Wedded Witch (The Cursed Coven of Spells Hollow)

Chapter 2

OLAND

I’m no stranger to making sacrifices. Being born into a powerful family of Watchers and assigned to oversee the safety and protection of the Galdurs, has meant that my whole life, my wants, needs, and desires have always come second to safeguarding the witching family.

From childhood, the importance of this particular family has been drummed into me, but for the most part, since coming of age, I’ve had very little work to actually do to protect them.

It’s been frustrating. Like my whole life is on hold, stuck in limbo, waiting for something to happen.

If I’d known the something I was waiting for was being forced to marry a girl more than fifteen years my junior, I would have done everything in my power to get out of it.

But my instructions have been crystal clear. I’m to marry the Galdur girl, the final fertile witch in their lineage, and to procreate with her. Apparently having a child, or children, just to be safe , is the only way to ensure her family’s safety and the survival of our community.

It’s not exactly what I signed up for. Metaphorically speaking of course, because I didn’t sign up for any part of this life.

But marrying a twenty-one year old as I turn thirty-seven doesn’t sit right with me, curse or no curse.

And I’ve never even laid eyes on the girl, having been stationed to guard a distant elderly relative who recently passed away. Yet, regardless of the fact that Swyn is a stranger to me, we’re getting married in the next half an hour.

Fuck. Responsibility sucks.

The chapel is eerily quiet, despite being full. It’s the kind of silence that presses in on your ears and heightens the sound of your own breathing. I stand at the altar, feeling the weight of my family’s expectations bearing down on me like a physical force.

The nearest pews are lined with our closest kin, their faces a mixture of relief and anticipation. Further back the rest of the community is also seated and watching. They’re all here to witness the union that is supposed to save us all.

I tug at the collar of my formal shirt, feeling uncomfortable, not just in the fabric, but in the role I’m about to assume. I’m almost old enough to be this girl’s father.

Fuck that thought makes me sick.

My eyes scan the room, landing on my parents in the front row. My mother gives me a reassuring nod, her eyes misty with emotion. My father, ever stoic, gives a curt nod, a sign of approval, that’s taken me years to earn.

As the minutes tick by, I can’t help but think of the Galdur girl I’m set to wed. She’s a mystery to me, a stranger whose life is now inextricably tied to mine.

The only thing I know about her is the enormous pressure she’s under, the same pressure that’s been my constant companion since birth – the weight of our families’ expectations.

The heavy wooden doors at the back of the chapel creak open, drawing everyone’s attention. A hush falls over the already quiet crowd as the girl steps in, her black gown a stark contrast to the white and gold decorations adorning the chapel.

I can’t help but admire her defiance, her strength. It’s clear she’s not here by choice, and that makes two of us.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. There’s turmoil in her gaze, the same turmoil that resides in my own heart. This isn’t how either of us envisioned our lives, but here we are, bound by duty and legacy.

She walks down the aisle unguided and with measured steps, her face a mask of determination. As she reaches the altar, she takes a deep breath, her bright violet gaze is steady and unwavering.

I extend my hand, and she takes it, her grip firm and resolute. We turn to face the officiant, an ancient warlock who has served our families for generations.

The ceremony begins, a blend of ancient incantations and vows that seem more like a binding spell than a celebration of love – which is just as well really, as there’s no love between two strangers.

As we repeat the words, I can’t shake the feeling of inevitability, the sense that our lives are no longer our own. But within that inevitability, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to break this curse together and save everyone. If we do, perhaps we can go our own separate ways after and live the lives we’ve imagined.

When the officiant pronounces us husband and wife, the room erupts into applause. Swyn and I share a look, a silent agreement that this is just the beginning of our journey. We don’t have to like it, but we will lump it.

And then we kiss.

A thousand volts of lightning course through my body where our lips tentatively touch. Magic. She gasps and I have to swallow back a groan, wrestling down the urge to deepen the kiss and brand her as mine, as our bond snaps into place.

Mine .

