Page 13 of My Hexed Honeymoon

And somehow, I’m supposed to find a whole-ass weapon that’s hidden inside.

“This is why I should’ve stuck to jammies and cake,” I mutter, craning an arm around to unzip my dress.

Not only is the zipper in a difficult to reach spot, even when I get a fairly good grip on the tab, the damn thing won’t budge.

It’s stuck. Because of course it is.

When twisting myself into pretzel-ish shapes and tugging and swearing don’t work, I groan loud enough my groom can inevitably hear it—even without the supernatural hearing, it’s averyopen floor plan.

Swallowing back my pride and frustration, I call out his name. “Diego? I hate to ask, but I’m afraid I need your help.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

That couch looksa lot smaller than it did this morning.

I stand at the edge of the living room, loosening my bowtie, popping open the top two buttons of my shirt, and rolling my shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension that’s held them extra tight for hours.

The three-cushion sectional is fine—decent, even—but definitely not built for a man my size.

The truth is, everything feels more crowded now that I’m a married man, even with my bride hiding upstairs and commandeering my bedroom.

Today has been a goddamn shitshow, where I somehow went from Conall’s right hand man to the alpha of the Bridgewater Pack. Right in time for vampires to show up and tell us we’re in danger, and I’m still not sure whether to believe them or go on a killing spree.

My fists clench at my sides.

Then comes that musical, lilting voice, as if Natalia simply oozes the ethereal. “Diego? I hate to ask, but I’m afraid I need your help.”

At the request for assistance, my inner caveman roars to the surface. Just like that, I’m ready to throw her over my shoulder and catch her a sabretooth tiger. Not necessarily in that order.

I clear my throat and say, “I’ll be right up.”

First things first, I’ve got to get my head straight. Around her, I’m restless, unsettled, and on edge in a way I don’t like.

Because she’s a fucking witch. I hate her on principle, and yet I hate that I don’t hate her more. I was all set to go about my life as if nothing had really changed, and she could either sleep next to me or downstairs.

But I’d seen that flicker of fear in her eyes when she realized there was only one bed—seen that look on her face when her mother raised her palm to strike her.

I grit my teeth and let my neutral mask descend as I start up the stairs. After all, Natalia’s in the same shitty situation I am. Forced into a life she didn’t ask for and a brewing war she never signed up for. Yet somehow, together, we’re supposed to be the key to stopping it.

Like it or not.

No pressure or anything.

I exhale through my nose, doing my best to rid myself of the desire to inhale her sweet scent and hold it in my lungs forever. She smelled like running through a meadow on a warm summer’s day, wild honeysuckle, frankincense, and a sweet-almond vanilla, meadowsweet scent.

Natalia stands at the foot of the bed, her skin flushed from exertion. Her curls are frizzy and wild, no longer in the elegant style she wore beneath her veil at the wedding—as if I’ve already done the ravishing most grooms get to do.

A certain body part of mine twitches, letting me know it’s down. It’s been moons and moons since I last indulged, and had I known I’d be getting married at the start of today, I would’ve done more to slake my lust.

Natalia doesn’t say a word; she simply spins around, displaying inches and inches of creamy skin. Between the veils and the curls and the madness of the vampires, I didn’t see the low scoop in the back that lands right between her shoulder blades.

My throat works a swallow, and I take three long strides across the room.

I tower over her, my tiny bride with the ivory skin and golden hair. Licking my suddenly dry lips, I grip the tab of the zipper and tug, scowling when it doesn’t budge.

Curling a hand around her shoulder to brace both of us, I give it another yank, and she stumbles backward into my chest. Despite our height difference, her ass also pushes right into my crotch, and I just got my dick to settle down.

“I’m doing my best not to rip it,” I say, this moment as delicate as the fabric of the dress.

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