Page 17 of My Hexed Honeymoon (The Bridgewater Pack #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A witch, a vampire, and a werewolf walk into a forest…

As much as I wish that were a setup for a joke, my two-day camping trip with a pair of creatures with supernatural speed and strength has been all too real.

Not funny at all, really.

In fact, if I were rating the experience, I’d give it zero stars.

Thanks to a spell, we have to repower each morning with the sunrise, the vampire is traveling during the day, out in the sunshine for the first time in their undead life.

Riven glides over roots and underbrush with ease, practically floating up steep inclines, gracefully agile even when the gravel slips beneath our feet. Diego simply tramples it, sure-footed and heavy enough to create his own path.

Meanwhile, I trip over everything that can be tripped over, huffing like an asthmatic squirrel trying to keep up.

But on this second straight day of playing jungle crusader, my footsteps fail me, my jelly legs refusing to take one more step.

This is what I get for clinging to my pride when Diego offered to carry me, the noble brute.

Who was I kidding? I didn’t have pride. All I had were sore muscles and blisters upon blisters—even with the fancy hiking boots the werewolves set me up with, gently used so they were already worn in.

“Okay, I’m calling it. We need to set up camp for the evening, or this is where you’ll have to bury me. ”

“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 patch of 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 I can’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.

Not sure when I became a royal We, but I have too many other problems to address that particular one at the moment.

Unfortunately, I do need my sight for proper application, so I pivot around, facing the opposite of the tent and the man placing sleeping bags inside it. Nudging off my shoes with my toes and then ridding my feet of my socks, I gather up my pain-relieving concoction and slather away.

“Ahhh.” It comes out unbidden, almost braggy. But my feet feel good for the first time in hours, so I stand by any sounds I make.

Diego’s head jerks up, my warning that Riven will come blasting into camp in three…

Two…

Logs clatter together as Riven drops them in a pile.

I appreciate how careful they are, minding the vegetation as they clear a space big enough for a small fire.

Day three of being on this journey means this is starting to feel normal, although normal typically means shitty for me.

All the silence between us means my brain is extra busy with everything we’re not saying. I don’t know what I’d do without Riven to break up the monotony. They’ve provided most of the commentary, as it feels like Diego and I are in the middle of a marital spat with no resolution.

Back at the compound, he’d instructed me to wait outside their werewolf chambers while they discussed what to do about my magic and whether I should even go on the journey with Riven.

“It’s pack business,” my irritatingly handsome husband said, attempting to usher me out of the room.

A few weeks ago, I probably would’ve accepted that. I would’ve just done as he wished and slunk off to await the big bad alpha’s decisions.

But three nights ago, when I hadn’t been hiking from morning to evening for days on end, I’d had enough of everyone ordering me around and telling me how my life was going to go.

I dug in my heels and spun around, finding my voice for long enough to let it really ring through the room. “This mission involves me, whether any of you like it or not. More than that, it centers around me and my ability to navigate the Hollow.”

I’d held Diego’s gaze for a beat, ignoring the gold in his eyes and setting my jaw. “As the mate of the alpha of the Bridgewater Pack, I also get a say. I’m staying.”

The werewolf council all blinked at me like I’d declared myself the Queen of England, but nobody said another word about me leaving the meeting after that.

“We’d be fools to trust Riven,” Nissa had said, hugging her pregnant belly protectively. “If this is a setup, we’re not only putting the alpha’s mate in danger, but the safety of the entire pack.”

After everything else I’ve been called, I suppose Alpha’s mate wasn’t the worst—hell, I’d used it to get my way only moments before. But the coldness that rang through it, contrasted with Nissa’s tangible fear for her loved ones, served as a slicing reminder that I was the outsider.

It gave me more in common with Riven than my husband, though I didn’t entirely trust them, either. Vampires were manipulative as it is, but the badass clapping over their own fire-starting skills was cocksure and effortlessly charming.

Red flags for sure.

“What is it, little witch?” They dance a bit closer, swirling tendrils of campfire smoke and its oak and pine scent through the air. “You’ve obviously got a lot going on in that gorgeous brain of yours, and I’d really like to get inside it sometime.”

I shake my head, not rising to the bait. “Nothing I’d like to share with you, you silver-tongued flirt. You’re not invited in, so this is as close as you’re getting.”

Riven’s grin widens, their perpetually cheery mood never once hindered during two grueling days of hiking. They cross one leg over the other and float into a seated lotus position. “Do you sense how strong the magic is here? Feel it nipping at your skin?”

They shiver, and a full-body, can’t-repress-my-joy shudder goes through me as well.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” they say, and Diego storms through the middle of us.

“Do you ever get sick of the sound of your own voice? Goddamn.”

“No I don’t, but thank you for asking,” Riven responds cheerily, tempting their fate by batting their eyes. Their ultra-blue eyes flick to me. “Somebody’s surly after setting up camp. Care to go catch us dinner? I’ll keep your mate nice and warm.”

Diego whirls around and full-on roars, to the point I pop to my feet in case I need to play referee.

Riven remains unfazed. “This is what happens when you let all that sexual tension build up. The bond needs feeding, you know. As I’ve expressed before, I don’t sleep, but I’ll wander extra far tonight to give you newlyweds your space.

” They slowly unfold themselves, rising as easily as they sat. “I suggest you use it.”

Without waiting for our response, they blur into a rush of color and swish of shrubbery.