Page 30 of My Hexed Honeymoon (The Bridgewater Pack #2)
CHAPTER THIRTY
A witch, thirty werewolves, and a veterinarian walk into a forest.
Once again, not a setup for a joke—just preparation for war against sixty vampires and two covens of witches, including my sadistic mother.
In other words, we’re marching into this battle slightly outmanned. Definitely outmatched when it comes to magic, but as the only magic-user against twenty-five other witches, I’m doing my best not to think about that.
There are two troops in the Bridgewater Pack, both composed of thirty wolves, but they left one behind and under the charge of Nissa, to protect the compound and its civilians.
Kerrigan will remain back at camp to treat any injuries with the help of a werewolf named Sabine and her brother Justin, who’d transport the wounded, while the rest of us have only hours.
I’ll never understand my mother taking her hatred of the werewolves to such extremes, but admittedly, it’s nice, knowing I won’t be immediately overpowered by brute force.
This time I’ll have that on my side, but so will my mother.
Though the vampires will never wield the same pound-for-pound force, they have us beat in speed and agility. We’ll be attacking during daylight for obvious reasons, but something tells me the covens will have taken measures to counteract that vulnerability.
I’m also doing my best not to think about my sisters. While I always felt like an outsider and never truly connected with most of them, I’m not ready to deliver death blows for following my mother—for doing what I’ve done out of fear for most of my life.
At the same time, I never want to feel as helpless as when Riven forced me to hand over the loom—as when vampires took my weapon from me. That day, all I could do was stand there, my inner power failing me once again as vampires took my best defense against them away.
I keep beating myself up for not being stronger, but then I think of letting Diego die and wonder if there was ever actually a way to prevent a confrontation like this, with way more lives on the line.
Not without losing my soul, and while my mother bartered hers away long ago, I’m not ready to say goodbye to mine just yet.
Anyway, that’s what I thought before I had that unsettling dream during our three hours of ragged, uneasy rest after setting up camp.
It started the same as it always did, with screaming and smoke and me standing in the center of it all, gleeful over committing such horrific acts.
But last night’s dream was different. It started off the same, but it wasn’t like when I was in the Hollow, being prodded and whispered at by disembodied voices.
No, this felt more like a memory. In it, I saw the real purpose of the loom. I saw what my power could do if I stopped holding back and used the loom to untap my full potential.
More than a tool to amplify power, it siphoned its power from the shadow realm, amplifying whatever magic was already flowing through the wielder’s veins.
If a witch as powerful as Andromeda got it…
“It’s not just an amplifier,” I’d told Diego as soon as I woke up. “My great-great-aunt made the loom from her mother’s femur bones so that she could take her sisters with her to the other realms.
“Rather than be the adventure she hoped, it corrupted the sisters, leaving them hungry
for more power.” I wheezed as Diego finished cinching the belt with a dagger on either hip.
“Right before she died, she hid the Blood Loom away in the Hollow, imbuing it with the tie to the moon so it’d take a Realmweaver working with the werewolves to have a chance to remove it and access its power.
“I’m the firstborn with the power in a hundred years—that loom was always meant to be mine.”
Diego had cupped my cheek and said, “That’s why we’re going to go get it back for you, baby.”
But as our cavalcade reaches the fringes of the vampire camp, I don’t feel so sure about our plan or even how necessary it is anymore.
Set up about a hundred yards from the house where I’d grown up at Oldenwilde headquarters, an enormous dome of the blackest clouds covers the area, blotting out the sun’s rays and casting us in a shroud of perma-darkness.
I’ve never seen such a powerful Overcaster Spell—Andromeda’s effectively turned off the sun and surrounded herself with a vampire horde. Torches burn along the edges of the valley, topping off the medieval war vibes.
No surprise, they’re ready for us, strapped with shields and swords and frothing at the mouth.
Okay, I can’t see that last detail, but I know it’s accurate. Point is, their scouts are just as good as ours, and they’re ready and waiting for us.
As a battle cry goes up, the roar shakes the entire valley. Every muscle in my body locks, except whichever ones are causing my heart to beat so fucking hard in my chest.
You have to be strong enough this time .? You have to be the powerful Realmweaver and witch they claim you are.
