A Very Merry Hexmas: A Woolven Secret Christmas Novella (The Woolven Secret)

by Saranna Dewylde

  A Very Merry Hexmas

  A Woolen Secret Novella

  Saranna DeWylde

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Other Books in the Series

  About the Author

  A Very Merry HEXmas

  A Woolven Secret Novella

  by

  Saranna DeWylde

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

  business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the

  publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Saranna DeWylde © 2016

  Cover Art by Sara Lunsford

  Stock photo by Depositphoto

  Chapter 1

  Winter had come to the Woolven stronghold, Aphelion, and the witch Eleanor Westwood had gone about ensuring that within the boundaries of the main property and town, that it was a pleasant fall day. Not too hot, not too cold. Even on Christmas, there would be snow, but it would linger in the unnatural warmth because magick was an amazing thing. Werewolves generally enjoyed fall the best. As part of her covenant to love and care for the Woolven pack, she tried to see to their comfort at all times.

  Unless they acted like alphaholes, and then all bets were off.

  Eleanor Westwood enjoyed her job caring for the Woolven pack. Werewolves, they were. She didn’t mind it. In fact, she enjoyed the little buggers when they were pups. Sometimes, she had to be very stern with them—a werewolf needed a firm hand or they’d be tearing up the countryside willy-nilly and one just couldn’t have that. Nothing drove the peasants to revolt faster than cattle mutilations and murder.

  Her werewolves weren’t flesh eaters, human flesh eaters, that’s to say. She liked that about them. They had a code and managed to live in harmony with their beast and human side together.

  All well and good, but sometimes, a witch still needed a break from her day-to-day chores. Time to seek out powerful magicks and learn their secrets, join a cause like the plight of the underhill gnomes, or maybe just get a little action.

  She was old, but she wasn’t dead.

  As a witch, Eleanor could take any form she wished. When she went out to the bars, sometimes, when a guy wouldn’t leave her alone she’d turn into her crone face. That was always funny to watch their reactions. These “dudebros” would try to sidle up to her and give her a line of crap and sometimes, just for fun, she turn into an old woman while they were talking.

  Or a dragon.

  The dragon was her favorite. But she had to be careful with that one. Someone might just get matchstick happy and decide to tie her to a stake. One never knew with some of these mortals.

  She knew she was probably too old to be playing bedroom polo with mortals, but they were just so tasty.

  Eleanor had considered trying to find a husband, but her first marriage had ended poorly. Very poorly. So poorly, in fact, the High Coven was still looking for a way to reverse the hex she’d laid on him.

  Back in those days, a man or warlock could do pretty much whatever he wanted to his wife. He’d been a cheating bastard, an abusive bastard, and when he’d trumped those two things by trying to steal her magic, well… that didn’t go well for him.

  She’d turned him into a literal pile of shit and handed him over to Lord of the Flies to do with as he would. In fact, the High Demon Lord still owed her a favor.

  Still, a vacation with other magickal types sounded nice.

  Eleanor went about the business of reinforcing the wards around Aphelion, the Woolven stronghold, and considered where she’d go.

  Her mind had started drifting to strange places. Strange places, indeed. She was tired of all the usual haunts, and the usual people. She began considering a retreat with the Yetis in Himalayas, or maybe even a transdimensional cruise. Although, she’d heard that was some virus one could catch on those cruise ships and you’d be shitting your brains out for a month.

  Literally.

  She wasn’t sure she was prepared to take that risk.

  As she wove her magick, cleaning and straightening Aphelion, renewing the spells to automatically clean everything that came through the door—that dog smell was murder to get out once it got a foothold—she turned on Netflix to finish watching Labyrinth. It was one of her favorite movies.

  A vacation in the Labyrinth could be fun. Especially if Hot Pants Jareth could be her host.

  She supposed she could weave that spell, but maintaining it would be more work than a vacation merited.

  Eleanor spelled the laptop to follow her outside and she nurtured each of the plants, especially the deadly, yet beautiful carnivorous monkshood. She caught a pretty dove in her spell and drew its flight pattern down close enough for the monkshood to snap its black, glosses petals around it.

  “There, there, darling.” She cooed to the plant.

  A slight purring sound emanated from somewhere deep in the flower.

  The poor dear could never get the doves close enough on its own and sweet bird was a rare treat. It generally subsisted on bats, crows, and anything else that could be hypnotized by its nectar.

  She followed the path out of the hedge maze and thought about the movie again.

  “Oh Goblin King, Goblin King. Come and take me away.” She giggled at the absurdity of it all.

  “Ask madam, and you shall receive.”

  Before her, in all of his dark glory, stood Enoch, King of the Goblins. Under pain of torture, she’d admit he wasn’t hard to look at. His skin was so white, it was almost translucent. He was finely muscled, as one must be to keep fighting for his crown.

