Page 14 of My Hexed Honeymoon (The Bridgewater Pack #2)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Diego’s arm snaps back, the ax a blur of metal and wood as it arcs through the air.
It lands dead center, splitting the handle of the ax Conall had lodged in the bullseye.
The crowd whoops and hollers, and Diego lifts his arms, eating up the applause and riling his audience up some more.
“Now who’s the showoff?” Conall mutters from the log he’s perched on next to Kerrigan, but there’s a proud gleam I didn’t expect after all the shit-talking they’d done when Diego told him to go ahead and leave the ax in the target so everyone could see the clear winner.
Then Diego waves me closer, signaling it’s my turn.
I skip over, excitement driving my bounce and my pace. There’s an itch in my palms and anxious energy coursing up and down my arms. The werewolves have shown me such a great time, I’m eager to contribute to tonight’s entertainment however I can.
Someone’s already dislodged Diego’s ax, as well as Conall’s mangled one. But there’s a whole freaking pile to my left to choose from, as if they’re doomsday-prepper lumberjacks.
Diego grips one of the axes below the crescent-shaped blade and extends me the handle with surprising gentleness. He’s grinning ear to ear, and while we’ve shared some jokes and toned down the barbs this past week, he’s truly in his element here.
It looks good on him, but that’s sort of like saying the sun is bright.
Nudging me forward, over to the line where Elias threw from. There’s a patch worn in the grass from all the werewolves who came before.
“You’ve got to grip it in both hands like you’re swinging a bat,” Diego says.
“Never swung one of those, but I get the gist.”
“What kind of fucked up childhood did you have? I thought mine was bad, and you make it look like Disneyland.”
I whir around, a little too fast—it’s a good thing he’s got fast reflexes and brawn to spare, because he barely dodges in time. “Sorry. I just… Have you been to Disneyland?”
“No, but I can’t say it’s ever been a goal destination for me, even as a kid. And while I might’ve missed out on Little League games and high school sports after our village was destroyed, Conall, Nissa, and I built this place to ensure future generations could.”
My organs go all mushy on me, as if I needed any more reasons to soften too much toward this man.
“We made it a point to ensure this village would never be destroyed like our last one was. So that we could give others that safety and assurance and strengthen our numbers after losing what was most precious to us.”
The harsh words he hurled at me in the forest during our very first outing ring in my ears again, but with new meaning. I’ve seen your kind slaughter dozens of werewolves. Women and children in their beds. An entire village burned to the ground.
No wonder he hates me. As curious as I am to know if it was a village on Mother Dearest’s death list, I’m terrified to know.
Because I also remember the screams of women and children being burned in their beds.
That charred and choking scent that stung my nostrils and coated my lungs.
How my mother yelled at me for crying and leaving streaks of weakness in the ash on my face.
I was about ten years old, but it wasn’t just that once.
It happened again and again, and after the destruction, I’d look behind me at the expanse of forest not on her war path and debate whether it’d be worth it to flee.
Given her powerful magic, she’d undoubtedly locate and punish me. I remember wondering so often as a child why she even had me; if she wouldn’t be happier if I ran away?
During an ugly fight when I was fourteen years old and dared to ask, she answered in the worst possible way. I thought you’d be powerful, not some ditzy girl with her head in the clouds.
It seemed extra ironic considering that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be—although I knew I was intelligent, if not clever enough to outmaneuver or overpower her.
Doing the grunt work of her evil bidding also made it crystal clear she only wanted me for who I could be and what I could do for her, and neither of those options was particularly motivating.
Which was when she’d switched to inflicting physical pain.
“Okay, so no sports metaphors for you,” Diego says, yanking me back into the present, in this clearing surrounded by werewolves. And somehow, I realize I feel less afraid than I ever did around my own mother.
Diego places his hands on either side of my waist and spins me back to face the target.
The heat of his body seeps into mine as he wraps himself around me, gripping the handle of the ax just above where I’ve now got two hands holding tight.
“It’s not so much about physical strength as physics.” He guides my arms through the motions, shifting his other hand a few inches above mine to maintain more control over the pointy end. “You’re going to let gravity, momentum, and torque do the work.”
Sure. That’d work for someone like me, with twigs for arms.
