Page 10 of My Hexed Honeymoon

“Not like this,” Riven hisses, and I take a step in their direction.

Natalia stops me with a hand on my chest.

“The witches don’t get to rob us of our spellwork and use it to defend themselves and you lot while we’re hung out to dry,” Riven sneers, and my blood pumps faster through my veins, preparing my body for a fight, just in case. “This is our best chance of retrieval, though there’s a little more to it than that.”

I press my lips into a firm, unamused, and unsurprised line. “We’re not lifting a finger until you come all the way clean.”

“For the highest chance of success,” Cassius cuts in, lifting a finger as if he’s a professor teaching a lecture and he can’t wait to share a fun fact, “the Realmwalker needs to be bound to something.”

His eyes flash silver as he spares me the tiniest glance. “Or better yet, bound to someone strong enough to pull her back, with inherent ties to the moon. It’s the strongest tether we have to this realm.”

“Someone strong enough,” Natalia repeats as she processes the information. Then those mesmerizing eyes of hers turn on me again. “A werewolf.”

Helena smooths the fabric of her gown, satisfied. “So, you see, this arrangement is mutually beneficial. We require Talia’s unique talents, and in return, our vampire army will use the Blood Loom to ensure our survival and change the course of this war between the hunters for good.”

Suddenly the vampires were eager to protect us? Sounded too good to be true.

But entire packs and factions of other supernatural creatures were going missing on the northern front. It’s too big of acoincidence to actually be one. We’re being eradicated, and we were dying out already, which is one of the other reasons I agreed to this whole marriage and a baby thing.

Helena steps back, offering a final, knowing smile. “If you refuse this chance, make no mistake, there won’t be another. You’ll be the one without enough warriors to defend what’s coming, and we’ll not only watch, we’ll help.”

CHAPTER SIX

By the timewe make our way from the main lodge that stands at the center of an expansive, multi-leveled building with massive wooden beams and a wraparound balcony, exhaustion has seeped into every fiber of my being. Until tired is all I am, and it feels like tired is all I’ll ever be.

I’m not even sure where we’re headed as Diego and I leave the cluster of buildings that make the compound look more like a luxury mountain resort than a stronghold for werewolves. But here and there, the flicker of torches and sentries stationed along the perimeter remind me that beneath the polished, cozy woodland retreat, it’s very much a fortress.

A fortress I now call…home?

Not that the word has ever held much meaning for me. The only place that’s truly felt like home to me is when I’m lost in nature, a singular glittering thread in the complex life force webbing, only the plants and woodland creatures to comfort me.

“It’s this way, third house on the right,” Diego says, keeping a stoic pace with me. Proving that in this particular forest, the woodland creature plastered to my side all night doesn’t give a shit about soothing me.

While I’m entirely too drained to smile over the idea of referring to him as a woodland creature to his face, the corner of my mouth quirks at least a centimeter or two.

Bossy and broody, the responses I’ve received since leaving our meeting with the other heads of the supernatural clans have been primarily grunts. And while he kept his hand glued to the small of my back during that meeting and throughout the reception, he hasn’t touched me since we left the lodge, leading me to believe it was mostly for show.

Not that I want his touches and gestures to be for anything else, but it’d be nice if I didn’t feel so completely alone. We were both forced into this marriage, so it’s extra offensive he keeps acting likehegot the raw end of the deal.

But fine, be that way, and I don’t want any soothing or physical gestures from him anyway. All he symbolizes is another couple of decades of my lifeforce being slowly blotted out beneath the crushing weight of another stern thumb.

For a building I can make out in the glow of the moonlight, the walk to that third house on the right feels longer than it should. The weight of everything from the start of the ceremony to the vampires crashing the wedding and discovering there are more threats and a supernatural war to worry about hangs between us. Thick and suffocating, the heavy burden drags behind us like tin cans attached to the bumper of the car the newlyweds drive off in.

Fun fact: tying those noisy cans to the back was a tradition originally meant to ward off evil spirits.

Sadly, I don’t think that’ll work for us, as Diego and I are technically the things that go bump in the night.

Who’s going to fear a witch with no power?

A question posed to me by my mother countless times, I never understood why she thought I’d want to be feared. In myexperience, that came along with hatred, a truth I was too scared to share with her, but she’s the source of my aversion anyhow.

With a grunt, Diego inclines his head toward the flagstone walkway that carves a path through neatly trimmed grass and plenty of shrubbery. Two towering pine trees stand guard on either side of the wraparound porch, the dark wood of the exterior blending into the night.

Eastward facing, with floor-to-ceiling windows that must provide an extra glorious view at sunrise, in another world, coming home to such a gorgeous cabin would feel like a dream.

But lately, all life’s got to offer me is nightmares.

My heels catch on the stones, my fatigue causing me to drag my feet more than the terrain allows.

---