Page 70 of My Hexed Honeymoon

She scoffs. “I should’ve known you’d find your sense of loyalty the second I married you off to the dogs.”

While I tried to fortify myself with all of the shitty things she’d said and done so I’d be strong enough to stand a chance against her, that stung, a sharp pang in my chest that refused to fade.

I blink at the tears blurring my eyes, telling myself I refuse to be embarrassed over shedding them, just like the many times growing up when she yelled at me for crying. “Why marry me off to produce an heir if you were just going to make a deal with the vampires?”

“Because I didn’t have the loom.”

I flinch, jaw locking. “But you tied Kerrigan's life to my conceiving.”

Andromeda shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t care if the veterinarian lives or dies. I just knew the second you had a werewolf pup in your belly, you’d be able to gain entry to the Hollow—Riven was the one who assured me we could convince you to access it sooner that night in the forest after your wedding. I struck my deal with them then, as the Blood Loom was always the goal.”

My mother hugs it tighter to her chest, and I tell myself that’s not jealousy churning in my gut. Is it weird to think it’s at least better than fear?

At the wave of her hand, Riven and the rest of the witches back away, much like my two wolves did, and Andromeda lowers her voice. “The vampires think it’s theirs, but they’re wrong. And once they defeat the wolves”—this time she dips even quieter than a whisper, until it’s really more about reading her lips. I’ll use it to control them. It was made by a witch for a witch.”

“It was made for a Realmweaver—made for me.”

Andromeda tilts her head, letting me know she noticed my words had come out with a bite. “Ah, so you do feel the pull. You just might be my daughter after all.”

I stop thinking and reacting to her barbs and go on the attack. I whip up my hands, golden threads erupting from my palms and slamming into Andromeda’s face like a huge fist.

Her head wrenches back, and she stumbles a few feet, visibly stunned by my powers and the fact that I’d dare use them on her.

Not gonna lie, that was tremendously satisfying.

She wipes the blood that trickles from her nose, feeding it to the loom as we circle each other. Gripping the bone handles over the carved runes, she utters an incantation and raises a hand that glows green.

I brace myself the best I can as a wave of power slams into my chest, strong enough to send me sprawling across grass and soil.

Blood curses are one of my mother’s specialties, and I definitely felt the supercharged punch of the loom. I should’ve realized before that’s another reason she’d be drawn to that particular weapon. I bet it’s how she sent out that blast that froze so many werewolves at once, manipulating their blood and combining it with a binding hex strengthened by the shared focus of the other witches.

“It’ll never be enough, no matter how much power you gain,” I say as I push to my feet, well aware I’m wasting my breath but unable to help myself anyway—she is my mother after all, regardless of rarely ever acting like one. “You don’t have to do this. Hand over the Blood Loom, and we can continue on with the alliance we made with my marriage.”

“Spoken like the weakling you are,” Andromeda says. “You can’t see the big picture—you never could.”

“I’m not weak,” I spit, straightening to my full height and lifting my chin. “I just never wanted to become like you—a witch supremacist who’s willing to murder children in their beds. Someone who uses cruelty and calls it power.”

Andromeda simply raises an eyebrow, the pursing of her lips conveying her habitual disappointment. “That’s why you’ll always fail. Magic isn’t meant for the meek.”

As if to prove her point, she slices her palm with a small but wicked-looking dagger. She lets the loom drink it in, then hurls a whip of something at me.

Her blood, I realize as it slices into my shoulder, leaving a puncture wound of pain that immediately blooms red.

She’s using her blood the way I do my lifeforce, forming it into a weapon.

Shit. How am I ever going to defeat her when she has the tool I need in her possession?

You’re going to have to take it back.

Gritting my teeth with resolve, I snarl and swing a chain of braided threads in return, forming another kusarigama and launching the scythe at her torso.

Andromeda dodges, the blade just kissing her gut. It sends her into the cluster of witches with their faces turned to the sky, and for a moment, the tiniest sips of sunlight leak through.

Vampires hiss and yelp in pain around us, allowing the werewolves a fraction of a second to get in an unguarded hit before it’s dark once again.

Andromeda recovers faster, sending another shard of blood through my opposite shoulder. She’s not looking to kill me, she’s just doing what she’s always done—hurt me. Physically and emotionally, as she tries to carve a legacy I don’t want into my bones.

I throw out my arm and the thin crimson blade shatters, the pieces falling to the ground where they glitter, the sanguine color now dripping down my arm.

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