I raise from Zander’s lap enough to smack Jay across the arm then sit back down. “Don’t be silly. I most definitely want your best ‘go big or go home’ apology. Duh. And you better make certain it’s fabulous.” I arch my eyebrows and throw him a spirited look then chuckle. “No, seriously. You have one week. Sorry, not sorry.” This time, I ape Jay by snapping my fingers in a zigzagging motion off to my side. His laugh infects me, and soon we’re in an uncontrollable fit.
* * *
Hours later, the incident becomes a faded memory after spending so much time setting up for the festivities in the garden.
The moon’s presence reminds us why we gather to celebrate the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. The Celtic holiday, Samhain, also referred to as ‘The Feast of the Dead’, represents a time when the veil is thinned between worlds. I’m praying I get to connect with those who’ve come before me.
Candle flames flicker, framed photos of my mom, Gran, and all my great grandmothers adorn the rear of the altar. Food as a gift to the Veiled Goddess sits directly infront of those. At the bases of each of the four directions candles, mini pumpkins and gourds, acorns and nuts, and pomegranates represent the autumn harvest. A skull, stones, a bell, and a dagger, readied for the ritual aspect of the festivity, lay in the center towards the front.
Scents of violet, gold, and red mums blend with aromatic sunflowers and the smoke from the nearby bonfire. All of it makes my heart smile. Gran would be proud, I think.
A moment of silent meditation grounds and centers me. Three rings of the bell opens the ceremony. After each of the Elements is called upon, acknowledged, and welcomed, I invoke the spirits and my ancestors into the space with an offering of bread and wine. As Gran did so many times over the years, I call upon the Veiled Goddess using the same formality.
My mind’s eye wanders, cloaking everything outside of the circle. Listening with more than my ears, my whole essence searches for those called upon, and I remain silent and patient while I await their arrival.
Because of them, I live. Because of me, they live on. And, to be honest, because of some of them, I now have a greater responsibility to protect witchcraft and mankind from none other than the Otherkin. So, it’d be great to receive answers as to how I’m expected to do that.
Thanks be to you, great grandmother, ninefold.
Seconds stretch into minutes. Presences are sensed, but no one reveals herself, so I extinguish the flames, saying farewell to those I’ve called upon, and then close the ceremony by ringing the bell three more times.
“So Mote It Be,” I murmur into the chilly breeze.
The rumble of the fire releases from my mind all concerns about why no one has visited me. In truest Celtic, Wiccan fashion, a good fire should never go to waste, so I dance. Soon everyone, who previously stood in the shadows during my solitary practices, joins in. We all dance around the ring of fire, singing, chanting, and laughing long into the night.
“See ya in a few, baby girl.” Jay and Nyx retreat to the farmhouse when the flames burn to embers. I wave them off.
When I shiver, Zander tosses another log on the fire, and soon, warmth replaces my chills. He carries me to a blanket under the big wisteria tree—one of our favorite places to be together. Reflections of the past year, and what lies ahead keeps me quiet. My mind recounts the anticipated journey I’m about to endure, created by my kin centuries afore. Well, until Zander’s arousal wafts under my nose, stealing my full attention.
“You want some of this?” I tease, nuzzling into him.
With a vampire’s swiftness, he now has me laying on the ground, hovering over me. He leans down to caress my lips, cheeks, and forehead with his lips. Arousal invokes my senses, and I want all he has to offer.
“Mine,” he breathes into my neck. And despite having felt chilly a few seconds ago, heat ambles across my spine then down my stomach straight to my core, and lights my entire body on fire.
“Yes,” I reply, wrapping my arms under his, the palms of my hands brings him closer. I nibble his chin and run my tongue up his jaw. Then I claim his mouth.
He brings me to rest on top of him, flat against his chest. Blessed with the night to honor new beginnings, things progress. Our kissing escalates, clothes become thrown, and soon we’re as naked as nature with the light of the blessed moon shimmering above us. Passion soars.
