Page 23 of My Hexed Honeymoon (The Bridgewater Pack #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Whatever was in there, watching and whispering—promising to teach me to use my powers correctly—came chasing.

The instant I took the weapon from the version of me that followed my mother’s warpath, my instincts screamed at me to run.

I’d sprinted across the ever-changing and morphing landscape as fast as I could, headed back in the direction I’d come, the loom gripped so tightly in my hand I’d probably have the imprint on my palm for days.

Enshrouded, other-worldly creatures swooped down at me, like banshees determined to rip the magical tool from me.

Lungs burning, I’d reached the spot where I could see a puckered scar from my original entrance, but no amount of yanking at the threads worked.

They weren’t golden or infused with life anymore, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin as a shadowy figure darted around me, too fast to see with my naked eye.

Something told me that bigger, more terrifying presence that spoke to me was in charge, but it’s not like I stopped to play twenty questions.

Talons tangled in my hair as the whispering grew louder and louder. A disembodied rasp at my ear demanded I stop being afraid and learn to wield the power my ancestors passed down to me.

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

The pressure in my head eases as I slowly reorient myself in the present.

Diego’s arms are around me, holding me tight as I rock against him, smoothing a hand down my hair as he repeats “It’s okay, I’ve got you” again and again.

I’m dizzy from the lack and then excess of oxygen, as well as the scent of pine filling my nostrils. I was drowning in despair, sure I’d breathed my last breath on earth, when I heard Diego calling my name.

If he hadn’t pulled me out, I’m not sure I would’ve ever escaped. I’d battered my knuckles banging on the walls of a realm that didn’t bend or give at the panicked pounding of my fist, cursing myself for ever venturing into a place of utter darkness like that in the first place.

And then, like a lifeline, his hand urgently reached for me in that hazy stitching-together slit between our realm and the Hollow.

As the forest around me continues to sharpen, the werewolf’s voice still in my ear, I tell myself I’m safe, if not still a bit disoriented.

No fire, no werewolf children in their beds.

No scary presence pressuring me to embrace who I am or trying to gleefully trap me within the Hollow forever.

My eyes dart to my hand, relief flooding me before exhaustion leaves me sinking further into Diego’s embrace. “I did it.”

“You did, bruja. You got the weapon—I’m so proud of you.” He kisses my temple and my insides get melty. Normally I’m told how I failed, never that I’ve done a good job, and that alone makes me want to shed a happy tear or two.

“Yes, now we can change the course of this war,” Riven says, reminding me oh yeah, they’re also here. They take a step in my direction, extending their palm and gesturing for me to hand over the tool I’ve worked so hard to retrieve with a wiggle of their fingers. “Give me the Blood Loom.”

Everything within me tightens with a sense of wrongness that nearly overpowers me. The idea of releasing the bone handles and handing over the weapon…

My stomach roils violently; my skin grows too tight.

Reactions that make me feel like they’re asking for an arm or a leg. Not only do I refuse, I’ve half a mind to threaten to end Riven and any of the other vampires if they even try to come for my loom.

The loom.

Whatever, I don’t know what’s going on with me, only that this tool became a part of me as soon as I took it from my nightmare version.

Except the deal was to give it over to the vampires.

“Give it to me,” Riven repeats. Their tone is even—almost too even—but there’s a sharpness under it.

A hunger.

I tell myself it’s not the same, green-eyed monster that has me tightening my grip on the Blood Loom, but I can’t be sure. Only that I know I can’t hand it over to them yet.

“I barely survived whatever it was in there that chased me across the Hollow and threatened to trap me there forever,” I say, not bothering to keep my voice even so it’s nice and wobbly, “so until we return to the compound, the blade stays with me.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Riven snaps. “I told you I’d take you to a place where the veil is thin to help you navigate the shadow real, and that’s exactly what I’ve done.

I can travel faster than you, and the vampires are restless to have their magic returned to them—I can’t wait to deliver the good news. ”

Nope, there’s still something in me absolutely screaming not to let Riven take it.

I look to Diego for help, thinking it’s likely in vain, but his arms tighten around me as he lifts us both to our feet.

His muscles are coiled, ready for a fight. Under most any other circumstances, I’d claim there’s no reason for one.

He throws back a protective arm, shielding me the way he did when Riven first showed up at the compound unannounced, but this time I welcome his overprotective tendencies. “You heard her, the blade stays in Talia’s possession until the heads of each clan can meet.”

Riven bares their teeth in a smile that fails to reach their eyes. “We’re not going to war by committee—the vampires are being exterminated, and we will fight back. That’s the weapon we need to prevent the hunters from taking over our cities and towns, including yours.”

