Page 72 of My Hexed Honeymoon

But no, I am not her.

I let go of the hate and lean into my splintered grief over losing the idea of a mother as well as a sisterhood I feltwelcomed by. I hold onto the balance and decide it’s high time I exert my control.

“Enough,” I yell, my voice cracking like a whip through the space between us.

My vines wrap me in a protective cocoon, tingling like my skin’s made of pure electricity.

I form a couple of long vines that look and act more like tentacles, calming down the length of the thorns before flinging them into the whirlwind of magic my mother’s protected herself with.

As my golden tentacles wrap around her and squeeze, the cyclone slows and fades away as my mother loses her ability to wield.

She writhes and screeches, finding thorns that are still long enough to make their point, pun very much intended. Despite everything she’s done, I’m glad I calmed them down to be slightly less brutal. My goal is to defeat her, not kill her.

And thenI’ll feed her to the wolves.

A grin plays across my face, even though I’m talking a very big game. It’s just the first time I’ve gained the upper hand against her in anything ever.

I roll her to me like a top, locking my eyes with her as she struggles against my vines and swears again.

“The loom,” I say, holding out my hand.

“I can’t give it to you with these fucking vines around me,” she says, and I guess that’s fair, though my mother’s never been fair to anyone else.

As soon as I get the weapon, I’ll use it to stop the witches holding the Overcaster Spell.

I can’t think about counting our losses or the amount of death and destruction on the battlefield—not right now.

Not until I finish securing our future. Tiny scratches cover my mother’s arms from the thorns, dried blood covers the spacebetween her nose and upper lip, and she has a few scratches on her cheeks as well. We’re both a battered, gruesome sight, I’m sure. I just want it to be over—to return to my home with the werewolves and never have to face her or her cold indifference again.

Andromeda keeps the sneer plastered on her face as she ever so slowly begins to lift the hand holding the Blood Loom.

It rattles like a weathervane in her hand, pointing to me, fervid in its desire to belong to me once again.

My throat goes dry, that overwhelming hunger rising up as I reach for the item I retrieved from the Hollow, another place I never hope to go again.

It’ll be nice to close this awful chapter and start a new one.

Andromeda looks down, not at the tool she’s relinquishing, but at my belly. “Hmm. Looks like you did get there.”

I frown, confusion cutting through the rush of adrenaline.

Then I glance down, wondering how she could possibly know, or if she’s lying to catch me off guard.

A faint, golden thread glimmers there, coming from my belly, a fluttering so impossibly delicate I hold my breath as I study it. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before, but then again, I’ve been a bit busy.

I’m pregnant.

My free hand automatically goes to my belly, cradling a glorious future I not only get to choose, but also want more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.

“Too bad it was too late,” Andromeda says, driving her dagger straight into my belly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I feelTalia’s terror a moment before it spikes even higher.

It slams into me like a blow to the chest, causing a reverberating sense of dread that nearly drops me to my knees.

I whip my head toward the direction her fear is coming from, scanning the chaos of the battlefield with panic swelling in my throat.

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