Zander licks and bites, teasing and taunting, until his fangs sink deep into my thigh.
“Ah,” I exclaim, rising my upper body and arching my back in pleaure, before lowering myself.
With each suckle, the blood flows, causing me to want to come, but I manage to resist. Howling like a wolf, I moan with desire and additional hunger for him. He drinks, sucking and lapping, and each manipulation pushes me near the brink of no return.
“What?” I ask, swearing I catch him saying something.
“What?” he asks more confused. My blood runs down the side of his mouth, and I rise up to lick it off him.
“You said something. Right?” I push him off and sit upright.
“No. I didn’t. I thought you did.” His tone is husky and he shakes his head. I clearly acknowledge how agitated he’s becoming.
We hear it, again. Voices. Only, this time, we know they don’t belong to either of us.
“Sylver,” they call.
Faster than a blink, Zander jumps up into a protective stance, pulling me to my feet and pushing me behind him.
“Get dressed, and don’t move, Sylver. Stay behind me,” he demands, tossing my clothes at me.
Once I’m dressed, I hand him his clothes, and he tugs on his pants but ignores his shirt. Laughter fills the air, the sound almost provoking .
I grab Zander’s elbow, unable to grasp what’s transpiring. I closed the circle, I remind myself.
“What kind of spirit would fuck with us?”
He doesn’t answer, but turns in a circular motion surveying the area. His preternatural senses are on high alert. I’m moving with him, staying behind him, clutching his arm even tighter while we spin, round and round.
“Who’s there?” I call out, peeking around him.
Several faces I recognize, whether from life or by photograph, morph from out of nowhere.
“Holy Veiled Mother Divine! What on earth are you doing here?” I already know the answer.
“Gran? Mom? Grandmothers?” Yes, all grandmothers float through the air like balloons. Their transparency ebbs and flows with each light wind.
At one point, I’m certain one of them says, “Well, if I were still alive and as young as Sylver, I’d do him, too.”
“Oh, Goddess Divine,” I say, cringing at the thought.
They cackle as most witches do when together. The conversation between them grows more zealous. Each one talks over the other until I’m incapable of making sense of their babble, and place my hands on my head to stop the humming. Witches!
“Hello!” I yell. They stop. Silence returns. “Great. Now that I have your attention, would one of you, any of you, mind telling me why you’re here now when none of you bothered to visit during the ceremony?”
“Sylver, darling, you did nothing wrong. We’re all proud of how well you conducted yourself, like a natural born Priestess,” my mother says, ignoring my question, beaming with pride.
“I’m not, though,” I remind her.
“Sweetheart, you are following the destiny we’ve all prepared for you. You must trust us, yourself, the process, and the journey,” Gran interjects.
I smile and nod, moving out from behind Zander to walk forward.
“Sylver Kylliene Brady. You are Witch. All of which you seek you have already found. The answers lie before you. Open your third eye to see that which you refuse to see, my child.” Alse, or her daughter, Alice (they look so much alike in all of our family photos), projects herself in front of the rest. “We must go now. But pursue the treasure, know the vampire is also part of your destiny, so enjoy him.” Her loud cackl
ing bounces off the trees. “Oh. Sylver, darling, make certain to remember this conversation in the days to follow.”
I have no time to reply. And, just like that, they’re all gone. Vanished. Faint laughter lingers, drifting in the night’s breeze.
Irritation assaults me. Zander draws me to him, and I tense beside him.
“They can’t visit during a sacred circle on All Hallow’s Eve. No, let’s wait until your fangs are buried deep into my thigh and we’re about to go full throttle, as Jay would say. And when they finally decide to show up, they laugh before leaving me with a cryptic script?”
Zander roars with laughter before quieting, and kisses the tip of my nose. “Kitten, all things happen as they must. You’ll figure all of this out. I believe in you, my L’il witch.”
“Thanks. At least few witches can ever say they not only barged in on their best friend during a very intimate moment, but also have had an intimate moment crashed by their ethereal ancestors during a moonlit romp. Being sinfully shattered with shame on Samhain? Yep, I’ve managed to do so twice in one holiday. How blessed am I?”