Even with his help, my muscles tremble with the unwieldy weight of the full-size ax. Didn’t people use hatchets nowadays?
His warm breath stirs the hair at my nape and tickles my ear, throwing my aim off completely. “Then you just let it fly.”
I heave it with all my might.
The ax thuds to the ground several feet shy of the target.
It doesn’t even lodge in the ground, either, just flops over as if unimpressed.
A few chuckles echo behind us.
My cheeks flame, but I charge forward with determination and pick up the ax. I make a beeline right back to Diego and say, “That was just a warm-up and getting a feel for the space. I want to try again.”
“Of course. Maybe try a little closer this time?”
“Farther back, actually.”
Confusion knits his brow. “Farther up, you mean.”
“Nope.” I flash him a grin before I turn on my heel and head in the opposite direction of the target. “As much as I appreciate your technique, I’m gonna try one of my own.”
I walk to the same line he and Conall used, gripping the handle the way he showed me and taking aim. “This is where the big boys play from, right?”
“Natalia,” he says in that low, gravelly voice that never fails to make my stomach tighten. Before him, the only person to use it was my mother, and she managed to pack her disgust for me into every single letter and syllable.
Diego rolls it off his tongue, dripping with honey, even when he’s irritated.
“Scoot back.” I wave him toward the right so I’ll have an extra wide berth. “If you’re in the way, how will I hit the bullseye?”
Every single feature of his floods with skepticism.
Anticipation literally sings through my veins—this is going to be so fun, watching all their awe-struck faces.
I lift the ax over my head, then I channel magic through my arms and into my fingers. Full blast, I let it flow as I let the weapon fly.
Kind of sort of like Diego instructed, but with a shimmer of green in its wake.
It soars toward the target, the trajectory perfect to hit that red, scarred circle in the middle.
Then it veers abruptly to the left.
Gasps go up around me.
It weaves a sparkly path around trees, creating gorgeous figure eight shapes in a greenish gold, to curve around a third trunk and boomerang back around…
And lodges deep in the bullseye, splintering the wooden target clean in half. How’s that for power, you cocky werewolves?
Proof that sometimes strength comes from within—that’s what that is.
Only the forest has gone dead silent.
Not in that peaceful, blissful type of way, but with so much tension choking the air, nothing else dares make a sound.
I look to Diego, expecting him to be smiling, impressed, maybe a little bewildered.
But his face has transformed into an unreadable mask.
Is this that toxic masculinity I’ve read about? Where they can’t handle a strong woman?
But wait, Nissa’s hugely pregnant and still one of their top officers, so that doesn’t make sense.
Dozens of wolves stare at me, eyes narrowed and lips curled with disgust. As my gaze sweeps over them, they straighten and tense their muscles.
Some of the smaller audience members back away like I’m a ticking timebomb about to explode.
Gone is the warmth of the bonfire, and I don’t mean the flames. The stickiness and melty chocolate of my dessert has disappeared, licked clean not from my mouth but my display.
This serves as a perfect reminder for why I never wanted this kind of magic—why I’m extra precautious and forever holding back a little.
Back a lot, honestly.
I really thought they’d find it funny—that’s all it was supposed to be, a light-hearted trick that earned me a laugh and perhaps an ounce of respect.
The wind picks up, a cool gust that causes the leaves to shiver in the trees and raises goosebumps on my arms. It’s the sort of frigidity I’m used to dealing with from my mother, and that’s what hurts most of all.
I recognize the fear and the hatred it causes in others, and the entire pack is looking at me in that exact same way.
I guess it’s the reminder I needed that I’m not one of them, and I never will be.
I can handle it from the rest of them, but when I seek out Diego, a muscle flexes in his jaw like he’s holding himself back—like when we fight in the forest.
Still, I plead with my eyes not to leave me out here in the open by myself any longer, now suddenly the bullseye in the target of their hatred.
His gaze drops to the ground. But it’s the shake of his head, like he can’t believe he’s married to me, that’s so utterly devastating.
It’s my fault for letting my guard down and thinking we could be friends—or at the very least civil.
Everyone peels off in clusters, leaving the area, until Diego and I are the only two who remain.
And I internally crumble, because that says everything.