Page 30 of My Hexed Honeymoon

It doesn’t even lodge in the ground, either, just flops over as if unimpressed.

A few chuckles echo behind us.

My cheeks flame, but I charge forward with determination and pick up the ax. I make a beeline right back to Diego and say, “That was just a warm-up and getting a feel for the space. I want to try again.”

“Of course. Maybe try a little closer this time?”

“Farther back, actually.”

Confusion knits his brow. “Farther up, you mean.”

“Nope.” I flash him a grin before I turn on my heel and head in the opposite direction of the target. “As much as I appreciate your technique, I’m gonna try one of my own.”

I walk to the same line he and Conall used, gripping the handle the way he showed me and taking aim. “This is where the big boys play from, right?”

“Natalia,” he says in that low, gravelly voice that never fails to make my stomach tighten. Before him, the only person to use itwas my mother, and she managed to pack her disgust for me into every single letter and syllable.

Diego rolls it off his tongue, dripping with honey, even when he’s irritated.

“Scoot back.” I wave him toward the right so I’ll have an extra wide berth. “If you’re in the way, how will I hit the bullseye?”

Every single feature of his floods with skepticism.

Anticipation literally sings through my veins—this is going to be so fun, watching all their awe-struck faces.

I lift the ax over my head, then I channel magic through my arms and into my fingers. Full blast, I let it flow as I let the weapon fly.

Kind of sort of like Diego instructed, but with a shimmer of green in its wake.

It soars toward the target, the trajectory perfect to hit that red, scarred circle in the middle.

Then it veers abruptly to the left.

Gasps go up around me.

It weaves a sparkly path around trees, creating gorgeous figure eight shapes in a greenish gold, to curve around a third trunk and boomerang back around…

And lodges deep in the bullseye, splintering the wooden target clean in half.How’s that for power, you cocky werewolves?

Proof that sometimes strength comes from within—that’s what that is.

Only the forest has gone dead silent.

Not in that peaceful, blissful type of way, but with so much tension choking the air, nothing else dares make a sound.

I look to Diego, expecting him to be smiling, impressed, maybe a little bewildered.

But his face has transformed into an unreadable mask.

Is this that toxic masculinity I’ve read about? Where they can’t handle a strong woman?

But wait, Nissa’s hugely pregnant and still one of their top officers, so that doesn’t make sense.

Dozens of wolves stare at me, eyes narrowed and lips curled with disgust. As my gaze sweeps over them, they straighten and tense their muscles.

Some of the smaller audience members back away like I’m a ticking timebomb about to explode.

Gone is the warmth of the bonfire, and I don’t mean the flames. The stickiness and melty chocolate of my dessert has disappeared, licked clean not from my mouth but my display.

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