The End
* * *
Note From Mel:
Thanks so much for reading. It has been an absolute honor and so much fun to once again join with talented friends on this holiday edition of F*cking Awkward. The characters in this short story are from a PNR/Urban Fantasy series, titled, Shattered Into Beautiful, A Surviving Soul Novel.
Mel Ballew is a USA Today bestselling author as a contributing author of the previous F*cking Awkward Anthology, an International bestselling author of her paranormal/urban fantasy, Shattered Into Beautiful, A Surviving Soul Novel series, and her new adult romance, Shameless, of the Less is More series. She resides in rural Pennsylvania with her husband, two spoiled cats, and a rambunctious German shepherd puppy.
A hopeless romantic, Mel writes about love, inspired by her soulmate love with her husband. Whether reading or writing, she believes ‘Romance Is Magick’, and her preferred genre of choice is any realm of paranormal / urban fantasy where magic, mayhem, and lust between supernatural beings abound.
Aside from fur babies, an addiction to coffee, and her love of vampires, witches, angels, and shifters – oh my – copious amounts of sweet wine, an indulgence in anything chocolate and peanut butter, and her profound love of nature are necessities for Mel. For her, these make life Simply D’vine.
Connect With Mel Ballew:
Facebook
Twitter
Website
Instagram
Unwrapped
Stacy Kestwick
I sighed with contentment as I sat in the middle of a veritable mountain of torn and discarded wrapping paper. Adam, my fiancé, had spoiled me rotten. Well, spoiled us. I rubbed my enormous belly, where our baby was resting quietly for once, my ribs safe momentarily from his karate kicks. An infant swing that had eight modes and a fancy jogging stroller rested next to some soft, stretchy yoga pants and a giant bag of kettle corn—the one food I couldn’t stop craving during the past few months. The swing and stroller weren’t new; they were Craigslist finds, hand-me-downs from another family with stellar taste in expensive baby gear. A year ago that would’ve bothered me. I was used to the newest, the best. Now, the only things I cared about were the man in front of me and the little guy inside me. Love did amazing things to your priorities. Made you open your eyes and see what was truly important in life.
“Merry Christmas, babe. I love you.” Adam leaned over and kissed me sweetly, his full lips lingering on mine. His big hand caressed my stomach softly. “And you too, Cody.”
I loved that he already talked to his son, even before he was born. That he’d insisted on reading “The Christmas Story” to Cody before we opened presents, because obviously our son was a genius, even in utero, who understood the real meaning of Christmas.
The warm ocean breeze blew through the open window of my bedroom and ruffled the fronds of the twinkle-light-adorned fake palm tree in the corner. Considering it was midsummer and we were on the South Carolina coast, we’d done our best to improvise the decorations for our Christmas in July celebration. Sand dollar ornaments and a salt-water taffy garland. Snorkeling fins instead of stockings.
That was us. Impulsive and fun and in love and living on our own schedule.
We’d met last summer when Adam started Marine boot camp on Parris Island, fallen in love after a week, been inseparable after a month, and I’d been pregnant by Halloween. And since Adam was due to depart for a year-long tour in Afghanistan after little Cody made his debut in two weeks, we were trying to get in as many memories together as we could. Last week, we’d attempted to make a Thanksgiving dinner, but it’d been disastrous. The turkey hadn’t been salvageable, I’d mixed up sugar and salt when I made the mashed potatoes, and the stuffing had burned to crouton consistency. We’d eaten canned cranberry sauce, green beans, and store-bought apple pie, and declared it close enough.
But our Christmas—our Christmas was perfect.
Well, to me anyway. Maybe it was just the two of us. And maybe my parents had basically disowned me and we were celebrating in my bedroom at my grandparents’ house—a place I normally only visited in the summer but had lived in full-time since I’d revealed my mommy-to-be status at the tender age of nineteen. And maybe we were both as scared shitless as we were excited about Cody’s arrival later in the month.
