Page 8 of Wedded Witch

That was before we said our vows and shared the most earth-shattering kiss of my life, and our wedded bonds snapped into place, tying us together for all eternity. There is no escaping this marriage, because our coven doesn’t believe in divorce.

Fuck.

Someone out there sure has a warped sense of humour in bringing me Oland Lambert.

My husband. The six-foot-six guy who looks like a Viking or Norse God – all broad shoulders, blond locks, and brooding expressions. He has a nice laugh though, and his face completely changes when he smiles.

His striking silver eyes become warmer when he loosens up a bit, even though there’s something compelling about his icy demeanour that heats up my core. And his scent…oh god, don’t get me started on how divine that man smells.

It should be illegal. I think cedar wood just became my new favourite smell.

And the velvet feel of his lips…

I never expected to be attracted to the man. Never thought I’d find myself falling asleep to the image of him, the memory of the warmth of his touch, when we danced, seared into my skin like a brand, my own hands tempted to wander across my skin, chasing pleasure in his image.

Thank fuck I didn’t, because one minute my hands are trailing lightly over my breasts, and the next I’m back in Spells Hollow, my great-whatever-gramps staring at me reproachfully. My hands snapped to my sides faster than a bolt of lightning can strike, and with just as much violence.

When I woke from yet another creepy prophetic dream from great-whatever-gramps, Elias, I knew I needed to run. He was so disappointed in me for marrying Oland, going as far as tobaaat me for being a ‘typical Galdur senseless sheep, with shit for brains’.

Lovely.

Miss you too, gramps.

But he’s right.

I sheeped out. I’m making that a thing. I sheeped out and took the easy route – the one of least resistance. I know thatbreaking this curse or giving my family the heir they’re so desperate for won’t be as easy.

Marrying Olandwaseasy. Easier than telling my mother I was refusing to go through with their crazy scheme, which is pretty much the only reason I saidI do.

That, and hormones. Being overcome with dizzying attraction for Oland at the altar made my head spin and my sense depart.

Elias was adamant. It didn’t matter that he was too late, I’d married Oland and the deed was practically a done deal at this point. He was steadfast and resolute in his insistence that I go to somewhere calledSpells Hollowto break the family curse.

So I’ve climbed out of bed, gotten changed and grabbed the bag I’d hastily packed earlier this morning, figuring that I won’t get any peace from gramps until I do as he demands.

I was tempted to knock on Oland’s door, to ask him to run away with me, or to beg him to make a detour en-route to whatever honeymoon he arranged for us.

And then I remember one crucial detail my mother had given me a few weeks ago in the lead up to the wedding.

Oland Lambert is a Watcher.His family has watched over ours for centuries and he’s bound by more rules and laws than even we are.Meaning, he can not be trusted.No matter how much I’m attracted to him.

So I am going to run.

Alone.

And no-one, not my breeding-obsessed family or my brand new Watcher husband, is going to stop me.

The night airis crisp against my skin as I slip out of the manor, the silence heavy with the weight of my decision. My steps are light, but every creak of the old floorboards feels like a betrayal, echoing in my ears as I make my way through the dimly lit corridors.

I don’t know where Oland is. I stopped to listen outside his bedroom door and heard nothing, and I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. Part of me fears he’ll appear around the next corner, catching me in the act, while another part – the part that still thrills at the memory of his touch – almost hopes for it.

But there’s no sign of him. Just the darkened halls and the heavy, ancient magic that lingers in the air, a reminder of the vows I took not so long ago.

At the main door, I pause. My hand hovers over the handle, the weight of what I’m about to do pressing down on me. A million doubts flood my mind – what if this is a mistake? What if leaving now means I’ll never have the chance to break the curse? What if I’m walking away from the only person who could ever understand what it’s like to be bound by fate?

But then I remember Gramps’ voice in my dream, harsh and unyielding, and I know I have to go. If I stay, I’m just playing into their hands, becoming the puppet they want me to be. I refuse to be controlled, even by fate.

I push the door open, and the cold night air greets me like an old friend. The world outside feels vast and full of possibilities, a stark contrast to the suffocating weight of the family-filledmanor. I take a deep breath and step out, pulling the hood of my lightweight jacket over my head.

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