With all these people watching, I have to keep it respectful. But the moment I get a taste of my wife, I’m obsessed.

She’s got me, hook, line and sinker.

Does she feel it too? The way we’re bonded together as more than just husband and wife?

We have a year to produce an heir, to secure the future of our families and the magical community. It’s a daunting task, but the way I’m feeling right now, I don’t even want to let her out of the bedroom for a year. At least.

As we walk back down the aisle, hand in hand after a kiss I have no right thinking about, I feel a strange sense of solidarity with her.

We step outside the chapel into the bright sunlight, and I lean in close, my voice low. “We’ll figure this out, Swyn. Together.”

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with scepticism and uncertainty. “I hope so,” she replies, her voice steady despite the tremor I can sense beneath it.

She’s so young. So young and undeniably gorgeous. Her dress showcases all of her luscious curves and my thoughts instantly go to tracing every line and dip with my lips, before I can stop myself.

I shouldn’t want…well, any of the thoughts I’m thinking. They’re not very protective or responsible right now.

But she’s also strong. Maybe headstrong is the better word. But I admire it. Admire her.

After we pose for way too many awkward pictures, we make our way to the reception. I can’t help but think about the future. It’s uncertain and filled with challenges, but for the first time, I feel a spark of something more. A sense of purpose, perhaps.

Being married to Swyn might not be the worst thing ever.

On the drive over, in the back of the hired limousine, we don’t speak. My bride stares out of the window, and I stare at her.

Her long blonde hair cascades down her back in perfect ringlets, flashes of purple peek out from the underside when she moves a certain way. Her hands rest in her lap, but they’re fisted in the tulle skirts of her black dress and there’s a tense set to her shoulders. One I wish I could alleviate, if only I knew the right thing to say or do.

But I don’t. Because I don’t know this woman, I don't know how to comfort her. But I will. I will learn, and I’ll learn fast. Because she’s mine. And because I want to make this marriage between us real. I want not only to be someone who comforts her, but to be the one she comes to for everything. I want her to depend on me. To need and want me as much as I already do her.

At the reception, guests mingle, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Swyn and I are ushered to the head table, our seats adorned with intricate floral arrangements and delicate crystals, that catch the sunlight streaming in through the windows. It’s a stark contrast to the heaviness that still lingers in my chest, a reminder of the weight of our duty. Everything looks perfect though, and I guess that’s the point.

Appearances are everything.

I watch as Swyn interacts with the other guests, her facade of composure slipping slightly with each forced smile and polite conversation. It’s clear she’s not used to this kind of attention, this level of scrutiny. I can relate all too well, but know that she’ll have it worse.

The feast begins and plates of exotic dishes are brought out, each one more elaborate than the last. The wine flows freely, filling goblets and loosening tongues. And yet, despite the festivities surrounding us, Swyn and I remain in our own little bubble of silence.

Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, I turn to her. “Swyn,” I begin, my voice low enough to be heard only by her. “I know this isn’t what either of us wanted, but we have a year to make the best of it. To find a way out of this curse together.”

She looks at me, her eyes searching mine for any sign of deceit or manipulation. Finding none, she nods slowly. “I’ll do my part,” she says quietly. “For my family and for yours.”

Heat licks down my spine at her words and it’s so fucking inappropriate that I have to swallow down a groan. That’s not what she meant, asshole.

I clear my throat, pushing down the inappropriate thoughts that threaten to cloud my mind. Swyn deserves better than that, better than a husband with lustful intentions. Especially one so much older than she is.

“Thank you, Swyn,” I reply, my voice filled with sincerity. “We’ll make this work, I promise.”

She gives me a small smile, a glimmer of hope shining in her eyes before she returns her attention to the banquet laid out before us. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of music and laughter – our guests’, not mine or my wife’s – but underneath it all, the weight of our responsibilities looms heavy.

As the night draws to a close and the last of the guests bid their farewells, with knowing smirks and none too subtle winks and quips, Swyn and I find ourselves alone at last. The grand hall is dimly lit by flickering torches, casting dancing shadows on the ornate tapestries adorning the walls.

