Page 47 of My Hexed Honeymoon

You don’t belong with those mutts, anyway, precious threadling,an ancient voice purrs, feminine with all harsh edges.You have the power of your witch ancestors in your veins, but you’re too afraid to use it.

Joke’s on her. I don’t even knowhowto use it.

You tug at the seams of the universe and bring your enemies to their knees,the voice answers my unspoken question, velvety smooth but dripping with venom.

Smoke obscures my vision, my lungs straining with the black, belching clouds.

It’s only by letting go that you can truly be free.

I cough and wave at the smoke, my eyes stinging as the belching black cloud envelops me.

I glance back the way I came, but the hazy black exhaust is all I can see.

No tether, no Diego, no crack of sunlight to guide me toward fresh air and into the strong arms of a werewolf.

Mywerewolf.

That’s more than the bond talking, I’m almost sure.

They have the wool pulled over your eyes, Realmweaver. You’re so much more than a mate, more than a witch. You’ll always be too much for them, but you could be exactly whatweneed.

Let us teach you.The words caress my skin, cool against the blazing heat of the smoke, though I still can’t see the flames.

All at once, the smoke parts, and I see her.

I expect Andromeda, but it’s not my mother.

It’s me.

Standing on a ridge above the werewolf compound of the Bridgewater Pack, flames turning the sky orange. My hair blows wild around my shoulders, my eyes glow bright, and my mouth is curled in giddy joy over all the destruction I’ve caused. The wolves below scatter, women and children in the mix.

Buildings burn.

Either join us out there or join us in here forever.

And that’s when I see it—glinting in the reflection of the firelight, clutched in my other self’s hand. Bones hobbled together in a loom, the threads between made of ichor and blood that shimmers red in what seems like moonlight despite the lack of a moon.

The Blood Loom.

Powerful enough to return vampires their magic, something witches have hoarded for centuries, without question. I’m not sure I’m ready to hand over that type of power to the vampires, but I’m also not sure I have a choice.

“I need that loom,” I say, my voice hoarse from the smoke.

All at once I’m standing in front of myself, my heart pounding like it means to beat its way out of my chest.

I imagine my shadow-self handing me the bone rods that create the bars of the loom, and she slowly extends them toward me, this bloodthirsty warrior woman I could never be.

The second she-me places the gore-slicked tool in my hands, every instinct inside me screams.

Run.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

She’s been gone too long.

Except I don’t know how it feels to Talia with the Hollow messing with time and space in that way it does.

Anyway, I’m assuming. Now that she’s in there, lost to me in this realm, I’m kicking myself for not asking more questions. As her tether, I should really know when to pull her out.

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