Page 15 of My Hexed Honeymoon

The only good witch is a dead witch.

Most curses have more heart than you.

Trusting a witch is like traipsing through the forest with steaks strapped to your ass and hoping for a hug from a bear.

“Go ahead and have your feelings tonight.” I clench and release my fists at my side and let gold roll over my eyes. The alpha headlights are new, and I’m slightly intoxicated by the surge of power. “But make no mistake, they don’t get to be more important than all the lives of my people that are on the line.”

Just before I turn and thunder down the stairs, I call out, “Tomorrow, you and I begin figuring out how to navigate the Hollow. And I certainly hope you’re up to the task. Because while I’ll never abuse you the way your mother did, I have no problem becoming your worst nightmare.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

I waketo golden sunlight pouring in through the skylight above the bed, blankets tangled around me and forming a cozy cocoon.

For a moment, I forget where I am. Regaining my bearings seems like a mistake, as the instant I do, the hollow ache that overtakes my chest dims the cheery, almost boastful morning light.

Hollow.

The Hollow.

With the pine-and-coffee scented air filling my head, yesterday’s events come crashing back to me in flashes.

I’m married. To a werewolf. Uninvited vampires attended our wedding.

Oh, and apparently the key to saving the entire supernatural world relies on my ability to navigate the insanely dangerous, in-between realm.

Awesome.

I sit up against the headboard and do my best to tamp down the dread that immediately rushes up to greet me.

My bridal gown is draped over the back of the executive desk chair tucked against the sleek desk, like Mr. Werewolf tackles tricky spreadsheets and mergers in his spare time. With the muddied hem and the zipper in the back slightly puckered from my struggle with it, the ivory garment looks a little worse for wear.

Much like me, I suppose.

On the nightstand, a fork lies licked clean next to the empty Tupperware that once held the only good part of the reception—cake. I didn’t cry while I ate it, but only because I was too tired to manage both at the same time.

I strain my ears, listening for sounds of movement. Last night I heard each time Diego tossed and turned, but the cabin is quiet now.

With a big stretch, I climb out of bed, groaning at how sore the arches of my feet are. My neck and shoulders are stiff as well, every part of my body reminding me that yesterday was long and hellacious.

The throb at my temples flares to life again, a punishing reminder of what attempting to peek into the Hollow will do.

Tomorrow, you and I begin figuring out how to navigate the Hollow…

While I’ll never abuse you the way your mother did, I have no problem becoming your worst nightmare.

That’s the thing with people who threaten and use brute force. They think their form of motivation is okay, no matter how damaging to the person they’re ordering around.

Strange as it sounds, sometimes I’d take the physical over the psychological. The sting of a slap fades within twenty to thirty minutes. Words that slice and shred leave internal scars that’ll gnaw at me forever.

And last night, my groom told me Ibelongedto him, adding he’dallowmy feelings, and capped it all off with a threat.

Honeymoon,my ass.

Maybe next time I’ll register for wolfsbane, crossbows, and silver daggers. Not that I’m planning on marrying another werewolf ever again. I don’t even want to be married to the one whose house I’m living in.

Cautiously, I pad downstairs, clinging to the handrail and taking the steps one by one.

Diego’s gruff voice drifts through my brain, another one of his gems from last night:Don’t fall would be my advice.

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