Under His Spell (Blanchard Coven 2): An M/M Vampire Romance

by Frey Ortega

  Bennett Landry used to live in a nightmare he thought would go on forever. Battered, broken and abused, the poor young warlock didn't think that he would ever feel safe again... until the Blanchard coven came and saved him.

  Elijah Lillegard was always a hopeless romantic, hiding his romance novels and his sweet side away; picturing a beautiful, idyllic life with his mate by his side--completely under their spell.

  Little did they both know, however, that fate had other plans.

  Pulled into a mating bond neither one saw coming, Elijah now must contend with his picturesque future being shattered in favor of a mate who still feared every shadow that lurked around every corner. Bennett now has to figure out whether he sees a future for himself within the coven, or if he even sees any kind of future at all.

  And when the past still comes back to haunt them both, can their blossoming new bond survive the trials and tribulations that await?

  Under His Spell

  Blanchard Coven 2

  By

  Frey Ortega

  A FREY ORTEGA BOOK

  Under His Spell

  Blanchard Coven 2

  Copyright © 2021 by Frey Ortega

  Edited by Isaac Clarke

  First eBook Publication: January 2021

  Cover Design by Cate Ashwood Designs

  All Cover Art and Logo Copyright © 2021, Cate Ashwood Designs and Frey Ortega

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are eighteen (18) years of age or older.

  Acknowledgements

  To everyone who stuck with me in spite of the fact that 2020 was the worst year ever;

  To all my friends and family supporting me through my transition;

  To my sister, Fran, who knows just how hard things were in 2020;

  To all the moms in my life, some of whom have hurt me, and some of whom have helped me grow, I love you all from the bottom of my heart;

  And finally, to 2020—

  Thank you for making me stronger, but I’m so glad you’re over and done with.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Frey’s Other Books

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  It didn’t happen every night the way it used to, but every so often, the same nightmares came back to haunt him. There was always a pair of blood red eyes watching his every move, waiting for him to mess up—always a cruel smile with fangs showing, ready to tear at his flesh.

  Bennett Landry’s pulse raced. He felt this lump at the back of his throat from the tears that would no longer fall. There was a deep, rolling pain in his stomach that accentuated the dryness that went all the way from his tongue down his throat. He coughed and hacked, but felt no relief for the scratchiness in his throat or the audible protests of his belly. In his nightmares, his voice was always hoarse, but he continued to chant in a soft, low tone. Any thought that passed his mind was quickly pushed away in favor of continuing the almost guttural drone of a spell he’d been forced to cast.

  As a warlock, Bennett was sure there was a hell. This was probably his own version of it—a punishment for karma left over from a past life. His soul probably inhabited some murderer of children or destroyer of innocence. Why else would he suffer through these horrid dreams over and over?

  Most nights, he remembered feeling a pair of fangs impale him, like the phantom sensation of a pair of thin knives plunging into the crook of his neck. It happened in thousands of different nights and thousands of different occasions, all of them led to this ever-building delirium that settled in his feverish brain—so weak that he couldn’t concentrate, a fog descending over his consciousness—his vision blurry whenever he opened his eyes.

  “You’re beginning to taste more and more like rancid meat,” the voice said to him angrily, and yet Bennett could offer no protest, not even a whimper, let alone a single tear.

  Bennett remembered the threats, and this feeling in his chest like his heart was being yanked downward, through his stomach. Bennett remembered the things being thrown, the objects breaking and shattering all around him, with the intent of keeping him docile and fearful.

  Shadows always loomed over him. At his weakest, all Bennett could hope for was death. There was the possibility that even that wouldn’t have saved him.

  Everywhere he turned, darkness. Like the all-consuming oblivion after the moment of death, Bennett hoped it was just a tunnel of black ushering him into the next life.

  Pain.

  Those blood red eyes haunted him. They were the one image seared in the nothingness, keeping him anchored in this life, staying his soul from moving to the next.

  The warlock tossed and turned, but he couldn’t pull free. Bennett had to find a way out. The walls were closing in on him. He couldn’t breathe. He just had to find a way out. He had to get away from this…madman.

  “Bennett.”

  It was the barest wisp of a voice trying to reach out to him. There was the slightest flicker of light in the horizon that accompanied it, calling to Bennett. It reminded him of that moment of freedom when Bennett could finally escape the shackles that were forced upon him. The moment when he found the strength to undo the shackles of the young human beside him, and they ran out, hand-in-hand, into the light of day.

  “Bennett. It’s just a dream.”

  It brought him a sick sense of satisfaction to know that the monster that haunted his subconscious was nothing more than piles of ash scattered in the wind, and the image of his scorched body brought Bennett a sense of peace nothing else could have given him. It felt like a warm blanket had wrapped around him, securing him.

  There was no more Marcel Dubois. Because of that, Bennett wanted to live.

