist and a snake appears coiled around her palm and fingers. Hot. How did she do that?

The sensation of the snake slithering against my leg now is unmistakably eerie and mesmerizing at the same time.

Its movement is both fluid and deliberate—a cool, dry pressure gliding along me in rippling waves.

Unlike the slimy feel many might expect, its scales create a textured friction, like tiny overlapping armor brushing against my pants.

There’s a subtle constriction as it coils and adjusts its grip, muscles shifting beneath its patterned skin.

Its weight, though light, is present enough to make me smile.

She clicks her tongue in disappointment and removes the snake from my lap.

She steps over to one of her shelves and collects a jar.

Inside it, a big spider has been captured for hell knows how long.

Delicate strands of silk weave through the space, a chaotic tangle of silver threads stretching from edge to edge.

Some parts are wispy, barely visible except in the right light, while others are thickened with layers of past constructions.

Tiny specks of debris cling to the web, remnants of past meals, creating a hunting sense of abandonment.

"Take it out."

"I was expecting you to put it on my face."

"I won’t touch that shit." She passes me the jar, and I lift it in front of my face to view the spider. "You are not afraid of it?"

"No." I grip the lid of the jar, feeling cold beneath my touch.

I twist the lid gently, the slightest resistance before it loosens with a soft click.

Inside, the spider stirs. Motionless at first, its delicate legs poised on the tangled web, sensing the shift in pressure.

Neo walks to the other side of the room.

"You are afraid of spiders." My fingers hover above the creature.

I move them slowly, making sure my touch is light.

Its legs brush against my skin. There is a light weight to it—only the gentle tickle of movement as it adjusts, testing the unfamiliar terrain of my palm.

I walk to Neo, and horror clutches her immaculate face.

"Stop it!" I can sense her heart racing faster.

I return the spider to the jar and tighten the lid on it, setting it down on the counter. I can see Neo finally gasping for air again. My walk to her is slow, steady but soft. I scan her face with concern. I stop, keeping a comfortable distance for her.

"You tell me when I am allowed to…" She starts walking towards me.

I open my arms. The impact. A full- force embrace, warm, the kind that lifts you off your feet and pulls you so close you forget anything else exists.

In this moment, our world disappears, replaced only by the presence of each other.

I lower myself just slightly. Her head tucks beneath my chin, fitting perfectly against me, like she is meant to be held this way by me.

Her arms wrap tightly around my waist, fingers curling into my back.

Her weight leans into me, trusting, comfortable.

"Who did this to you?"

"You got me a helmet?" Her tears are hardened to her cheeks, but my thumb guarantees to brush them away fully. She locked up the shop and we’re in front of my trail bike now.

"I did." I put mine on.

"It’s purple." She lifts the helmet and inspects it.

"I thought you would like that. You can add stickers to it if you want. Personalize it."

"I really do, thank you!" She lifts herself on her toes and kisses my cheek.