Page 6 of My Hexed Honeymoon (The Bridgewater Pack #2)

CHAPTER SIX

By the time we make our way from the main lodge that stands at the center of an expansive, multi-leveled building with massive wooden beams and a wraparound balcony, exhaustion has seeped into every fiber of my being. Until tired is all I am, and it feels like tired is all I’ll ever be.

I’m not even sure where we’re headed as Diego and I leave the cluster of buildings that make the compound look more like a luxury mountain resort than a stronghold for werewolves.

But here and there, the flicker of torches and sentries stationed along the perimeter remind me that beneath the polished, cozy woodland retreat, it’s very much a fortress.

A fortress I now call…home?

Not that the word has ever held much meaning for me. The only place that’s truly felt like home to me is when I’m lost in nature, a singular glittering thread in the complex life force webbing, only the plants and woodland creatures to comfort me.

“It’s this way, third house on the right,” Diego says, keeping a stoic pace with me. Proving that in this particular forest, the woodland creature plastered to my side all night doesn’t give a shit about soothing me.

While I’m entirely too drained to smile over the idea of referring to him as a woodland creature to his face, the corner of my mouth quirks at least a centimeter or two.

Bossy and broody, the responses I’ve received since leaving our meeting with the other heads of the supernatural clans have been primarily grunts.

And while he kept his hand glued to the small of my back during that meeting and throughout the reception, he hasn’t touched me since we left the lodge, leading me to believe it was mostly for show.

Not that I want his touches and gestures to be for anything else, but it’d be nice if I didn’t feel so completely alone. We were both forced into this marriage, so it’s extra offensive he keeps acting like he got the raw end of the deal.

But fine, be that way, and I don’t want any soothing or physical gestures from him anyway. All he symbolizes is another couple of decades of my lifeforce being slowly blotted out beneath the crushing weight of another stern thumb.

For a building I can make out in the glow of the moonlight, the walk to that third house on the right feels longer than it should.

The weight of everything from the start of the ceremony to the vampires crashing the wedding and discovering there are more threats and a supernatural war to worry about hangs between us.

Thick and suffocating, the heavy burden drags behind us like tin cans attached to the bumper of the car the newlyweds drive off in.

Fun fact: tying those noisy cans to the back was a tradition originally meant to ward off evil spirits.

Sadly, I don’t think that’ll work for us, as Diego and I are technically the things that go bump in the night.

Who’s going to fear a witch with no power?

A question posed to me by my mother countless times, I never understood why she thought I’d want to be feared. In my experience, that came along with hatred, a truth I was too scared to share with her, but she’s the source of my aversion anyhow.

With a grunt, Diego inclines his head toward the flagstone walkway that carves a path through neatly trimmed grass and plenty of shrubbery. Two towering pine trees stand guard on either side of the wraparound porch, the dark wood of the exterior blending into the night.

Eastward facing, with floor-to-ceiling windows that must provide an extra glorious view at sunrise, in another world, coming home to such a gorgeous cabin would feel like a dream.

But lately, all life’s got to offer me is nightmares.

My heels catch on the stones, my fatigue causing me to drag my feet more than the terrain allows.

After the bombshell revelation that I’m apparently some mystical key to a world I barely understand, Diego and I had gone to the reception with the other werewolves—not to celebrate, but to update the pack.

It was an exhausting, tension-filled debrief, where almost every set of eyes in the room turned on me with varying levels of skepticism and distrust.

Did they doubt my skills or my fealty? Because honestly, me too, and I’m definitely talking about both fronts.

Big surprise, feudal obligations don’t exactly inspire loyalty, and it’s not like there was any love lost on either side.

With the wolves, I was a stranger and a witch.

With the witches I was a dud and a bitch.

Lose, lose. Again and again. Is it any wonder I preferred animals and the forest?

Our footsteps echo against the wooden steps of the porch, blending in with the steady chirping of crickets. I step aside so Diego can open the front door, minding the bag with the plastic Tupperware container inside.

