Page 35 of My Hexed Honeymoon

“Well, at least you’ve maintained your flair for the dramatic,” Riven says, giving me a sarcastic smile.

I flip them off. “How’s this for flair?”

“Your delivery leaves a little to be desired. I could hardly hear the insult though all the wheezing.” Riven glances from me to Diego. “I’ll gather firewood.”

With that, they’re gone. I slide the straps from my shoulders and flop onto my backpack, using it for a seat.

The backpack Diego places down at my side is twice as big and at least three times as heavier, as he’s carrying the tent, sleeping bags, and a pan for cooking—something I learned he brought only for me the first night when he said, “Riven and I don’t mind a raw diet.”

So, he had moments of niceness.

Strangely enough, I think I’d prefer he be a straight-up asshole all the time. I was used to mean. It was when hope filtered in and whispered my life could be different that screwed with my emotions and my head.

Releasing a sigh, I slide from the top of my backpack to the ground, not bothering to move when the damp undergrowth seeps into the seat of my jeans. I feel the pulse of lifeforce in the plants around and beneath me as they release their crisp, earthen scent into the air.

There’s something different about the vegetation here. Ancient and tangled, a lush carpet of plants that’ve become one after being left undisturbed for centuries. Ferns unfurl around me like green lace on the forest floor, droplets of dew splatting my exposed arms. I inhale the damp soil, pine, and spot a patchof fungi that could help reduce stress and work as a tincture for dream enhancement.

They reach for me the same way I reach for them, sending puffs of vitality over me like pollen.

Diego rummages around in his pack, and then I hear the growing-familiar sounds of him pitching a tent.

And I mean that very literally, as there’s been no other tent-pitching lately.

Because who he is at his core hates who I am at mine.

It’s not bad enough I’ve loathed being a witch all my life—he’s gotta hate me for it, too.

My vision blurs with the threat of tears, and that simply won’t do. As my brusquely indifferent husband sets up our sleeping quarters, I sit up and examine the abundance of foliage I’ve planted myself in.

Tiny white flowers, like clumps of snow in the sea of green, call to me. Yarrow is great for stopping bleeding, as well as having anti-inflammatory properties. Combine that with the pine resin and a little magic, and I’d have a soothing salve for my blisters.

My stomach growls, and I place my hand over it. Medical ointments first, actual cooking of food later.

Limping slightly but doing my best not to, so Diego doesn’t give me that look—the one that says I should’ve let him carry me—I gather the ingredients. Snippets of information from my classes about herbal remedies come back to me as I mix them. Like how, in addition to creating a protective layer, pine resin also wards off spiritual intrusions, something that’s definitely in play here.

Icy fingers walk down my spine, that itchy sensation on the back of my neck cranking up my uneasiness. I’m as safe as I can be with my two ridiculously strong and speedy protectors, yet Ican’t shake the sensation that there’s something else watching me.

Waiting for me.

Waiting for me to screw up or just waiting, I’m not sure, but it’s beginning to get to me.

I’m a damn good potion master, I think as my elixir comes together.Take that, mother.

I glance at Diego, grunting and forcing poles into holes with a precision that leaves me a little hot and bothered. As exhausted as I am, I can’t believe I’m getting turned on watching him be all manly and creating us shelter, but I don’t have enough energy to fight it, so I idly acknowledge there’s a hedonistic yearning that comes along with the bond I can’t fully shake.

Closing my eyes, I shut out my grumpy werewolf groom and everything else. Focusing on the salve I’ve created, I whisper the incantation into the bowl-shaped rock.

“Blend of root, of leaf, of tree… Protect and bind with this, my healing breath.”

I gather up the magic inside of me, letting it well up before blowing air over the mixture, infusing it with the tingly plant-powered energy flowing freely inside me. It’s a deeper magic that’s been bottled up too long, hungry in a way I haven’t experienced in years.

“Bring swift relief and set pain free,” I finish, barely above a whisper.

It doesn’t matter how quietly I speak, though. Diego can hear me breathing and my pulse and every twig snap and rustle of leaves. He knows I’m doing magic—we’re here in this forest for the express purpose of me doing magic.

But now, as if it weren’t enough to have my mother’s critical voice running through my head, I see the expression on his face after the ax throwing contest.

This is why we’re keeping our eyes squeezed so tight.

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