Page 31 of The Arcane Taste of the Witchwood Boys (The Witchwood Boys #4)

Kate

Marlowe is leaning against the wall, his shirt rucked up and held between his teeth. He’s showing off his abs, one single nipple exposed. He’s posed with his knee bent, bare foot flat against the wall. His dark hair is wet and piece-y and splayed across his pale forehead.

His eyes are on the camera.

I’m fucking struck standing here and watching this. I choke a little and shift with discomfort from one foot to the other. See, when Brooks said the word neuter , I assumed that meant we’d be lying low, going into hiding or something.

Time and space could clear the accusations against us, right?

But that’s not how Brooks thinks. This motherfucker from 1955 believes he knows more about social media than I do. Instead of running for the shadows, Brooks is dragging our coven into the spotlight by making thirst trap accounts and convincing people to fall in love with us.

It’s already working.

Using the same accounts that Marlowe set up on social media to attack comment trolls, we’ve reached two million followers and climbing. Six pictures and two videos in, Marlowe Waverley is the hottest thing ever.

The Witchwood Boys are still trending, but not for murder. For … Marlowe adjusting his pose at Tanner’s instruction, releasing the shirt from between his teeth and taking it off completely. He closes his eyes and runs both hands over his hair. Cracks a single lid. Offers a feisty snarl with a single pointed canine exposed.

Lo posting hot photos of himself online is bad enough.

But hot photos of myself? It’s not too late to take off running, proximity bonds be damned. If I’m going to have to leave my coven eventually, shouldn’t I do it before making an ass out of myself on the internet?

I have no chill, and I’m absolutely certain that my poses will lack the utterly devastating self-confidence and charm of our Westwoods. This son of a bitch. He’s enjoying this spell way too much.

Brooks is taking the photos with my phone, and he’s weirdly good at it for an old man.

“Chin up, shoulders back,” Tanner suggests, his attention split between the boudoir shoot taking place in our living room and me. Like always, I’m being watched, but he doesn’t need to worry. I’m glued to the spot, mesmerized by the performance as much as anyone else.

The grandfather clock is on Lo’s right, and a stuffed bat is on the wall above his head. I, um, had that bat before all of this. Like, I owned a stuffed bat and hung it on the wall in my grandmother’s living room only after she died. She hated it so much, thought it was creepy.

Looks sexy now, setting the scene with the old trim and the old clock and the taxidermy bat. Marlowe is half naked, using his thumbs to drag his pants even lower in the front at Tanner’s command. There’s a lot on display, and I feel stabby for absolutely no reason at all.

I’m not jealous. I don’t care. It’s just for a spell.

“How many of these photos do you think we need? One was honestly more than enough.” I step closer to Brooks, but only his hat looks at me. He continues shooting, and Tanner never stops posing Marlowe like a doll. He even touches him, and Lo allows it.

“What’s the matter, Kate?” Marlowe asks, edging those pants down so that they straddle the line between social media and porn. I’m going to kill him. “Don’t like others seeing what belongs to you?”

I fold my arms and lift my chin, unashamed.

“Yes. Exactly that. I’m annoyed. I don’t want the Internet to know a goddamn thing about my coven. They can hop in that stupid tree and round up their own witch bastards. I did the work, and you’re my rewards. Do you understand me?”

All three of them ignore me, and I swear they’re aiming to die.

Marlowe cups his chin in a cheeky little pose, one corner of his lip quirked up. Tanner brushes hair off Lo’s forehead, clearing his bangs from his eyes for the next shot. Brooks is recording the entire scene. They know exactly what they’re doing here. All three of them are stupidly good at this, and it’s gross.

“I can still eat you, you know? Any time I want. Tear this clit ring out and gobble you assholes up. Being a supernatural knockout doesn’t make you immune to dying, remember? I’ve seen it.”

It’s a dark joke, but they love it. That got their attention.

“Believe me: I don’t like this any more than you do, Kate.” Brooks gets down on one knee, taking this gorgeous low-angle shot of Marlowe’s Witchwoods-honed body. Posting it. No hashtags needed. No description either. It’ll go viral anyway.

Neither Marlowe nor Tanner says anything about disliking today’s photo shoot. Bet ya that Tanner’s foaming at the mouth for his own turn behind the camera. That man knows what he looks like and isn’t afraid to wield his face and body as weapons.

I try and fail to hide a smile.

“Is this a problem, Kate?” Marlowe asks, sliding his finger into his mouth and staring hard at the camera as he sucks it. Slides it out. Wraps his tongue around it. His shadow wings stretch wide on either side of him.