  He had a right sexy scar that bisected his mouth—it was where his older brother had tried to murder him with an axe in his crib. Goblins were a violent lot.

  His hair was white as well and hung down to his shoulders, interspersed with warrior braids.

  And his eyes.

  They were amber, like blood, with cat-like pupils with two sets of eyelids that could close horizontally and vertically much like a lizard’s. They were made for seeing in the dark—a dark with no moon, no sun, no light at all. An eternal dark.

  But he was a dick, like all goblins.

  They’d gone to Academy together. He was an exchange student who’d immediately fallen in with the immortal version of the “dudebros” she couldn’t stand.

  Of course, she was a successful, feared and mighty witch while most of her classmates had been burned at the stake, or otherwise disposed of.

  “Just what the hell do you want? How did you even get in here?”

  “You invited me.” His mouth c
urved into a smile revealing all of his sharp, pointy teeth.

  “I most certainly did not.”

  “Yes, you did. You said, Goblin King, Goblin King…”

  “I was talking to the movie.”

  “Your magick wards didn’t know that.” A laugh rumbled deep in his throat.

  “Well, I uninvited you.”

  “That’s not how that works.”

  And damn if she didn’t just know it. “I know that. I was hoping you’d be a gentleman and kindly fuck off to where you’re wanted.”

  “Oh, but I am wanted here. You’ve got some interspecies fantasies, don’t you?” He smirked.

  “Not with you. Gross. Jareth, maybe. I mean, have you seen what he’s packing?”

  Enoch looked genuinely hurt. “Excuse me, but have you seen what I’m packing?” He motioned down to his loincloth that hung below a belt made of teeth and bones.

  “Eww, extra gross.” She held up her hand and if that could block the imagery he presented.

  “Don’t lie, witch. I can smell your lie.”

  He’d rattled her. “Whatever, I can smell your… darkness.” It did have its own particular smell—the dark. It defied explanation, and against all of her better instincts, she found she liked it.

  Enoch stepped closer to her.

  In defense, she adopted her crone incarnation, a slightly plump older woman, with a puffy gray bun, and a grandmotherly affectation.

  “Well, now that’s interesting.” He leaned closer to her. “Woman, you smell like apple cinnamon and sugar cookies.” He leaned in closer.

  She put her hand out and pushed at his chest (his deliciously broad, and strong chest, not that she was paying attention to that). “Not one step closer, you foul thing.”

  The red in his eyes had gone darker, like spilled blood over his sclera. “It’s not my fault I like cookies.”

  “These cookies don’t like you.”

  “So you’ve said. But still, you called for a Goblin King to save you.”

  “I didn’t. We’ve already established I was just talking to the movie.”

  “You must’ve meant it. You’re a talented and wicked enough witch that you would’ve woven some failsafe into those boundary spells.”

  “I meant it for Jareth, not you!” She put her hands on her hips. “Why are you even here? What do you want?”

  “You, my dear.” And with that, he clapped an iron bracelet around her wrist and the ozone split with a blast of thunder and lightning.

  Chapter 2

  “What just happened?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve claimed you.” He didn’t actually sound afraid at all.

  She still couldn’t have heard him correctly. “You do know who I am, right? Did you forget? I’m a witch. Who will hex your balls into another dimension.”

  “That’s what’s hot about you. I like a little spice. A little fear.” He waggled his pale eyebrows at her.

  “This can’t be happening to me. There must’ve been something else in that last spoonful of mugwort.” She shook her head; as if that could rattle herself awake. Eleanor decided that maybe pinching herself would have the desired effect and pinched her own arm.

  No luck, she was actually awake and this inanity, no, ignominy was actually being perpetrated against her.

  “I need heirs, woman. Let’s go.” He hauled her up over his shoulder and she tried to summon her magick, but to no avail. The bastard cuff he placed around her wrist short-circuited her magick.

  “Oh, you bastard. You’re going to pay.”

  He laughed.

  She punched him in the kidney and he dropped her right on her face. Eleanor didn’t exactly enjoy it.

  “Ow, what the fuck?” he grumbled.

  “You didn’t think that you were going to just slap this stupid cuff on me, steal me, and that I would just follow along, did you?” She rolled over and scrambled to her feet.

  He was still rubbing his side and back where she’d punched him. “Points to you, I totally wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Look, Enoch. I don’t know how you keep your throne with that kind of pain tolerance. It’s pathetic.” She stood, brushing off her skirt.

  “Did you just call me a pussy?” He seemed like he couldn’t actually fathom that would happen to him.

  She tilted her head. “I suppose I did.”

  “Fair enough. They say you are what you eat.” He nodded sagely.

