Page 11 of My Hexed Honeymoon (The Bridgewater Pack #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The compound doesn’t get many peaceful nights anymore. Between vampire threats, a hex that took away our regenerative properties, and a total change-up in leadership, the past couple of months have been so thick with tension that I’m half-expecting someone to snap.

It’ll probably be me, given my recent luck.

We didn’t get much celebrating done at the wedding, either, our chance to let loose interrupted. Which is why, a week later, Conall and Kerrigan decided to throw together a casual weenie roast in one of the nearby clearings.

Grilled meat, bottles of beer passed around, and a roaring bonfire. There are packages of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers on the table, many a parent telling their pups they’ll have to eat their dinner before getting their sticky dessert.

Lights with fat bulbs are strung between trees—given our supernatural sight renders them useless or too bright, I’m guessing that was Kerrigan’s addition.

Point is, the entire scene radiates a chill vibe that lowers my blood pressure and makes it feel like we’re just a bunch of friendly neighbors, out enjoying a perfect summer evening.

I spent the last two hours dealing with pack matters and a meeting that couldn’t have been an email, but goddamn did it go on and on and make me wish I could send everyone an email. One that said: I make the rules, and I don’t want to hear any whining about it.

I sent a text to Natalia, letting her know the meeting was running long. I added that I could send someone to escort her to the party, or I could come collect her myself a little later, but she hadn’t replied.

Maybe that was just as well.

I make a slow lap around the perimeter, exchanging pleasantries and ensuring there’s nothing out of order before drifting closer to the fire. There’s happy chatter and laughter and an underlying hum of contentment I haven’t felt in too damn long.

I spot Kerrigan tossing her head back in laughter while Conall tries to defend himself from whatever teasing she’s laid on him. It hits me then, how easily they fit. How different things could be if my life had taken a different path.

When I volunteered to play groom so Conall could be with his soul mate, I meant it. Seeing them now, I’d do it again and again, no matter how many forks in the road it cost me.

But as much as I claimed to never want marriage and a family that could eventually be ripped away from me, their love is also a reminder of what I’ve given up.

Yeah, but would you really give up Natalia?

A voice roars from deep within, furious at the mere idea. Even though it’s against my own brain, I do my best to argue that this was supposed to be a different reality, in an alternate timeline.

The bond we forged at the wedding ceremony won’t let me even consider it, though.

Yep. That’s all it is. Nothing to do with how incredible she felt in my arms.

Or that whenever we attempted to break down all the walls the Hollow threw up, it felt like an entirely different world. One where we still sniped at each other the entire hike, but

standing linked together on that precipice of a mountain top, we felt like a Team. Like that us against the world shit I’ve heard so much about but always failed to buy.

Until I saw it happen to my best friend.

Tyrese nods at my approach.

Nissa cradles her belly at his side, probably only weeks from giving birth now, and that little life—along with theirs and the entire pack’s—rests on my shoulders.

“Glad to see you could make it,” Tyrese says. He drapes an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I figured you’d be busy with the witch in the honeymoon suite.”

“Be nice.” Nissa thwacks him in the chest, saving me from having to.

Wait, I want to do the thumping, and I’m not even sure which kind I’m talking about anymore.

My skin prickles at a familiar honeysuckle vanilla scent that filters through the campfire smoke and the rest of the crowd. I’m like Pepe Le Pew floating after his lady love, a sexy cat he honestly has no chance with.

Shit. That comparison feels more and more apt by the second.

Figures I’d end up being some overly confident skunk who drools over some woman, calling her “ma chérie” while unaware of my own powerful stench.

Several pack members pass by with nods or raised bottles. I bob my head and mumble replies and lift my own beer in response—but I don’t take my eyes off the blonde at the edge of the circle, her features illuminated in flickering waves as she steps closer to the glow of the firelight.

The magnetic pull in the center of my chest grows impossible to ignore, and then I’m excusing myself and making my way across the space to intercept my beautiful bride.

And for the record, referring to her as “beautiful” isn’t me being a softie or any sort of admission of feelings—any idiot could see it as well as I could, she was a certified knockout.

“Hey,” I say as I approach her, suddenly struggling for words. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, well.” Natalia shuffles her feet, her gaze remaining fixed on the motion. “I’ve never been to a bonfire or had s’mores before, so I couldn’t resist.”

