Page 8 of My Hexed Honeymoon (The Bridgewater Pack #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

I wake to golden sunlight pouring in through the skylight above the bed, blankets tangled around me and forming a cozy cocoon.

For a moment, I forget where I am. Regaining my bearings seems like a mistake, as the instant I do, the hollow ache that overtakes my chest dims the cheery, almost boastful morning light.

Hollow.

The Hollow.

With the pine-and-coffee scented air filling my head, yesterday’s events come crashing back to me in flashes.

I’m married. To a werewolf. Uninvited vampires attended our wedding.

Oh, and apparently the key to saving the entire supernatural world relies on my ability to navigate the insanely dangerous, in-between realm.

Awesome.

I sit up against the headboard and do my best to tamp down the dread that immediately rushes up to greet me.

My bridal gown is draped over the back of the executive desk chair tucked against the sleek desk, like Mr. Werewolf tackles tricky spreadsheets and mergers in his spare time.

With the muddied hem and the zipper in the back slightly puckered from my struggle with it, the ivory garment looks a little worse for wear.

Much like me, I suppose.

On the nightstand, a fork lies licked clean next to the empty Tupperware that once held the only good part of the reception—cake. I didn’t cry while I ate it, but only because I was too tired to manage both at the same time.

I strain my ears, listening for sounds of movement. Last night I heard each time Diego tossed and turned, but the cabin is quiet now.

With a big stretch, I climb out of bed, groaning at how sore the arches of my feet are. My neck and shoulders are stiff as well, every part of my body reminding me that yesterday was long and hellacious.

The throb at my temples flares to life again, a punishing reminder of what attempting to peek into the Hollow will do.

Tomorrow, you and I begin figuring out how to navigate the Hollow…

While I’ll never abuse you the way your mother did, I have no problem becoming your worst nightmare .

That’s the thing with people who threaten and use brute force. They think their form of motivation is okay, no matter how damaging to the person they’re ordering around.

Strange as it sounds, sometimes I’d take the physical over the psychological. The sting of a slap fades within twenty to thirty minutes. Words that slice and shred leave internal scars that’ll gnaw at me forever.

And last night, my groom told me I belonged to him, adding he’d allow my feelings, and capped it all off with a threat.

Honeymoon, my ass.

Maybe next time I’ll register for wolfsbane, crossbows, and silver daggers. Not that I’m planning on marrying another werewolf ever again. I don’t even want to be married to the one whose house I’m living in.

Cautiously, I pad downstairs, clinging to the handrail and taking the steps one by one.

Diego’s gruff voice drifts through my brain, another one of his gems from last night: Don’t fall would be my advice.

I certainly wouldn’t. Not through the gap in the stairs and not for him. Stupid jerk, making me feel like his magical possession, as if he can just point me and shoot.

There’s no sign of Diego, but the couch bears his faint indentation.

Giant-ass werewolf. I hope his neck is permanently kinked.

The door swings open, sending a stripe of sunshine and a puff of fresh mountain air into the room. Diego steps inside, broad shoulders nearly grazing the frame on either side. From the forest to the spacious lodge to his house, he tends to fill every space like all the oxygen inside belongs to him.

He obviously thinks he owns everything.

If he thinks I’m going to kowtow to him and his damp hair and dark jeans. That just because his simple white T-shirt stretches tight across firm pecs and…where was I again?

It’s deeply unfair how attractive he is for someone who’s been grumbling about his obligations to me and his pack since we met.

“I made coffee,” he says as he passes by me, rounding the granite-topped island counter and stepping into the kitchen.

I study the strong line of his back as he opens and closes a cupboard, withdrawing a mug. Pretty sure I saw a glimpse of plates and bowls inside, too, so I make a mental note that’s where they are.

He fills the mug with coffee from the pot, releasing more of its delicious roasted scent, and as I move to pour my own, he hands the mug he just filled to me. “Figured you could use an energy boost as much as I needed one after yesterday.”

Doing my best to hide my suspicion, I take the proffered mug.

I sip slowly, peering over the rim at him. “You wouldn’t try to poison me, would you?”

“Not until after you get the Blood Loom,” he deadpans, but I wouldn’t doubt there’s some truth to the statement as well.

Honestly, the coffee’s so good I might risk it.

I don’t miss the perusal of his eyes as they rove over me, snagging on my chest. Right, I’m not wearing a bra.

My nipples are standing at full attention, too, only getting harder as his pupils dilate. He scowls as if he wasn’t just checking me out, like he sees me and likes what he sees, but he also doesn’t know what to do about it.

Just ravish me already.

Not sure where that brazen thought came from, because it’s absolutely not what I want. It’s the magical vows and the bond, and if I had my way, I’d be rid of it.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been someone who gets what she wants.

I do my best to make the most out of it instead. And if push comes to shove, I suppose I could make the most of having Diego over me and inside of me, delivering punishment and pleasure with that insanely ripped body and his infuriating tongue.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and since I shouldn’t be the only horny one in the room, I set my mug on the counter and boost myself up on it. Then I let my bare legs swing, experiencing a thrill when he can’t stop looking at them.

With a grunt, he turns and grabs cereal boxes and oatmeal packets from the cupboard next to the fridge. “Eat up. Once you’re finished with your breakfast, I’ve arranged a place for us to train. Somewhere quiet, away from the others.”

“Let me guess,” I say, enjoying this game more than I expected. “A dark, creepy forest?”

“Close. It’s got a spring. So, I’d say more refreshing than creepy.”

“Refreshing sounds…” I almost say refreshing, but that’s a given. “Nice.”

He slams the boxes of cereal down next to my thigh, all the humor drained out of the room with the angry sound. “It’s not about a nice setting, Natalia. It’s about survival. Yours. Mine. Everyone’s.”

I hate how the weight of that sits so neatly on my shoulders. Like it was meant to yoke me to this man and a pack that would sooner burn me at the stake than accept or protect me.

The rest of my coffee gets downed in a scalding gulp. I set the empty mug in the sink to my side and leap off the counter, wincing again at my sore limbs and feet.

I pause next to Diego, going so far as to pat those strong pectoral muscles I got lost in admiring. “Gee, thanks for the reminder. In the few hours I’ve been married to you and threatened by vampires, I almost forgot that I’m now responsible for every supernatural being’s destiny.”

“You’re welcome,” he snarks back, and I grit my teeth so hard I might’ve cracked a molar.

“Fuck you, buddy,” I say, anger unfurling and pumping through my veins.

“Not right now, babe. Like I said, we’ve got a busy day.” He looms over me, not a single compromising line in his body. “But don’t you worry your pretty little head, that’s coming.”

My breath leaves me in a whoosh, my heart ceasing its beats as he leans closer.

He lifts a lock of my hair and winds it around his finger. “And when I do fuck you, you won’t be calling me buddy. You’ll be crying out my name, begging me for mercy.”