Page 58 of My Hexed Honeymoon

He opens his mouth as he lunges with a roar, snapping Riven’s arm in his snout filled with jagged teeth.

The vampire yelps and swears up a storm, delivering blow after blow onto Diego’s wolfish shoulders. He stands firm, but I can see the impact the hits have on him and, at the tiny yelp that escapes him, everything within me screams out, wishing I could do more—but what?

Blood more black than red drips from his jaw, the ichor staining his storm-gray fur and the ground. Clamping tighter, he gives his monstrous head a shake, flinging Riven around like a chew toy.

His attention drifts, bones shifting and morphing beneath the surface, until a few of his human features peek out from the lupine—frankly, he looks absolutely terrifying.

“Talia, run!” he yells, the command coming out garbled through his teeth.

But why would I run? Isn’t he winning?

Riven dislocates their shoulder as if it’s nothing, jerking free of Diego’s maw with a hard kick directly to his poor sensitive nose, and that’s it—I’ve got to stop standing here and use some fucking magic already.

“Don’t worry about me,” I shriek, rummaging through my pack for something I can use to amplify my powers, because other than being connected to the capillary system of the world, my magic is more of a party trick. “Just kick their ass!”

They both hit the ground in a tumble of dust, moving too fast for me to entirely follow.

The back of my neck burns, the creepy-crawly wrongness hitting me extra strong…

Then half a dozen vampires step from the thicket of trees, practically floating into the clearing.

Oh. Sothat’s why Diego was telling me to run.

The fact of the matter is it’s already too late. Nothing in my bag seems like anything that’ll help, and my attention keeps drifting outside the bag to where the Blood Loom’s secured.

It hums as I hover my palm over the handle, emitting a high-pitched squeal like it senses the action and yearns to join in.

As I wrap my hands around the bone handles, it vibrates, the runes along its surface pulsing like a heartbeat.

This magical weapon of untold power wants me to use it more than anything. It’s whispering once again that it belongs to me.

That it wants me to feed it.

And it wants blood.

It’s overpowering how much I crave rushing over to the puddles of gore left from Riven and Diego’s scuffle. But I don’t have time for that or to contemplate how or why the Blood Loom does what it does, so I stand with the ghastly tool in my hands and attempt to track the vampires as they fan out and rush forward.

Six huge vampires who looked like they trained by tackling grizzly bears, uprooting trees, and bench-pressing coffins pin their focus on me.

Each of them eerily pale and strapped for battle, with the hilts of their swords crossed at their back. And they’re all coming for the loom.

Diego hurls Riven into two of the advancing vampires, sending them rolling like bowling pins. Then he’s a wall of fur and muscle in front of me, snarling and baring his bloodied teeth like he’s daring them to make his day.

I reach out a hand and gently pet the spot of fur most matted with blood, worried about my wolf and doing my best to see how bad the injury is while surrounded by seven vampires.

They stand like statues for what seems like an eternity, eyes narrowed, watching and waiting.

“Give us the Blood Loom and we can all go on our way,” Riven says, peering around Diego the best they can to look at me.

My furry husband responds by aiming his growl directly at them, curling himself around me like a canine force field.

“Don’t pretend to we’re friends now,” I say to Riven. “You already showed your hand, and it’s that you’re a traitor.”

“Give me the loom!” they scream, and my heart hammers against my ribcage and pumps more fear through my veins.

Part of me thinks I’m being really stupid. I don’t even know what this fucking thing does and I’m not only risking my safety but also Diego’s.

The Blood Loom’s hum turns high-pitched and hungry.

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