Oh.

“Can you stop ?” I pick up a pillow from the couch and toss it at him, but all he does is catch it and then press it against his taut tummy like a prop.

Ebon swoops into the room to perch on my shoulder, and I offer her a bite from our tray of snacks. We’ve got cheese. Fruit. Meat. Lots and lots of meat. Raw meat, too. That’s what she chooses, a bloody hunk of venison.

Once I’ve fed the crow, I’m forced to offer up treats to both Flick and Stix. They’re just too cute, and I’m too weak to resist (even if Stix is a literal demon).

This is what happily ever would’ve looked like for me, huh?

Once I realize that, once I feel it in my bones, they all start to bleed. Red drips from one of Lo’s nostrils and then the other. The crimson drops hit his chest and rolls down, but Brooks never stops shooting. He takes a ton of pics while they’re all bleeding, and he posts one while I stand stone-still, trying to get my emotions under control.

Accepting the inevitable: I do not get to keep nice days like this.

“It’s okay, Kate. It’s okay to be sad,” Brooks murmurs, still not looking at me. “Breaking the curse isn’t your responsibility; it’s mine.”

I want to argue with him, but Tanner snags me from behind, startling Ebon. The bird ruffles her feathers at him before hopping onto the grandfather clock and adding her expertise to the photography session.

“I’m not sad,” I protest, but the men have stopped bleeding because Tanner is right: I am a liar.

The curse is mine, and I know exactly how to break it.

My jaw drops when Lo uses his shirt to clean his face of blood—and then takes his pants off.

“No.” I put myself between Marlowe and the phone in Brooks’ hand. South cocks a rude brow at me, his swoop of black bang charmingly curled across his forehead. “No underwear shots.”

“Would you ever believe that someone who posts an underwear ad is capable of murder?” Brooks asks me this stupid question, and it helps push back my fear of the unknown. Tomorrow doesn’t matter. Today does.

“Yes, Brooks. I one-hundred-percent believe someone who posts pictures of himself covered in blood is capable of murder. Delete that one.” I tap at the screen, and Brooks stops the recording.

“We have enough of him anyway. You’re free to go, Marlowe.” Brooks waves him along and Lo sags against the wall like he’s gone limp, tilting his head back against it.

Marlowe’s mouth is tight and angry, eyes closed. I pick his hat up off the couch, smoothing my finger over the messy patch on the brim. I’m pretty shaky with a needle and thread. My stitches are big, rough X’s in a loopy gray thread.

Without even opening his eyes, Marlowe reaches out and takes the hat, but doesn’t put it on just yet. The entire thing is covered in the silky orange petals of California poppies.

“Get really fucking angry.” He opens his dark eyes to stare at me, and he’s dead serious. Marlowe stands up straight and tosses his hat onto his head. The poppies sway with the motion, a blotch of color against all that darkness. His shadow wings curl over him, like a stone gargoyle. “Tell me how jealous you are, how much you hated that. I want to see you seethe over the thought of another woman looking at me.”

My lips twitch.

“Alright, fuck. Fine.” I reach up and grab onto my hat brim with both hands, dragging it down on either side of my face. “I’m jealous,” I admit with a laugh, letting my head fall back. “I’m so jealous, and please tell me this is only part of the plan. You said we could spell online content so that anyone who watches it will forget it exists after. Right?”

“Yes, I did,” Brooks admits from somewhere behind me, posting another batch of pictures like he wasn’t born a hundred years ago. “And we’ll get there. This is part of a much bigger spell, as always.”

I play with my ring as Tanner watches me with sharpening interest.

“How about some couple pictures?” he wonders aloud, standing up from his spot on the couch arm. He puts his hands on the curves of my waist and turns us, gently pushing my back against the wall. He lays his palm above my head and leans down. I look up and our hat brims crinkle together.

“Right there,” Tanner tells me in a gruff voice, and Brooks goes nuts with the camera. Tanner sneaks his right hand up, curling my black and orange braid around his fist as we stare at each other.

He holds me with that careful possession of his, wanting me to stay. Knowing that I want to stay. But also prepared to stop me if I try to run.

“Thanks, beautiful.” Tanner uses his grip on my pelvis to move me to the side. And then he starts to pose, and it’s devastating.

Marlowe likes attention and enjoys being handsome. Tanner … has a lot of practice at making himself look as appetizing as possible.

“Oh fuck, I’m dead.” I stand next to Brooks and watch my East weave his fingers in his gold and black hair, tousling waves for the camera. Winking. Smirking. Licking his lips. Biting the corner of his mouth. Unbuttoning his jeans. Taking off his shirt.