But we were happy.
So fucking happy.
Adam’s eyes shone with mischief as he reached in his military-issue backpack and pulled out another gift, this one cylindrical. “One last present. It says it’s for you,” he winked, checking the tag, “but really, I think it’s for me.”
I tore the paper off, impatient as always for anything from him—his smiles, his time, his touch, and yes, his presents too. “Whipped cream?”
He smirked, and took the can from me, shaking it, his warm brown eyes already darkening with lust. “Take your shirt off, babe. I think it might snow.”
I gave him what I hoped what a seductive look from beneath my lashes, grateful as always he loved my body despite it’s changing shape. My boobs had tripled in size, and my once flat tummy was definitely nearing maximum capacity. In fact, the obstetrician had informed us he’d be evicting my little parasite in two weeks due to his above average-size if he didn’t make an appearance on his own. I played with the hem of my stretchy tank top, edging it up slowly, teasing him with the first inch or two of visible skin.
He growled and dropped the can on the carpet between us, tearing the shirt off me and throwing it somewhere behind him. My giant grandma-sized bra followed a moment later. I pushed my gym shorts and panties off while he ripped the tacky holiday sweater he’d insisted on wearing over his head, using that one-handed technique that looked so damn sexy.
My mouth watered.
All that Marine PT he’d been doing the last several months had chiseled his muscles into drool-worthy, underwear-model status. It was like his muscles had muscles. I traced the deep grooves of his abs, unable to keep my hands off him any longer. Fucking hell, the pregnancy hormones had made me so damn horny, especially this last trimester. I couldn’t get enough of him.
“Uh uh.” He captured my wandering hands. “This is my present, remember?” He lowered me carefully to the carpet, tucking a pillow under my lower back, until I was spread out like a beached whale in front of him. As horny as I was, I hated being on display the last few weeks. Stretch marks striped the bottom of my stomach and radiated from my nipples, stark and pale in comparison to my normal tan, while he turned the head of every girl on the island. We were like fucked up before and after pictures for a new diet pill that promised unheard of results after just six weeks and four easy payments of $19.99.
I wanted to shield myself, but he knelt over me, preventing it, my fingers still laced in his. His eyes journeyed down my body, over the hills and mountains that made up my new topography, and the desire in them, the stark need, made
me forget any lingering shred of embarrassment. How this gorgeous man could want me when I looked like this, I’d never understand.
“God, Hailey. You’re so fucking beautiful.” He dropped my hands and lowered himself over me until he captured my lips, the heat of his chest searing my bare skin, his hardness meeting my softness. His tongue slipped in my mouth, and he tasted like the hot chocolate we’d drank earlier, in spite of the ninety-degree weather.
I moaned as he nibbled a path up my jaw and down my throat. My back arched and his palms ghosted over my breasts, giving me goose bumps but no satisfaction. “Adam.” He pulled back, and the rattle of him shaking the whipped cream can caught my attention. My eyes widened as I shook my head in immediate denial.
“No! Don’t do it!” I shrieked, as he aimed the nozzle over my nipple. “It’ll be cold!”
“But, Hailey, how can we have Christmas,” he asked, squirting a dollop on my shoulder, “without snow?” He added another one to my collarbone, my inner elbow, and the rise of my stomach. “Look, snowflakes.” Adam garnished each of my nipples next, and I couldn’t suppress my shiver as they beaded instantly from the chill.
Taking mercy on me, he dipped down and immediately sucked the cream from one tight peak, pulling it hard into his mouth before licking it fully clean. My breath caught as he repeated the motion on the other side. But then he added another spritz to replace that one, and the rapid change in temperature from freezing to hot to cold again did crazy things to my body. His tongue tickled as he removed the other swirls he’d decorated me with from their tender locations.
F*CKING AWKWARD HOLIDAYS: 25 Short Stories of Awkward Holiday Encounters Page 32