Diego’s hand wraps around mine, warm and sure and so much bigger than mine. “Stick close. Don’t engage unless you see the loom. You call my name, I’ll be there.”
All of that sounds super impossible, but I nod and give his fingers a final squeeze.
He looks at Gideon and Elias, my two personal bodyguards. Poor guys have been tasked with keeping me safe in a place there’s not going to be any.
I meet Diego’s eyes, forcing my chin not to tremble, stinging tears held at bay. By the moon, I’m scared, though. So fucking scared I can’t breathe.
“We’ve got this,” he assures me, this reality of a war I was meant to prevent from happening about to begin.
I plaster on a smile filled with the affection I have for him and these warrior werewolves who’ve joined my cause, grateful for and haunted by the cost of standing by me. “Whatever happens,” I whisper, “I love you. I’d choose you as my groom in a thousand lifetimes.”
“Right back at you, bruja.” His grin is as strained as mine is, but much fiercer and so cocksure, it only makes me love him more. “Now let’s kill these bloodsuckers and make sure we get to spend this lifetime together.”
With the lift of his chin, he signals Conall and Sasquatch, who head the charge for the first wave.
They respectively command the two groups flanking our middle position, setting off a wave of shifting from human to wolf that ripples through our right and our left.
While Conall transforms to a russet-colored wolf, and I suspected Sasquatch would be a red wolf, the one-named werewolf doesn’t shift. He simply hefts a giant battle ax and charges into the fray swinging.
After a quick kiss to the back of my hand, Diego releases it and shifts at my side.
One second my husband is flesh and blood, and the next, his storm-gray pelt is bristling, his gold eyes burning with deadly promise.
As I summon my limited magic without the help of the loom, I’m practically gargling my runaway heart.
The air goes tight, like a cold and hot front are about to collide and go supercell violent.
An entire crowd of vampires sprints directly toward us, gliding over the forest’s undergrowth with silent, deadly grace. They move with the precision of predators, eyes black and cold, gleaming with their merciless intent.
Behind them, I catch a flash of movement—witches in ceremonial cloaks, fingers glowing in scintillating green.
I was always so jealous of my sisters who didn’t have to work at their magic. Their stakes were far lower than mine, too, but it’s like the harder I try to tap into the magic, the faster it runs away.
I catch a flash of Riven’s cloak as they dance a defensive, slightly blurred line in front of the cluster of witches, rapier sword at the ready. Looks like the witches have their very own personal vampire guard. Did it really have to be Riven?
Andromeda stands at the center of their V-formation, the coven’s homicidal, power-hungry leader always front and center.
A twisted smile plays across her blood-red lips, widening at the front lines of the werewolves and vampires who crash into each other with a clash of fur and metal.
Every single thing I’ve ever loved, she’s taken away, and with the deaths of so many supernatural beings hanging in the balance, I can’t believe she’s waited all her life for this.
Once I spot the Blood Loom in her hands, my pulse quickens and my focus snaps tight.
I lift my chin, the tool’s loss still a heavy stone in my chest.
If I had it in my hands now, I could feed it some blood and funnel every drop of my power through it. Then I could pick apart the lacework of the universe that’s pulsing before me, shaping the fibers into weapons with wicked blades that could cut down my enemies, one by one.
All I have is myself, however, and I do my best to assure myself that’s good enough.
A vampire breaks ranks, charging straight at me, fangs bared.
I’m still attempting to remove a dagger from its scabbard when a blur of gray fur collides with it, Diego pinning the creature to the ground with two enormous paws and ripping out its throat with lethal efficiency.
Blood arcs through the air, spraying goopy blood the color of tar as two more vampires attack Diego from the other side with their swords.
I attempt to gather lifeforce and send a blast at the vampire warriors to help, but all I get from my fingertips is a blip of green light that instantly blinks out. My magic’s a car engine that sputters instead of starts.
Diego clamps onto one of his attacker’s arms with his teeth, stopping the swing of his blade. Using his hind leg, he launches a powerful kick into the other’s gut, sending him flying through the air.
Conall intercepts him like they’re playing vampire football, dragging him off toward the end zone with a snarl—as in a pile of vampire bodies that’s being set aflame.
There are at least a dozen, but so many more to go, and several of our members are bloodied and applying pressure to deep gashes and ripped-off limbs.