Tanner presses his thumb against the corner of his mouth, sticking his tongue out just a little and eye-fucking the shit out of that camera. He looks like an untamed creature that’s wandered in from the woods. No wonder I questioned whether the guys were human when I first met them.

“Pose with the bow.” Marlowe hands it over and Tanner takes it with a little grin and a wink.

“Thanks, kid,” he says, which makes Marlowe scowl.

“Fuckin’ cute, man,” he growls back, and Tanner laughs. Marlowe smiles a little. He smiles. He fucking smiles , and I’m not going to get to stick around and see how much cuter he gets as time goes by? What the actual fuck?

“It’s okay to be sad, Kate,” Brooks repeats, squatting down to take another photo. He aims the camera up the length of Tanner’s perfect, bronze body. He was pale before. Guess all the time we spent in the sun painting the Pink Lady warmed him up.

“Thank you for agreeing to teach Georgia and the girls.” I look over at Brooks, so I don’t have to see Tanner having sex with his audience. I’m worked up enough as it is. Tanner left burning handprints all over my skin.

Brooks snaps several more photos as Marlowe moves up to stand beside me, holding our evil cat in his arms. He put his shirt back on. I appreciate that.

“You’re very welcome,” Brooks answers finally. “Without your friends, we would’ve struggled a lot more than we did. Even now, they’re my fail-safe plan. My last resort.” He hands the phone over to Tanner, and they trade places.

Brooks is now the model.

He sighs and closes his eyes, slowly and meticulously unbuttoning his flannel shirt with one hand while the other hangs loose by his side. His hand is clenched into a fist, giving away his discomfort, but the motion also causes the tendons in his forearm to stand out. He has his sleeves pushed to his elbows, fingers deftly flicking button after button.

There’s a white undershirt underneath, one that has bloodstains from his earlier nosebleed. Brooks drags it up a bit to reveal his navel, the eyes on his hat as hooded as the ones on his face. He looks like he wants to kill his audience, glaring at the phone as Tanner takes the pictures.

“God, what a nightmare,” Brooks mumbles, and then he hooks this punishing smile that makes me want to bend over for him. Shadow antlers on the walls and ceiling. His black leather hat wrinkled and ugly and covered in fresh charms.

He lazily unbuttons his pants, making the room hotter, wetter, dirtier. He doesn’t have anything underneath that denim, and it’s blatantly obvious.

Brooks stops just short of revealing his dick.

“Hate to tell you,” he says after allowing Tanner to post dozens of his own photos. “But we need a few more from you, Kate.”

“Me? Fuck.” I was in the middle of biting into another cock cookie. Brooks takes the extra from my fingers and swings us around, so that I’m in front of the wall and he’s behind the camera again.

I stand there awkwardly with no fucking idea what to do.

“I don’t …” I start, but then Tanner is right there, reaching out and taking my chin in his fingers.

“Don’t stress. I’ll pose you, beautiful.” He tilts my chin just so, using his thumb to part my lips. He traces the curve of my lower as my heart races, and my mouth fills at the slight taste of him on my skin. I wet my lips to draw in more of Tanner’s essence, and he smiles at me.

He adjusts my head with his inked hand. Fiddles with my hat. Brushes my hair back. Breathes warm against my skin. My legs are nudged apart with his knee. My t-shirt is pushed up and over my breasts.

I realize as I stand there that I’m wearing the paint-splattered jeans I slipped into when I first got up. An old tee. Nothing special. My bra is cute though. A pink lace one that I bought in secret that day we visited the Arcata Plaza with the girls.

Tanner molds my body into something pliant and wanting and sexy, thumbing my nipples through the lace of my bra.

“There we go.” He steps back and Brooks takes plenty of pictures. Some video, too, I believe. Ugh. I’m leaned back against the wall, half-collapsed.

Marlowe is next to step in and pose me. He’s a little more forceful, and a little more obvious. Tanner always looks pleasantly and mildly hot for me. Marlowe pushes back his desire, and then lets it flow hot and dangerous like this at times.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, Kate,” he says, just off the cuff like that. Sort of scowls as he says it, like it’s an inconvenience or something, but I doubt that’s what he’s really thinking.

“Most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?” I tease, and he scoffs.

“Without a doubt. Easy question.” Marlowe turns my head to the side and then takes my hat off, ruffles up my hair as my hat licks him in protest. Affection. Lust. Nerves.