I walk over to where Swyn stands by one of the tall windows, looking out at the moonlit courtyard below. “It’s a beautiful night,” I say softly, joining her by the window.

She nods in agreement, her gaze fixed on the moon hanging low in the sky. “It is,” she replies, her voice distant and guarded. Or maybe she’s just distracted. Tired from the day. What do I know? This girl’s still a stranger to me.

Woman.

I need to stop thinking of her as a girl now that she’s my wife. Especially given the things that I want to do to her.

“It’s late,” I remark, stating the damn obvious as I struggle to come up with anything better.

“It is.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to say. “Shall we retire?” My heart races as I wait for her response. I’m not suggesting we go to bed together – it’s too soon for that – but when Swyn turns to face me, her expression full of outrage, I realise how it might have sounded.

“Retire?” Swyn’s voice is sharp, her stunning eyes flashing with fiery indignation. “Do you really think that’s all this is to me? A duty to be performed and then forgotten?”

I flinch at her words, the unintended implication hanging heavy between us. “No, Swyn, that’s not what I meant at all,” I rush to explain, a surge of guilt twisting in my gut. “I just thought...”

“You just thought what?” she interrupts, her tone challenging. My dick hardens at the fierce expression on her face. “That I would meekly follow you to bed like a lamb to the slaughter? That I have no say in any of this?”

Her words cut through me like a knife, a stark reminder of the assumptions I had made about her.

“I apologise, Swyn,” I say earnestly, taking a step closer to her and willing my dick to deflate. “I didn’t mean to belittle you or our situation. This is as new and daunting to me as it is to you. I simply meant for us to go to bed – our own separate beds – and then we can begin getting to know one another tomorrow.”

Swyn studies me for a long moment, her expression softening slightly as she sees the sincerity in my eyes. “I...I’m sorry too,” she murmurs, a hint of vulnerability and regret creeping into her voice. “This is all so overwhelming. It’s like I’m being pulled in a hundred different directions.”

“I know,” I reply gently, reaching out to place a hesitant hand on her shoulder. Again, bolts of electricity shoot through me where our skin meets. Does she feel it too? “But we’re in this together, lucky charm. We’ll figure it out as we go along.”

She startles, then looks up at me, her eyes searching mine…is she looking for reassurance?

“What did you call me?”

“Lucky charm? Sorry, don’t you like it? It just felt right, given your name…”

She stares at me a beat too long and I’m wondering if I should apologise again when she suddenly shakes her head and asks, “Promise?”

What am I promising again? With her staring at me like that, I can barely remember my own name…

“Promise,” I affirm, offering her a small but genuine smile and meaning my vow. Oh yes, that was it, we’re in this together. I meant every word. This woman will have all of my vows and promises from now on. “And, I did something which I thought might help, but now I’m having second thoughts.”

“What did you do?” She sounds wary and I can’t say I blame her after my previous blunder.

I give her a sheepish smile. “I booked a honeymoon for us. With separate beds,” I quickly add. “I just thought getting acquainted with one another might be a little easier away from the eager eyes of our families. But I realise now this is something I should have waited and discussed with you.”

“No, no, it’s fine…that’s actually a really thoughtful thing to do. Thank you.” The smile she offers me is tentative, and…hopeful?

“Call it a wedding gift.”

She bites her lip and I have to keep from groaning. “I, umm, didn’t get you a gift.”

“That’s quite alright,” I reply with a chuckle. “I’d say agreeing to marry me is a gift enough, wouldn’t you?”

Swyn’s lips twitch into a smile, the tension between us easing slightly. “Fair point,” she concedes with a light, musical laugh. “I am pretty awesome.”

We share a look and time seems to hang in limbo, waiting for one of us to make a move.

Seconds, maybe minutes, pass as I gaze at her, getting lost in her violet eyes and imagining a future filled with love and laughter. Eventually I shake myself out of it and step forward, pulling her into my arms, where she just fits as if she was made for me.