  Most of all, Bennett wanted to be free from the cage of his nightmares. They still haunted him, telling him that everything that had happened was a lie—a fabrication—and that he would wake up, and still be in the clutches of that psychopath. He knew the truth logically, but emotions were a fickle thing—like a little pixie that caused as much joy as it did sorrow—and the realm of dreams was where the emotions could really manifest itself.

  It was funny, because even though he knew this was all a dream and a lie, and his brain could fathom it as being untrue, his mind couldn’t quite grasp it fully. To Bennett, it still felt like those cold, clammy hands were about to choke the life out of him at any moment. It still seemed as though like he was trapped, even when reason dictated otherwise.

  “Bennett. Listen to me.”

  In this nightmarish darkness, Bennett couldn’t escape. There was no escape. He ran and ran, but every corner he turned, he was caught. Those cold, clammy hands would always wrap around his throat and squeeze the life out of him.

  Until that small sliver of light at the end of the tunnel flickered, and suddenly Bennett was filled with hope. He ran toward it as fast as his weak, buckling legs would
take him. It didn’t matter that the choking sensation overwhelmed him, what mattered was the security and safety of the light.

  “You’re safe.”

  No, you’re not.

  Just before Bennett could reach the light, he turned one last time into the dark oblivion behind him and saw Marcel’s face.

  Ghastly, and nearly skeletal, his bony features looked downright corpselike and gray. Marcel’s eyes were sunken, the bags underneath deep and dark. His hair was matted like seaweed, framing an already too-angular face poorly. But what shook Bennett the most was the smile on Marcel’s face—spreading slowly to reveal bloodied fangs—with bright, crimson eyes that glinted in maniacal glee.

  You’re never going to be safe again, Bennett.

  Marcel’s voice echoed through the darkness, laughing.

  Bennett’s heart thundered in his chest and the blood rushed through his veins. Those words immediately made Bennett’s eyes snap open, and he sat up with a start. Panting, cold sweat dotting his forehead and dripping down his face, Bennett shivered. Even with his body covered in a warm wool blanket, the young warlock felt the chill of the conditioned air seep into his bones.

  Bennett brought shaky hands up to his temple, cradling the weight of his head as his breathing evened out.

  “The dreams are always the same,” Bennett muttered to himself. “I’m not going crazy. I swear I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not, dear heart.”

  Bennett looked up to see an Amazonian woman with mahogany skin looking down at him, concerned etched on her face in the slight furrow of her brow and the tense purse of her lips. Bright golden irises shone almost unnaturally as they gazed back down at him. The concern in her eyes was clear as day in the way she stared down at the young man before her.

  She sat there with a hand gently placed on Bennett's shoulder, letting loose the slightest of sighs. In the haze of his half-awoken state Bennett didn’t realize that he was actually face to face with one of his saviors. Ifeya Oladele, the Witch Mother, was right there, and she was the one trying to calm him down from the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

  She reached for the nightstand, taking the glass of water by Bennett’s bedside. “Here, I brought this for you when I heard you stirring,” Ifeya said, her voice soft and low as she spoke to him. “It doesn’t take a fool to see that your nightmares are still bothering you.”

  With shaky hands, Bennett took the glass from the Witch Mother and nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly, taking a sip of the water and cradling it in his lap, setting both hands around it.

  Bennett still couldn’t quite believe that he was here—that he was actually safe—and that he had his own room. When did he last have his own room?

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Ifeya asked.

  Bennett looked up at her and shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I don’t want to burden you with my troubles.”

  Ifeya shook her head, and gently placed a hand under his chin. “My dear, you are never a burden. Please remember that.”

  Bennett nodded. He didn’t quite believe it. He looked away from Ifeya and simply took a sip of water as he turned to the digital clock on his bedside table.

  Four in the afternoon. It was a little earlier than he would have liked, but at least he slept a good four hours this time. The rhythms of his body had been all messed up for a long time now, and today was no different. As he sat up, feeling the moisture forming on the glass of cool water against his palm and fingertips, Bennett sighed and took another sip.

  “Your dreams haven’t been happening with much regularity anymore,” Ifeya said. “Not like when it first happened. It takes time to heal all wounds, and the hidden ones take even longer.”

  “Am I broken, Miss Ifi?” Bennett asked. “I feel like I should be over this by now. It’s been a month. You’ve fed me, you’ve clothed me, and given me this room, but I feel like I haven’t been pulling my weight.”

  “No, not broken, dear heart, just bent,” Ifeya replied. “And you’re much too hard on yourself. We’re all our own greatest critics, but you must remember to be kind to yourself. A month is barely a blink of an eye in the face of eternity.”