“We never said we wouldn’t help you,” I say, despite having no idea how I would be of much assistance besides asking Diego to pledge his pack members.

“Our bargain involves working together to stop the Arcane Tribunal, which we still plan to do. But I can’t just hand over a weapon unless I know whoever bears it can properly wield it, and exactly how they plan to use it. ”

The corner of Riven’s eye twitches. “Had we vampires not told you about it, you wouldn’t even know it exists.”

“Well now we do,” Diego says, radiating menace and the type of stubbornness

rocks break themselves against. “And since you needed us to retrieve it, we’re holding onto it until our safe return. End of story.”

With that, Riven broodily accepts that the decision has been made.

We don’t speak much after that.

We just hike. Through the thick underbrush and winding trails, the loom tucked into my pack, the memory of the Hollow at my back like a shadow still attached to me.

Down the same craggily path we created on our way up, each rock, tree, and shrub making me feel like we’re going in circles even though the slip and slide of my shoes proves we’re headed down.

Down the mountain, down to the vehicles. Three days of down to go, and I can’t stop looking for an escape route.

Given my supernatural companions, I have no illusions of outrunning them both.

It’s not that I don’t trust Diego. It’s that I’m not sure I fully can, and that scares me most of all. Because if he and the werewolves won’t help, I’m dead in the water.

Or am I being overly dramatic, getting so attached to a weapon clearly tucked away somewhere like that for a reason?

If I’m being totally honest, it’s probably a little of both.

Our rhythm becomes the crunch of soles against gravel and the occasional snap of twigs. I nearly trip and fall on a mangle of roots twice, but Diego is always there to catch me, a firm hand ringing the upper arm to keep me upright.

As much as I want to speak my whirring thoughts to him, I have to plan my timing perfectly.

I’m eager to return, so I don’t stop them for lunch, and even when my stomach growls for its dinner, I keep my rubber legs and burning thighs moving.

Until the sun dips behind the tallest of treetops, staining the sky a mixture of fiery pinks, purples, and golds.

We make camp between a pair of towering pines—they stand alone in a forest that shows signs of being burned. It’s been a handful of years, so there’s a lot of healing that’s been done, but of course it makes me think of the scene in both the Hollow and those of my childhood.

Diego must be on the same wavelength, because as we’re building the fire, he gives me a scrunched-forehead expression and asks, “Why did you ask if we put out the fire at the compound before it burned?”

Riven is off hunting for their dinner, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they remained within earshot. The only benefit of the quiet has been not having to lie or be extra careful of my words.

“In the Hollow I saw…” Hmm, which parts do I reveal and what do I edit out? I decide to keep it simple, while also skimming over the role I played. “The compound was on fire. I could feel the smoke burning my eyes and my lungs. People were fleeing.”

He swallows thickly, glancing down at the kindling before his shot-of-espresso eyes return to me. “That happened to my village—I was eleven. Conall and I were the only survivors.”

I try to swallow myself but can’t get past the lump in my throat. “That must’ve been hard. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs a shoulder, then straightens and swipes his palms together. “It’s why I hated you without giving you a chance—even though I know you’re not the one who did it.”

No, but I might’ve been there, and that kills me. More, I’m so afraid of the way he’d look at me if he found out I witnessed the destruction firsthand—if not the burning of his village, ones just like them.

I force my thighs into motion and stand, despite their achy complaints about the days and days of hiking and being put through the ringer. “We have a long history of hating each other, witches and werewolves. Vampires, too, if it makes you feel any better.”

Riven choses that moment to materialize with a swishing of leaves and a toss of their hair. “Ooh, are we discussing our lifetimes of loathing? I’ve got tomes on the subject, and one thing about being a live for centuries—I’ve read every one, more than once.”

I ramble out enough of a sentence I hope I played off my disappointment, but private time is over, so there goes any chance at having that in-depth conversation with Diego I urgently need to have.

Several times throughout the evening, while Diego and I have our dinner and the vampire paces the outskirts of the fire, I catch the lustful glances from Riven in my direction.

They’re no longer aimed at me, though. There’s a naked desire gleaming within the blue each time Riven catches sight of the Blood Loom at my side that scares me.

Two more days of hiking—maybe even one and a half if I’m quick—and we’ll be back at the werewolf compound.

Everything I suggest will be safer there, with less chance of my companions killing each other and ripping the blade from me in the process.

But by the time I climb inside the sleeping bag with Diego to get cozy, I’m certain I’m not overreacting.

And that two days might be too long to wait.