The in-house caterer packed me up a giant wedge of wedding cake, the only good thing to come out of the reception as far as I was concerned.

And the wedding, for that matter.

I plan to grab a fork and eat it in bed, possibly while crying.

Rather than pull a set of keys out of his pocket, Diego simply opens the unlocked door and sets the luggage that contains my few earthly possessions next to the tidy row of shoes.

While I’d inevitably noticed he smelled like sandalwood, bergamot, and something wild. His masculine scent combines with the pine-fresh air from outdoors, along with an underlying whiff of hickory and ash from the stone fireplace.

Before I can help myself, I inhale a lungful and hold it in, then struggle to play it cool, like I didn’t find the amalgamation a pinch intoxicating.

We push further into the wide, open concept living space with striking exposed beams, sparse rustic touches, and furniture that looks well-worn but comfortable.

At the flip of a switch, golden light bathes the area, highlighting that the top of the cabin appears to be a loft area with an overlooking balcony.

Diego rubs a hand over his jaw before lifting my luggage by the handle and crossing to the floating staircase that’s a mix of steel and wood. The entire space is a sleek mix of modern and earthy touches, and I’d totally compliment him on his taste if we had that kind of friendship.

If we had any relationship at all, really.

“Bedroom’s up here,” he says, and I halt my exploratory steps in his direction and swallow hard.

Getting right to it, I see, I want to snark, but my flailing courage keeps the words lodged in my throat. It’s too real, too scary. All the things I did my best not to concentrate on when my mother brokered this deal.

Having a supernatural air means having sex. With my husband.

Like an aristocrat on her way to the guillotine, I lift my head high, doing my best not to focus on how I’m about to lose it. Like on the walk over, our footsteps echo through the quiet, his rubber-soled tread much quieter than the now mud-and-jewel-encrusted heels on my feet.

Every few paces they snag on the front of my dress, until I gather up the mucked-up skirt in my fists and take the last few steps.

“You’re probably too big to fit through the slats,” I say, embarrassingly breathless by the time I’ve reached the top, “but if I slip and fall, I’m going to shoot right out the other side of the staircase, and then what?”

Diego turns and looks at me, a crinkle bisecting his brow. “‘Don’t fall’ would be my advice.”

I hope he caught my eye roll, because I made it extra big just for him.

Before I can come up with more sarcastic responses I won’t be brave enough to say aloud anyway, my gaze locks on the bed in the center of the three walls and A-frame ceiling.

Not that it feels crowded, in fact, quite the opposite.

With walls that are at least nine feet tall, it’s a vaulted space with darker wood walls, as espresso-colored as his eyes but with a hint of gray.

There’s no door, just the open-air balcony overlooking the bachelor pad living room, and most importantly…

One bed.

Covered in thick, downy white and charcoal-colored blankets.

It’s huge, the spotlight in a space meant for sleep and relaxation, but again, there’s only one bed.

Of all the things to break me, a king-sized bed with fluffy blankets and pillows shouldn’t what does me in, but tears sting my eyes anyway.

“Oh. Right.” My vision blurs, and I blink, blink, blink, gritting my teeth to prevent the saltwater from escaping down my cheeks.

He doesn’t get to see me cry.

“Yeah.” Diego sets my luggage down with a thud, the quiet between us stretching out until our resounding awkwardness is all I can hear. “I, uh, didn’t think about that.”

We must be the only newlyweds in the world who’ve never had sex not to give any thought to racing into bed.

I’m not exactly a virgin, but other than a few boys during college—the only freedom I’ve experienced in my life, and my mother took it away after a year—I’m certainly not very experienced, either.

Since it’s also been years, I might’ve forgotten how, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve sitting in bed in my jammies eating cake. A fact that’s only causing more unshed tears to burn my eyes.

“You take the bed,” Diego says, raking fingers through his hair and leaving strands spiking up in different directions. “I’ll take the couch.”