I know I’m looking at her like she started speaking another language, but I continue to stare far past the polite range.

She hugs one arm around her middle, fingers wrapping around the other above the elbow. “What?”

“Sorry. Camping is such a big part of our life and always has been.” Despite telling myself to play it cool, I can feel my eyebrows scrunching together. “You’ve never had s’mores?”

“Never,” she says. “I always wanted to try one, but my mother said fires were for cauldrons.”

I honestly have no idea whether she’s kidding or not. About the cauldron. The claim about never having a s’more rings true, but there’s always an erratic spike in her pulse when she speaks about Andromeda. “Let’s get you a good stick and roast you some marshmallows.”

Natalia shuffles a couple of steps closer and rocks onto the balls of her feet, fiddling with one of her golden curls. “Aren’t you going to tell me I need to roast a wiener first?”

“Trust me, I’d never tell you such a thing.” Flashing her a lopsided smile, I place a protective hand over my package, adding an extra barrier to the denim. “Call it a hunch, but I think you might consider it a challenge.”

She laughs full out, this intoxicating noise of pure joy and, fuck me , I’m going to spend the entire night trying to earn another. “And who says you’re not smart?”

“Nobody better be saying that.” I crack my knuckles in mock threat.

“You know that a show of brute force isn’t exactly pleading a good case for you, right?”

“Then I suppose I’ll use that brute force to help you make dessert.”

“Oh, it’s undeniably going to be my dinner, too.” She hooks her fingers in the crook of my arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but the humor fades from her features as she looks around the fire.

I follow suit, a second behind, and a low rumble vibrates from my throat at what I see.

Glares.

Resentment and animosity.

If anyone deserves to feel that way, it’s me, so they can get the fuck over it, and quick.

I raise my voice to be heard over the din of conversation and roar of the fire.

“Natalia is my wife and my mate, and she’s to be treated with the utmost respect.

She’s under our protection.” Letting the gold roll over my eyes, I go ahead and infuse the full alpha stare that requires submission.

“Under my protection. She’s one of ours now, and anyone who has a problem with that is free to take it up with me. ”

Silence stretches out for a handful of seconds, the crackling of the fire and breeze in the trees the only sound.

An affirmative verbalization from the group accompanies nods before they return to their own business, as it should be.

Placing my hand over the hand Natalia keeps at my elbow, I stride toward the table with all the food.

“I appreciate you sticking up for me, but I doubt that’ll make me any more popular,” she says.

“This isn’t a popularity contest. It’s pack mentality, and I’m the leader, so they can deal with it.”

“Pack mentality, huh?” She picks her way over stones, leaning more heavily against my side and relying more on me in a way that makes me feel ten feet tall. “And how, pray tell, do you expect them not to hate me when you feel the same way?”

I come to a dead stop, whirring to face her so quickly that I brace my hands at her waist just in case.

Also because my hands go there, okay?

“I don’t…” The assuring words I mean to say won’t come. “…hate you exactly.”

She laughs again, a little sardonically, and I frown, because it’s definitely at my expense. “Sorry. It’s just that you can’t even convince yourself of it. You certainly didn’t convince me.”

A desperate sense of urgency inundates my system.

The next thing I know, my hand is on her cheek. Strands of her hair swirl in the wind, silkily grazing my arm.

God, I ache to drive my fingers into the gold, fisting the strands and angling her lips to open up beneath mine.

Our mouths are mere inches apart, her minty fresh breath indicating she recently brushed her teeth. With her body becoming pliant, a certain part of me is growing hard, threatening to show everyone precisely what this woman is doing to me.

I dip my head, leaning dangerously close to the gorgeous witch and brushing my mouth over hers. I leave it there for a beat, savoring her gasp and her soft curves before moving my lips to her ear. I nip lightly at the shell, grinning at the scent of her arousal dampening her panties.

“I don’t hate you,” I whisper in her ear.

Shallow breaths leave her chest bumping against mine, in and out, up and down. Bump, bump, bump.

“Believe me now?” I ask.

“Everyone calls me Talia, by the way,” she says, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel my erection growing against her belly. “As for the rest…we’ll see.”