Page 1 of My Hexed Honeymoon (The Bridgewater Pack #2)

CHAPTER ONE

You ever have one of those weeks that just won’t stop?

A week that kicks your ass so thoroughly that you find yourself at the end of a rose-petal-strewn aisle, beneath an altar made up of a crescent moon and a pentagram, about to marry a werewolf?

Talk about an unholy union.

Given the brooding, seething mutt across from me, it’ll be a union filled with howling, growling, and gnashing of teeth.

Which is fine by me, because I want to bite Diego De la Cruz right back.

I’ll admit that when the beautiful man with bronze skin, dark hair and scruff, and dimples for days shouted his objections before the ceremony had even begun, a dangerous amount of hope beckoned. For a moment, I wondered if Prince Charming truly did exist.

But the hulking hottie ended up being nothing more than some neanderthal on a power trip.

Now I’m in the exact spot I was earlier, betrothed to an alpha werewolf, desperately searching for a way out.

It’s not like I longed to return to Mommy Dearest’s coven of like-minded witches. While the werewolves started this battle, my mother and the Ironwood Coven she aligned us with had been merciless when they’d gone after the Bridgewater Pack.

From there, an alliance had been forged, and lucky me, I got to be the pawn.

At the beginning of the ceremony, a werewolf named Conall Shaw had been my groom-to-be. While he was in love with a human, I figured that’d only make our marriage of alliance easier. But mere minutes before the exchanging of our vows, Diego challenged the former alpha for the number one spot.

The fight had burrowed a trail through the forest.

At the end of the literal fight for top dog, Diego De la Cruz came out on top, and Conall, no longer alpha of the pack, could be with woman he loved.

Now I’m back where I started the evening, draped in white and standing beneath a wedding altar, my breath growing shallow as the weight of the spellbound vows we’re about to exchange bears down on me.

That’s the thing about ceremonies involving magic: following through isn’t so much optional as vital to prolonging your life. The fidelity clause had claws, and as the officiant began his spiel, I swore I felt them digging into my churning gut.

As much as I’d acted like I didn’t care if the spell on the local veterinarian took her out or not, guilt plagued me over everything my mother had done to the woman the last alpha had fallen in love with. And yes, I’d been involved in her kidnapping, although it was under duress.

Most everything I’ve done for as long as I can remember has been under duress.

But there was being sorry for the part I played, and then there was binding my life to the tuxedoed werewolf across from me.

Resentment thickens the air between us, tension coiling like a snake ready to strike.

Using the special power I was gifted with, I reach out with my astral senses, feeling for the spark of every creature and plant in the forest. Birds, bunnies, a chipmunk family…

There, far enough it’s barely a glimmer, an Eastern hognose snake.

Not that I should be entertaining the idea of persuading a snake to slither on over and dig its fangs into my betrothed, who’s wrinkling his nose over being asked if he’ll take me, to have and to hold.

“…until your bloodline unites both caster and beast, ensuring the safety of both species for generations to come.”

Sure. A witchy werewolf is all that’s missing when it comes to convincing two species who’ve hated each other for centuries to get along.

I get it, though, why Mother forced the deal. We’re a dying breed, hunted by both werewolf and vampire alike. I’d go on a rant about the role misogyny played, but I really should save something for the honeymoon, you know?

A strong breeze rustles through the pines, swirling the veil atop my blond curls as the witch marrying us details bargains made in blood. My fingers tighten around the bouquet I hold, the stems creaking under the pressure and releasing an evergreen scent I long to follow to another plane entirely.

This is it. The moment I say yes and become a glorified breed mate.

Anger sings through my veins and simmers my blood. I can’t get over what a fucking hypocrite my mother is, raising me to come into power and then stripping me of my freedom and my future to serve her purposes.

Across from me, Diego stands firm, a fortress of chiseled strength. His broad shoulders are squared beneath inky black lapels, sharp jaw locked in place like he’s facing his execution.

Yeah, me too, buddy. I’d rather go find that snake to play with than spend a single evening with you.

Heat darts through me as my gaze catches on his hands, flexing and relaxing at his side. His knuckles are slightly raw from his earlier brawl, and something about the bloody, ragged skin has me imagining him putting those destructive hands on me—but in the name of pleasure, not pain.

Fine. Maybe one evening wouldn’t be so bad.

His golden-brown skin catches the late afternoon light while deep-set, blackest of brown eyes watch me with guarded detachment. His onyx hair is neatly styled, but a rebellious strand curls onto his forehead, a betrayal of the control he so desperately clings to.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve picked up on about my groom during these past twenty or so minutes I’ve known him.

While Diego technically won the physical battle against his best friend and former alpha, Conall, he appears a bit lost. Like a puppy who’s bit off more than he can chew but forced to finish the meal anyway.

If I wasn’t too fixated on watching the light go out of my own life, I might’ve pitied him—actually pitied a mangy werewolf who thinks brute force is what makes him the toughest.

Sadly, it’s a sentiment my mother shared. Brains would conquer brawn in the right situation; I just needed to figure out what that situation was and find it.