Holding her in my arms feels so right. So perfect. Like it was meant to be. And after a moment she relaxes into me, as if also sensing how perfect a fit we are.

Maybe she does feel it. Maybe she knows she’s mine. Or maybe she doesn’t yet…but she will.

“Umm,” she sighs. “You smell so good.”

“So do you,” I tell her. Her jasmine scent captivates me, enveloping my senses and intertwining with the warmth of my cedarwood, creating a striking contrast—a perfect harmony of elegance and masculinity.

Almost as if she’s embarrassed that I heard her, she pulls away, leaving me bereft of her warmth. The urge to pull her right back where she belongs is strong, but it’s been a long, overwhelming day and I think she’s going to need me to take things slow.

Doesn’t mean I’m going to let her go without a kiss though.

Taking her hand in mine, I gently draw her closer and bring it up to my lips. Placing a tender kiss on the back of her hand, I silently promise her more.

Mine.

With a wordless sense of understanding and a shared moment of levity, we reluctantly part and make our way to our separate chambers for the night.

As I lie in bed, staring up at the canopy above, my mind races with thoughts of the future and the uncertainty that lies ahead. But one thing is clear – Swyn is not just a duty or an obligation to me. She is a woman with her own dreams and desires, and it is my hope that in time, we can build something real together out of the ashes of this arranged marriage.

My thoughts from before, of doing the deed, breaking the curse and going our separate ways are long gone.

That was before.

Before I met her. Before I saw how gorgeous she is, yes, but also before I started to learn that she’s kind and strong, fierce and funny too. She’s exactly the sort of woman I can see myself building a life and a future with.

All of that was before I said ‘I do’ and kissed her and something snapped into place within my chest – a magical bond that speaks of the rightness of this union – and Swyn found her place in my heart.

It hits me like lightning and I wonder why the hell I didn’t notice it before. Swyn’s mine. My fated mate.

As I lie in bed, the moonlight bathes the room in a silvery glow and Swyn’s image refuses to leave my mind. Her fiery spirit, quick wit, and the way she stood up to me earlier, all blend into a heady mix that both unsettles and thrills me.

Shifting uncomfortably under the covers, I try to push away the thoughts taking root in my mind. This is not how a husband should think of his newly wedded wife. Not when she’s his junior and a damn stranger.

Yet, an undeniable pull exists between us, something primal and raw that crackles in the air when I’m near her.

With a frustrated sigh, I turn onto my side and close my eyes, willing sleep to overtake me and banish these illicit thoughts. Despite exhaustion tugging at my eyelids, I can’t shake Swyn’s face from my mind – her gorgeous magical eyes, flashing with defiance and a hint of something else that sends shivers down my spine.

The rational part of me recognizes these feelings as dangerous, knows that they should be forbidden even. But in the darkness of night, with only the sound of my racing heart for company, I can’t deny the truth whispering through my veins like a siren’s song.

Swyn has awakened something long buried within me, a desire burning hotter and brighter than anything before.

As my hand moves over my skin and grabs my cock, the heat of desire washes over me in relentless waves. I can’t resist envisioning Swyn’s touch taking the place of my own, her cool and nimble fingers skilled in seduction beyond my wildest dreams.

My pace quickens, desperation creeping in as I lose myself in the fantasy of introducing Swyn to a realm of pleasures deemed forbidden.

In my mind, she stands tall and defiant, embodying wildfire and rebellion. Her touch traces intricate patterns on my body, setting ablaze a hunger that devours me completely. Her soft, intoxicating moans echo in my ears, ensnaring me further into the labyrinth of our shared desires. Imagining her tongue exploring every inch of me, ignites a blaze within me that erupts with an intensity I never thought possible.

“Swyn,” I groan, spilling my release into a hastily grabbed tissue. Fuck.

Breathless and spent, I lay there as tremors of energy still course through me. The illusion of Swyn fades away, leaving behind a flood of guilt that threatens to drown me.

Oh fuck. I’m definitely going to Hell.