  “The dreams will pass and subside. No spell on earth can undo all the things you’ve experienced,” Ifeya continued, and gingerly Bennett placed a hand over his neck, where once upon a time, a multitude of scars peppered his skin. Magic had cleared it all away, with only the faintest trace still remaining. “But you must remember to take it one day at a time. We’re here for you. You’re not alone in this. I know it for a fact because I know there’s a certain someone who’s been eyeing you like you’re the world ever since you got here.”

  Bennett looked up at Ifeya, furrowing his eyebrows. “Who?” he asked, before taking another sip of his water.

  Ifeya’s golden eyes stared at him dead on. “You know who I mean, dear heart,” she said, her voice deadpan. “You know that the strings of your fate are entwined. The way he looks at you each time you dip down to the cafeteria is like a lovestruck schoolboy and his first love. Then again, that’s just how vampires are. They’re strong and proud, cold and intelligent, but ultimately romantic and passionate.”

  The Witch Mother sighed, but then smiled at Bennett, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m not sure who you’re talking about. I don’t leave the floor very often though, Miss Ifi,” Bennett said. “I haven’t been here long and I don’t want to end up being somewhere I shouldn’t be, so I stay put. I might become a nuisance to someone else living in the building. Besides, most of my scars only faded yesterday. I don’t look as good as I used to. Even magic took time to heal me.”

  Ifeya nodded. “That may be true, but you still head downstairs every so often, especially when there aren’t very many people around. Do you not notice the one looking at you each time you do go down to enjoy a meal among the people?”

  Bennett shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

  Ifeya sighed once more—it almost sounded like exasperation as she shook her head—before retracting her hand back to her lap. “Well, dear heart, while I can answer that question for you, I’m not sure it would be in your best interest. I suppose I’ll leave you to let that little piece of information bubble in your head for now. However, I hope you’ll be on the lookout for your lovestruck schoolboy soon. It can be exhausting being around all these men who can’t see the promise of mating even when it’s right underneath their noses.”

  “One thing is for sure, my dear, and this is something that I want to impress upon you with all the conviction I can ever muster,” Ifeya continued as she rose from her seat next to him and sauntered towards the exit. She looked back at him and smiled as she placed a hand on the doorway. “You are stronger than you think. Being around so many vampires and knowing what they’re capable of doing to you—living for so long without a house to protect you—Bennett Landry, you have courage and kindness in spades, and I hope you never forget that.”

  With that, she walked out of Bennett’s room with only the barest hint of a smile gracing her features once more.

  Bennett sat there, looking down at the cup of water still cradled in his hands and in his lap. What—or better yet, who—exactly was Miss Ifi talking about?

  He finished the glass of water and slowly stood up from his bed. Bennett was only nineteen, but he sure felt older. Sometimes his bones and joints still ached in places he knew they shouldn’t. He was still thin too, but less so than before. When he first came to the Blanchard building, Bennett felt each and every rib whenever he passed a hand over his side. Now, he was looking healthier and a little bit more filled out, though he was still quite slender.

  His once-sunken eyes and pale, waxen face had become healthier. Whenever he looked at the mirror after taking a shower, he looked more and more like a better version of himself with every passing day. Bennett even noticed a certain rosy glow in his skin instead of that sallow color that had shown just how poor his heal
th had been mere weeks before.

  Bennett’s black hair was a matted and oily mess once upon a time. Now, it was clearly a little bed-rumpled, but it felt healthier and less like he’d just walked out of a swamp. Locks of hair hung long around his face in wavy, slightly-curled little strands. He was careful to sweep them away from his face, especially because he didn’t like how the ends tickled the tip of his nose. Still, they framed his pale blue-gray eyes nicely, and highlighted the newfound rosiness of his cheeks.

  If he were the type to brag, Bennett would even dare say he looked attractive. Well, much more attractive now than he looked before, anyway, which wasn’t really saying much. There was a big difference, however, and Bennett could feel it inside as well as out.

  Bennett stood and stretched his arms above him, shaking away the last vestiges of sleep and the nightmares. He looked around, still amazed at how lavish his surroundings were. It was a far cry from the dingy abandoned docks he was staying at just a month ago, but Bennett was thankful all the same. It still felt unreal to be here, and safe, in a room with a view, and his own bathroom.

  He still remembered Ifeya’s apology when she told him that while he had his own room, he’d have to share a kitchen and a couple of communal areas with the other members of the house. Bennett’s only response was that he didn’t even think he merited his own room. He certainly never had one when he was Marcel’s pet warlock.

  “Nonsense,” Ifeya answered back. “You are a child of the House of Fidelis now, dear heart, and we take care of our own.”

  Bennett snapped out of his reverie, feeling a ghost of a smile begin to appear over his face. He moved over to his cabinet, pulling out his clothes for the day—a simple black sweater and a pair of dark, stone-washed jeans—and combing his hair, trying to tame his bedhead before heading out the door and walking down a hallway toward the common room.