Any other evening, maybe I could have a chuckle over the irony.

Here we stand, a witch and a werewolf, picture perfect from a distance.

But zoom in, and we’re a reluctant bride and a shifty groom, shackled by duty and magic. Not celebrating a beginning but mourning a chance at finding a partner who truly loves and cherishes us. A partner who’ll make the cruel world feel a little less lonely.

“I will,” Diego says, and my heart hammers harder in my chest. Are we already to the part where we say I do?

I’ve always loved that part of supernatural ceremonies. We’re not saying “I do” in the present tense, but “I will” in the sense we’re promising forever.

Forever. The word echoes through my head like a resounding gong while my gut drops down to the bejeweled heels on my feet. Amethysts, garnets, sapphires, and emeralds wink in the twinkling lights, each of them a reminder that this union serves a mystical purpose.

The bell sleeves of my dress billow around me with every little nervous shift, constantly drawing focus to the antique lace that truly is strikingly beautiful. Flowers are woven through my hair, each of them given to me by one of my coven sisters.

Dressed like the princess I am, a doll improperly trained to do the evil queen’s bidding.

If I refuse, that evil queen who masqueraded as my mother would make an example out of me, and the human veterinarian dies.

Bitterness wells within me, caustic and soul-destroying. While she’ll use my empathy to coerce me into this marriage, she also views it as a weakness, and I’m so sick of losing on every single side.

“Natalia Burroughs of the Oldenwilde Clan, will you take Diego De la Cruz, alpha of the Bridgewater Pack, to be your fated mate, bound by moon and magic, till your souls depart this realm?”

If I agree to the outlined terms, I surrender myself to a man who sees me as nothing more than a breed mate. A means to an end and an oven to put a bun in. Ew.

Pinpricks of pain fire up the back of my neck. Mother’s glare, with a side of witchcraft. I don’t have to look at her spot in the front row to know she’s glowering, willing me into compliance. Her oppressive presence has cast a shadow over my entire life, extra shady and inescapable.

No one crossed Andromeda, High Priestess of the Oldenwilde Coven. She’d orchestrated this entire arrangement and, as she reminded me countless times through the years, will absolutely not tolerate defiance.

A cold sweat breaks out, fear sending chill bumps up and down my spine. I’ve fought her before, and it never ends well. Every attempt to push back was met with biting magic and crushing consequences. I was always too soft, too weak. That’s what she’d told me over and over again.

And now, here I am, proving her right. I don’t know what terrifies me more—this life I never wanted, or the fact that I’m too afraid to fight for a different one.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. After all, being bargained and bred to the werewolf gets me out from under her thumb.

If only it didn’t feel like just another cage, one without a door.

But if Diego De la Cruz can power through and vow himself to me despite the permanently disgusted look on his face, I suppose I can do the same to him.

The officiant raises an eyebrow at me, waiting. The spell-bound contract hovers in the air, sparking with shimmering magic that’s eager to seal my fate.

“I will,” I say, inhaling sharply at the dizzying current that ripples through the air and gives me a jolt.

Something about it causes the glowing, astral threads that weave the fabric of the universe to blink out like an overpowered breaker that needs to be reset.

Pressure builds and pops in my head, and then my astral power’s returned to me, the lifeforce that connects us all flickering to life before me once again, even stronger than before.

It’s slightly dizzying, the rush of blood and the glittering auras of too many people and creatures hitting me at once.

Something’s wrong. Off somehow.

The golden threads are vibrating like a fly caught in a spider’s web, alerting me that my domain’s been invaded by an excess of supernatural creatures when I’m already painfully aware.

“You may now kiss the bride,” our officiant announces, and I narrow my eyes and glare at my groom, almost daring him to try.

Then all those golden threads twang, playing a discordant chord that threatens to ruin the harmony of the rest of the world.

At the same time, Diego’s posture stiffens, his nostrils flaring as he scents the air. All of the shifters are fidgeting and perking up noses and ears, the movement strangely canine even in human form.

My groom’s eyes dart toward the trees, his posture shifting from funereal to predatory.

Andromeda’s spine shoots stick straight, her long nails that she sharpens into talons digging into her silk-clad thighs.

Her aura blinks, her fear filtering into it like a cloud of smoke.

It billows to me, seeing my mother truly afraid in a way she rarely is, and chokes the air from my lungs. If the woman who’s orchestrated ghastly horrors in the name of power is scared, what does that mean for the rest of us?

It’s then I feel the icy cool wrongness, the way the golden fibers of the astral plane shrink away from the abyss of space left by the undead. The murmurs from the uneasy crowd ripple through the meadow in a wave, witches and wolves alike sensing the disturbance in their own way.

Emerging from the forest’s depths, individual shapes begin to peel away from the tree line and step into the grassy clearing.

Great. As if marrying a werewolf wasn’t bad enough, we have wedding crashers, and they’re the type who don’t come to party but for a blood bath.

The word rustles through the crowd like a leaf on the breeze, panic and anger edging the voices and striking fear into my soul.

Vampires.