“She only needs a few, right?” Tanner crosses his arms as he studies me with a frown, like he wasn’t posing me himself a few minutes prior. “I’d rather we did more and Kate did less.”

“And that’s fair, how?” I wonder, shifting my feathered wings behind me. Too bad they can’t be seen by most people. I like them, even if I had to cut the back of my t-shirt out this morning to fit into it. “I can pull my own weight.”

“You’re not being gawked at any more than necessary,” Brooks says in that authoritative deadpan of his that I’ve come to realize is humor. “Or … do you want to have more half-naked photos of yourself on the internet? If that gets you off, Kate, then I’ll agree to it.”

“If it gets me off, huh?” I jerk my shirt back down to cover my bra, and Tanner gives me a look.

“Hey.” His voice is sober, too serious for the fading sunshine. “You hungry, Kate?”

The three of them go still, waiting.

“Yeah, I … I’m starving.”

Tanner takes the bow he posed with online and walks outside to kill something for me. Wonder what it’ll be this time. A brown deer? Something with two heads?

I stand on the deck, waiting for him as Brooks waves his hand, lighting candles in every window of the house all at once.

“This spell requires seven straight days of fucking. Eat up and prepare yourself for that.” He pats me on the shoulder and returns to the fridge to start prepping dinner.

It’s just me and Marlowe there for a few seconds. Tanner squats in the grass maybe ten or twelve feet in front of us, careful not to get too far away, and lifts his bow. His eyes scan the woods and the ears on his hat turn in time with something moving through the trees.

“We’ll take care of this for you,” Marlowe says, using his foot to play with a pumpkin that’s sitting on our deck, just waiting to be carved. “You’ve seen what I’m willing to do to get things done. I swallowed cum for you, Kate.”

If that’s not a declaration of true love, then what is?

“I can’t wait to meet my in-laws,” I tell him, turning over my shoulder to look his way. We spend plenty of time having sex, but these guys are good company, too. I got very lucky. Lo scrubs at his bloody nose, frowning when his phone rings.

“Again? Why can’t anybody ever leave us—” He stops talking as he stares at the screen, like maybe he recognizes the number. “Well, speak of the devil, huh?” Lo gives me a look as he answers, his dark eyes on mine. “Mom?”

There’s a long, strange pause.

Marlowe purses his lips, still staring at me. His hat is covered in glistening spiderwebs, dewy and fresh. One single daisy sprouts from the cone.

“Yeah, no shit. Glad you got your DNA tests back. Doesn’t mean I’ll come running.” He stops talking again and then, in a move I did not see coming, he hands the phone out to me.

I fumble as I take it, quickly putting it up to my ear. Tanner releases the string on his bow, striking something in the woods. The animal screams, and Elizabeth Waverley’s voice cuts off abruptly at the sound of it. Pretty sure she was saying something about us coming over to her place for dinner.

“Hello?” I ask, wondering how I should explain away the sound of a dying creature in my backyard. “Sorry, we were just watching a … documentary.”

“Kate.” Elizabeth says my name the way Miriam did, like she can’t quite come to terms with the idea that her missing loved one came home with a partner in tow. Twenty years missing. Ageless. Married. My presence makes it all weirder. Tanner and Brooks, the weirdest.

We can’t go to dinner at the Waverley’s place unless we all go.

“When?” I ask, before she can come up with anything else to say. “When do you want us to come over?”

Marlowe seems surprised that I’d offer that eagerly, but then, he’s the one that gave me the phone.

“As soon as possible,” Elizabeth whispers back. “Whenever. Now.”

Tanner joins us on the deck, dragging a dead … thing behind him. It’s hideous, like a horse-sized goat with a too-big head. Tiny horns. Huge udders. I do not want to eat that. I’d rather gobble up another pedo.

I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a gag.

“Don’t spoil your dinner, Kate,” Brooks teases from behind me, a delicious smell wafting out of the kitchen. Tanner wipes his bloody hands on his jeans and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

“Last two,” he says, offering one out to Marlowe. I slap the pack out of his hand like it’s nothing, and he struggles to contain his laughter. Lo is too nervous about his mom being on the phone to react, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he waits for me to finish.

“Are you still there?” Elizabeth asks, making me wonder how much of that she just overheard.

“Tonight won’t work,” I admit, staring down at the arrow in the throat of the dead Witchwoods goat. I lick my lips, and my stomach growls like I haven’t been eating continuously all damn day. “How about Friday? And … you might want to set four places for our family. We travel in a pack.”

I hang up.

I don’t remember much else until after the goat’s body is gone, and the mens’ stolen cigarettes have turned to ash.