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, buddy. You need to get this cuff off of me right now.”

  “Sorry. No can do.”

  “Excuse me?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “No. Can. Do.” He shrugged, flashing her a big grin that bared all of his sharp, pointy shark’s teeth. “It’ll come off once we’re married.”

  “Like hell.”

  “You’ll just have to wear it until then. Could be forever. I know you’re a stubborn woman.”

  “What about when you die? Death till us part, right?” She looked around the grounds for something sharp. “We’re about to find out.”

  Instead of being angry with her, he just laughed. “By hell, that just turns me on, little witch.”

  She didn’t want to admit it, but she kind of liked that he wasn’t afraid of her. So many of the younger warlocks were. They all knew what happened to her former husband and they lived in mortal fear of offending her. Even in bed. She asked them to pull her hair and fuck her hard, she got a worthless tug and a tepid thrust.

  It wouldn’t be like that with Enoch.

  But his ego was intolerable.

  So was this…cuff thing… whatever it was. How dare he just slap it on her without her consent and assume she’d follow along happily down the primrose path to his nest in hell.

  Not. Going. To. Happen.

  She might actually have to kill him to get this godsdamned thing off her wrist.

  “That rabbit punch didn’t turn you on.”

  Enoch, for a single moment, looked bashful. Not an expression anyone ever wanted to see on a goblin.

  Holy fucknuggets! It had turned him on. “Oh, it did?”

  “Where did you learn to hit?”

  “I’ve been taking up some MMA. One never knows when one is going to have a cuff slapped on one’s wrist to basically rape their magick, do they?” She stared at him.

  He frowned. “I’m not… no. You called for me. I answered.”

  He looked genuinely confused.

  “Okay, see… that’s not how this works. I told you time and again, I was talking to the movie.”

  “But you meant me,” he responded stubbornly refusing to see her point.

  “You’re exhausting. No, I didn’t mean you.”

  “I hate to burst your bubble of flying monkeys, but you had to. That’s how magick works.”

  She turned her witchy gaze inward and searched herself. Had she meant him?

  Oh fucking bloody hell.

  She had.

  He was a terrible choice for a weekend fling. Hence why her brain, and witchy bits had chosen him. He promised to be excitement.

  “Well, shit.”

  “See?”

  “Oh, wipe that smug expression off your pasty face.” She smiled when she saw he was insulted. “You know every now and then we all think about a little bit of strange. That dirty fantasy that you just have to make forbidden so it’s hot. That’s all it was. It doesn’t mean I actually want to sleep with you.”

  “Of course you do. But it’s more than that. You’re my mate.”

  “Like hell.”

  “Yes, very much like hell.” He grinned. “Just like back at Academy.”

  “If you so much as touch my hair now, I’ll turn your penis into a snake.” He’d turned her braids into snakes and the whole class had called her Medusa for two years.

  He crossed his arms across his broad chest. “After you see what my penis can do for you, I doubt that very much.” He studied her for a moment. “Maybe I’m going about this all wrong.”

 
“To say the least. The very least.” She stood, with her legs apart, giving herself a sturdy base in case she had to physically restrain him again.

  “I’m not just being perverse, witch. You really are my mate. I knew it back at Academy. I couldn’t let anyone know because you would’ve been in danger.”

  “You’re so high right now, I don’t even…”

  “How did you not pick up on that?” He rolled his eyes.

  “That whole he teases you because he likes you thing is misogynist and teaches women and girls that abuse is something they should expect from someone they love and it’s bullshit.”

  “For fuck’s sake. If my brother put an ax through my face when I was an infant, what do you think he would’ve done to you? That was the best I could do at fifteen, Eleanor.”

  The way he said her name made her witchy bits flutter. She didn’t care for her reaction. She didn’t want to have it.

  “Pardon me if I think you’re full of shit. You don’t get to just come back after hundreds of years and suddenly all the terrible things you did to me don’t matter.”

  “Why not? Like you said, it was hundreds of years ago.”

  “I still think is another trick, okay?”

  “Why do you think that demon was so quick to take your ex and asked nothing from you, not even balancing out the favor he still owes you?”

  “You’re lying.”

  Enoch shrugged. “You can ask him.”

  “I will. But in the meantime, take this fucking cuff off my arm.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. You just won’t.”

  “I can’t take it off.” He looked away from her. “But I could remove the sigil that binds your magick.”

  “Then do that.”

  “I don’t know, I kind of don’t want to be turned into a pile of shit.”

  “That implies you’re not alre—” She cut herself off. Eleanor knew she’d gather more goblins with honey. Or maybe just turning down the flow of venom. “Okay.” She smoothed her hands down the length of her dress. “I think I’ve been very patient with you, but how about if I promise not to turn you into a pile of fecal matter?”