Page 51 of My Hexed Honeymoon

“We never said we wouldn’t help you,” I say, despite having no idea how I would be of much assistance besides asking Diego to pledge his pack members. “Our bargain involves working together to stop the Arcane Tribunal, which we still plan to do. But I can’t just hand over a weapon unless I know whoever bears it can properly wield it, and exactly how they plan to use it.”

The corner of Riven’s eye twitches. “Had we vampires not told you about it, you wouldn’t even know it exists.”

“Well now we do,” Diego says, radiating menace and the type of stubbornness

rocks break themselves against. “And since you needed us to retrieve it, we’re holding onto it until oursafereturn. End of story.”

With that, Riven broodily accepts that the decision has been made.

We don’t speak much after that.

We just hike. Through the thick underbrush and winding trails, the loom tucked into my pack, the memory of the Hollow at my back like a shadow still attached to me.

Down the same craggily path we created on our way up, each rock, tree, and shrub making me feel like we’re going in circles even though the slip and slide of my shoes proves we’re headed down.

Down the mountain, down to the vehicles. Three days of down to go, and I can’t stop looking for an escape route.

Given my supernatural companions, I have no illusions of outrunning them both.

It’s not that I don’t trust Diego. It’s that I’m not sure I fully can, and that scares me most of all. Because if he and the werewolves won’t help, I’m dead in the water.

Or am I being overly dramatic, getting so attached to a weapon clearly tucked away somewhere like that for a reason?

If I’m being totally honest, it’s probably a little of both.

Our rhythm becomes the crunch of soles against gravel and the occasional snap of twigs. I nearly trip and fall on a mangle of roots twice, but Diego is always there to catch me, a firm hand ringing the upper arm to keep me upright.

As much as I want to speak my whirring thoughts to him, I have to plan my timing perfectly.

I’m eager to return, so I don’t stop them for lunch, and even when my stomach growls for its dinner, I keep my rubber legs and burning thighs moving.

Until the sun dips behind the tallest of treetops, staining the sky a mixture of fiery pinks, purples, and golds.

We make camp between a pair of towering pines—they stand alone in a forest that shows signs of being burned. It’s been a handful of years, so there’s a lot of healing that’s been done, but of course it makes me think of the scene in both the Hollow and those of my childhood.

Diego must be on the same wavelength, because as we’re building the fire, he gives me a scrunched-forehead expression and asks, “Why did you ask if we put out the fire at the compound before it burned?”

Riven is off hunting for their dinner, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they remained within earshot. The only benefit of the quiet has been not having to lie or be extra careful of my words.

“In the Hollow I saw…” Hmm, which parts do I reveal and what do I edit out? I decide to keep it simple, while also skimming over the role I played. “The compound was on fire. I could feel the smoke burning my eyes and my lungs. People were fleeing.”

He swallows thickly, glancing down at the kindling before his shot-of-espresso eyes return to me. “That happened to my village—I was eleven. Conall and I were the only survivors.”

I try to swallow myself but can’t get past the lump in my throat. “That must’ve been hard. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs a shoulder, then straightens and swipes his palms together. “It’s why I hated you without giving you a chance—even though I know you’re not the one who did it.”

No, but I might’ve been there, and that kills me. More, I’m so afraid of the way he’d look at me if he found out I witnessed the destruction firsthand—if not the burning of his village, ones just like them.

I force my thighs into motion and stand, despite their achy complaints about the days and days of hiking and being put through the ringer. “We have a long history of hating each other, witches and werewolves. Vampires, too, if it makes you feel any better.”

Riven choses that moment to materialize with a swishing of leaves and a toss of their hair. “Ooh, are we discussing our lifetimes of loathing? I’ve got tomes on the subject, and one thing about being a live for centuries—I’ve read every one, more than once.”

I ramble out enough of a sentence I hope I played off my disappointment, but private time is over, so there goes any chance at having that in-depth conversation with Diego I urgently need to have.

Several times throughout the evening, while Diego and I have our dinner and the vampire paces the outskirts of the fire, I catch the lustful glances from Riven in my direction.

They’re no longer aimed at me, though. There’s a naked desire gleaming within the blue each time Riven catches sight of the Blood Loom at my side that scares me.

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