Page 65 of My Hexed Honeymoon

Mutton Chops mutters something under his breath about how a witch shouldn’t be in a battle briefing, and the entire meeting comes to a screeching halt.

I flinch, preparing to remove myself for their comfort this time, but Diego’s growl rumbles from beside me, his flashing gold eyes causing every wolf in attendance to bow their heads.

“She saved my life,” Diego says in a booming voice that echoes around us. “She pulled a sword out of my back and stayed by my side while the vampires offered her power and freedom. If it weren’t for her, I’d be dead.”

I figured that would be enough to get the leers to stop, but Diego lifts our entwined fingers and kisses the back of my hand.

“Talia’s my mate. And yes, she’s a witch—a powerful one, willing to fight by our side. She doesn’t have to repress who she is. We need her for who she is.” Diego turns and looks at me now, as if we’re skipping through a meadow of flowers and have all the time in the world.

I’d look back at him forever if I could.

Then he says something that changes my entire world, something no one had ever said about me before. “I love her for who she is.”

My heart swells, almost too big for my chest. “You love me?”

I can’t help the vulnerability that comes along with the question, and the timing is absolute shit, but it’s the lighthouse in a storm I can cling to as we go head-to-head with Andromeda and the vampires.

“I know we didn’t get to do things the conventional way,” Diego says, lowering his voice to be more intimate, even though everyone in the vicinity will inevitably overhear—and likely be scowling. “But I love you, Natalia. I choose you as my wife and my mate. I’d go to war for you a hundred times over.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

A witch,thirty werewolves, and a veterinarian walk into a forest.

Once again, not a setup for a joke—just preparation for war against sixty vampires and two covens of witches, including my sadistic mother.

In other words, we’re marching into this battle slightly outmanned. Definitely outmatched when it comes to magic, but as the only magic-user against twenty-five other witches, I’m doing my best not to think about that.

There are two troops in the Bridgewater Pack, both composed of thirty wolves, but they left one behind and under the charge of Nissa, to protect the compound and its civilians. Kerrigan will remain back at camp to treat any injuries with the help of a werewolf named Sabine and her brother Justin, who’d transport the wounded, while the rest of us have only hours.

I’ll never understand my mother taking her hatred of the werewolves to such extremes, but admittedly, it’s nice, knowing I won’t be immediately overpowered by brute force.

This time I’ll have that on my side, but so will my mother.

Though the vampires will never wield the same pound-for-pound force, they have us beat in speed and agility. We’ll be attacking during daylight for obvious reasons, but something tells me the covens will have taken measures to counteract that vulnerability.

I’m also doing my best not to think about my sisters. While I always felt like an outsider and never truly connected with most of them, I’m not ready to deliver death blows for following my mother—for doing what I’ve done out of fear for most of my life.

At the same time, I never want to feel as helpless as when Riven forced me to hand over the loom—as when vampires tookmyweapon from me. That day, all I could do was stand there, my inner power failing me once again as vampires took my best defense against them away.

I keep beating myself up for not being stronger, but then I think of letting Diego die and wonder if there was ever actually a way to prevent a confrontation like this, with way more lives on the line.

Not without losing my soul, and while my mother bartered hers away long ago, I’m not ready to say goodbye to mine just yet.

Anyway, that’s what I thought before I had that unsettling dream during our three hours of ragged, uneasy rest after setting up camp. It started the same as it always did, with screaming and smoke and me standing in the center of it all, gleeful over committing such horrific acts. But last night’s dream was different. It started off the same, but it wasn’t like when I was in the Hollow, being prodded and whispered at by disembodied voices.

No, this felt more like a memory. In it, I saw the real purpose of the loom. I saw what my power could do if I stopped holding back and used the loom to untap my full potential.

More than a tool to amplify power, it siphoned its power from the shadow realm, amplifying whatever magic was already flowing through the wielder’s veins.

If a witch as powerful as Andromeda got it…

“It’s not just an amplifier,” I’d told Diego as soon as I woke up. “My great-great-aunt made the loom from her mother’s femur bones so that she could take her sisters with her to the other realms.

“Rather than be the adventure she hoped, it corrupted the sisters, leaving them hungry

for more power.” I wheezed as Diego finished cinching the belt with a dagger on either hip. “Right before she died, she hid the Blood Loom away in the Hollow, imbuing it with the tie to the moon so it’d take a Realmweaver working with the werewolves to have a chance to remove it and access its power.

“I’m the firstborn with the power in a hundred years—that loom was always meant to be mine.”

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