I have the oddest urge to ease the tension from his brow, probably because he’s offered up the one thing I currently want most—to be in bed, all alone. With cake, as previously established.

Given how tidy the place is, he’s the type of guy to kick a gal out of bed for eating crackers, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “Is it at least a pull-out couch?”

“Nah, I’ve never been a pull-out guy,” he says, and then the two of us freeze, making wide eyes at each other.

A nervous laugh sputters from my lips, breaking the tension a bit. “Guess that’ll solve our terms and conditions clause about having a baby.”

He gives a huffed sort of chuckle, both of us doing our best to find humor in this bizarre deal we’ve committed ourselves to.

I fiddle with my veil, ready to be rid of it after hours of holding tight. “Seriously, I appreciate it.”

He nods, and the unexpected kindness of letting me have his bed causes a lump in my throat. “It’s been a long day.”

“It has,” I agree, shuffling my feet. “I know that eventually, we’ll have to…” Heat creeps up my neck, and I really should’ve just gone with a simple “goodnight.”

“Yep, in between saving the supernatural world as we know it.” Diego’s already backpedaling toward the stairs, his shoulders and spine rigid. “While I understand we have a mutual obligation…”

Great, now we’ve gone from baby-making to mutual obligation. I can’t help the sour face I pull, and his expression curdles in return. So much for our momentary truce or understanding or whatever.

“What I mean to say,” Deigo grumbles, “is that right now we’re strangers. Let’s at least get to know each other a little first.”

“You think that’ll make it better?” I try to sound snarky and maybe even a tad hopeful and flirty, but I feel too raw, too vulnerable.

His lips twitch with a reluctant, slightly lopsided, almost smile. “Couldn’t hurt.”

I hug my arms around my middle and nod, unsure what else to do. It’s so weird to be so grateful to someone I was certain I loathed.

At the retreating of his footsteps down the staircase, I cross the room and flop down on the bed, the butterfly sleeves of my wedding dress billowing around me.

I kick off my heels, glad to be done with them, the lacy, mud crusted skirt long enough to hide my battered feet.

I debate falling back into the softness of the mattress, but the quieter the room, the louder my thoughts.

I have the strangest urge to call my husband back to me like a dog. Just a pat, pat to my thighs and a hollered-out “Come ‘ere boy!”

It’s not actually him I want, but rather more faith in me.

Since ignoring the mission that’s been unceremoniously dropped at my feet isn’t working, I squint my eyes and rub my temples. Pale moonlight filters in from the giant skylight above the bed, and the circulatory system of our universe shimmers into view.

I lift my fingers hesitantly, focusing on snatching up one of the threads to see if I can separate it from the rest.

Pressure builds in my head, my own blood vessels straining with effort. Electricity nips at my fingers, the woven golden fibers bulging like a swimmer breaching the tension of the water’s surface.

For an exhilarating second or two I think, holy shit, I can actually do this.

Letting my eyes go hazy, I peer into the glittering, fraying web, attempting to see that hollowed out between that I’ve been tasked with navigating.

Then snap , they recoil and bite me, a rubber band pulled until it breaks.

Pain blooms through my skull and my vision goes piercingly white, causing my eyes to water and burn.

I wince, dropping my head into my hands. With a groan that can’t be helped, I attempt to massage out the throbbing ache that dipping my toe into that world between worlds left behind.

It’s like it doesn’t want me there.

And somehow, I’m supposed to find a whole-ass weapon that’s hidden inside.

“This is why I should’ve stuck to jammies and cake,” I mutter, craning an arm around to unzip my dress.

Not only is the zipper in a difficult to reach spot, even when I get a fairly good grip on the tab, the damn thing won’t budge.

It’s stuck. Because of course it is.

When twisting myself into pretzel-ish shapes and tugging and swearing don’t work, I groan loud enough my groom can inevitably hear it—even without the supernatural hearing, it’s a very open floor plan.

Swallowing back my pride and frustration, I call out his name. “Diego? I hate to ask, but I’m afraid I need your help.”