Page 5 of My Hexed Honeymoon

Rather than ask how I’m doing or slow his pace, my groom grips my upper arm and hauls me along, not bothering to be gentle.

My magic simmers beneath the surface, crackling and angry in a way I don’t typically experience. It calls to that darker sideof the occult that my mother plays in so frequently, which is why I’ve always shut it down before.

Tonight, as more of my life is about to be stripped from me, I’m tempted to dive into the darkness and see exactly how powerful I can be.

Powerful enough to beat Andromeda, though?

At the memory of the veterinarian nearly bleeding out in her own living room, deep gashes in her neck from my mother’s talons, the idea flickers out. Kerrigan will wear those scars forever, same way I’ll always have to live with the regret of pulling her through the portal and the part I played in her capture.

By the time we reach a spot out of hearing range from the rest of the wedding party, who’ve been instructed to go on to the reception without us, the moon is high. It illuminates the tippy tops of pine trees and bathes my gown in white light.

Wings flap above us as a great horned owl leaves its perch, not interested in becoming prey to this pack of apex predators. Not gonna lie, I’m more than a little jealous it gets to fly away.

I fight my instinct to watch the owl’s trail across the sky as those predators all turn their eyes on me.

Well, on me and my laconic groom, who’s posted at my side, seething in the intruders’ direction.

Tension lingers like a fog, obscuring features and heightening every sensation, until our entire group’s an overly tight string about to be plucked.

Beatrix, the High Priestess of the Ironwood Coven, and my mother are posted to our right, eyes narrowed at the vampires in distrust.

I don’t trust anyone here, but that’s not exactly a new phenomenon for me. For this witch, it’s just another Tuesday—or whatever day it is, I hardly keep track anymore.

Conall crosses his arms as he steps a few feet into the circle, a wall of muscle and malevolence.

Then Diego clears his throat and steps up next to Conall’s side, dragging me along with him. Reminding everybody he’s in charge.

“You came to my land uninvited, and I don’t take kindly to threats,” he says to the vampires in a deadly tone that sends a shiver down my spine. “State your terms before I rip your throats out.”

In other words, threats piss him off, so he’s issuing more threats. Cool, cool, cool. At least I’m not married to a hypocrite.

Also, that shiver was totally from fear and not admiring the power he commands with a couple of sentences. Just in case there was any question, because it feels like my body has a few.

“No introductions, then?” It comes from the elegant vampire who crashed the end of the ceremony, their deep red lips stretching into something resembling amusement.

Lean, with a fluid style and a killer sense of fashion, they have platinum hair that’s longer on top and closely cropped on the sides. It suits their angular features, and their beauty, genderless and timeless in a completely entrancing way.

They sigh and shake their head. “Nope, that just won’t do. While it’s obvious nobody taught you manners, centuries on this earth have taught me the value of decorum.

“This is Helena,” they say, gesturing to the female vampire at their side wearing a corseted, burgundy cocktail dress. Dark hair spills over her shoulders in a sleek curtain that frames her amplified cleavage, skin so pale it gleams in the moonlight.

They swing their arm to their right, indicating the vampire flanking their other side. Tall and broad-shouldered, his features are sharp, aristocratic, and carved with an arrogance only the truly ancient can achieve. “This is Cassius.”

Of course,that’s his name. It’s almost as if they’retryingto get called out for being the bloodsucking creatures they are.

Cassius’s silver eyes gleam like polished steel, contrasting deep umber skin and inky coils that are pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. He gives a slight nod as he adjusts lace cuffs from the Baroque era. If you googled vampire, an image similar to his would pop up.

“And I’m Riven,” they finish, placing a hand on their chest. Black fingernails contrast with the crisp white button-down that’s tucked into tailored slacks. Topped off with a cape coat they so effortlessly wear, there’s an undeniable magnetism about them. I’m also a big fan of the sarcastic way they bob their head at Conall and Diego and add, “Charmed, I’m sure.”

I find myself swaying toward their arched eyebrow and crooked smile, slightly breathless.By the moon and stars, I’m going wherever you are.

A low rumble comes from the man at my side, his fingers digging deeper into my arm. “Could you at least try to hide the fact that you’re drooling over another at our wedding?”

“Oh, is this our wedding?” I grit through my teeth, yanking free of Diego’s grasp. “How dare I forget while standing in the middle of the forest in a bridal gown, discussing an alliance with freaking vampires.”

Everyone falls silent—even the crickets that were chirping, far cheerier about their mating than I’d ever be.

“Natalia,” my mother chides, not one to miss a chance. Her existence is a constant blade against my neck, its sharpened edge at the ready. Jade green eyes, so similar to mine, cloud over with calculated cruelty.

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