Chapter 6 – Regina #2
“There is no such thing as a dragon shifter.” His voice is measured, the way it gets when he’s explaining a complex topic in class. “Technically, I am a dragon who can take human form. The distinction matters.”
“I don’t understand.”
He gestures to his face, to his body, to the perfectly tailored suit that somehow shifts with him.
“A typical shifter is a being with two souls, merged as one when the first shift comes. A symbiotic relationship between human and beast. Two halves of a whole.” His dark eyes meet mine.
“I am simply a beast who can occasionally wear this mask.”
That’s… menacing as fuck.
Villeneuve chuckles.
“Stop that,” I hiss.
“My apologies. This is all new for me as well.”
“Oh, so you don’t secretly force your way into pack bonds on a regular basis? First time?”
His lips twitch. “Shocking, I know.”
I sigh, trying to maintain the appropriate level of exasperation when I’m just…exhausted. That makes two of us, I guess. “How long have you been able to read my mind?”
“Only since I took your energy for the healing last night,” he answers with such immediate sincerity I’m actually tempted to believe him. “Which is why I thought it was important for us to have this conversation sooner than later.”
I take a second to process that. Is that why I can smell him? Whatever he uses to mask his scent must be magical, then. Like a glamour of sorts.
It occurs to me that I haven’t bothered to put the glamour back up since… when did it slip, exactly? While I was running in the woods on Killian’s back, wild and free? During the battle? Hard to say.
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The excuse,” I answer. “The reason you did it. You must have one, so give it your best. I’m all ears.”
“You don’t strike me as a person who’s convinced by excuses.”
“I’m not. But try anyway. I think you owe me that.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. When he finally speaks again, his voice is different. It’s softer and uncharacteristically uncertain. “You don’t have to believe me, and I have certainly given you no reason to. But I did it to protect you.”
I stare at him.
“You’re right,” I say flatly. “I don’t believe you.”
He nods. “That’s fair.”
I clench my jaw. “Stop being so fucking reasonable.”
His lip twitches. “Would you prefer me to be unreasonable?”
“Yes, actually.”
“You’ve been around the wolves too long.”
I blow a puff of air through my nostrils.
“Alright, I’ll bite.” I lean forward. “How exactly does you forcing a bond protect me?”
“For one thing,” he begins thoughtfully, “the bond was already present.”
“What?”
“Not a shifter, remember?” He tilts his head slightly. “Mate bonds work differently where dragons are concerned.”
I freeze. The word mate feels like a guillotine blade that just sliced down. “I’m listening.”
Villeneuve moves to sit on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a respectable distance between us.
“I may not be a true shifter, but dragons also imprint on a mate the moment we see her. However, that is where the similarities end.” He pauses again.
“I knew the moment I saw you, Regina. You were my fated mate.”
I struggle to process that. My brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. Of all the excuses I expected him to give, that wasn’t one of them.
Never that.
“That night in the woods?” I manage, my voice coming out cracked. “When I was hiding in the frat house?”
“The very same.”
“Why didn’t you say anything then?”
“You clearly had enough on your plate. A stalker ex, a coven trying to reclaim you, four wolves circling you like a wounded deer.” He gives a rueful smile. “I thought it best to keep my distance.”
I actually believe him, in spite of not wanting to.
“How do a dragon and a wolf pack end up imprinting on the same mate?” I ask, since that’s the one question all the others are orbiting around.
“Now that is a question I can’t answer,” he says, leaning back to stare off at nothing in particular. “I’ve had a long time to wonder the same thing myself.”
I think I believe that, too, if only because Villeneuve doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy admitting there’s anything he doesn’t know.
“You still haven’t explained the bond part.”
“Shifter bonds are similar in that they start with imprinting, but in order to be solidified, they require agreement. Consent.” A hint of fondness enters his voice. “Wolves are noble if simple creatures.”
“And dragons?”
His eyes go dark and cold.
“Surely you know the myths.” His voice drops lower. “Dragons are selfish, vicious beasts. They take what they wish, and they hoard it.”
A shiver runs down my spine. But even though I get the feeling he’s trying to be menacing, I’m not afraid.
I can sense his intentions through the bond now that I’m aware of it. The thread connecting us isn’t aggressive or possessive. It’s almost... protective. Watchful.
And there’s more sadness there than I could have possibly imagined.
“You were cloaking it somehow,” I say slowly. “Weren’t you? The bond?”
He nods. “I fully intended on keeping it to myself for as long as possible. Forever, if all went to plan.”
That hurts for reasons I don’t fully understand.
“And what was your plan?” I ask, and I can hear the bitterness in my own voice.
He studies me for a moment, his gaze searching. When he speaks again, his tone is thoughtful.
“Did you know there is only one creature on this planet that has ever managed to fell a dragon, Regina? Besides our own kind, of course.”
The sudden change in topic throws me. “And which creature is that?”
“A wolf.” He stands, moving toward a cluster of exotic flowers I don’t recognize.
“A pack, more specifically. It’s only happened once in recorded history, but a pack of wolves once managed to fell a dragon in defense of their beloved mate.
A witch, curiously enough.” He touches one of the strange blooms, its petals iridescent in the gray light. “Or so the legend goes.”
“What are you talking about? What does a legend have to do with any of this?”
He doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he continues walking, and I follow him, drawn by the pull of the bond and my own desperate need for answers.
“Dragons are ancient beings,” he says. “We love nothing more than the treasure we’ve hoarded. Sometimes entire kingdoms. We have no natural predators, other than our own greed and territoriality. But in our constant lust for power, we managed to wipe each other out to the very point of extinction.”
He stops to pick a flower I’ve never seen before. An exotic bloom with deep purple petals and a center that seems to glow faintly. He lets it rest tenderly in his palm for a moment, contemplating its beauty before crushing it in his fist.
It turns to ash in his grip.
“I am that point,” he says quietly.
I stare at him, realizing this is the real Villeneuve. The man behind the mask of the confident, mysterious professor. And all of a sudden, it makes sense. The isolation. The shroud of secrecy around everything he is and does.
“You’re the last one?”
“In a sense.” He lets the ash sift through his fingers. “The first time you asked me what I was, what I told you was not a lie, even if it wasn’t the full truth. I am a hybrid, of sorts. My mother was Fae. Hence the affinity for magic.”
“Fae?” I stare at him. “But how... how did a Fae become a dragon’s mate?”
His eyes are completely dead now, not a speck of light to be found in them. “Not willingly.”
All the air leaves my chest.
“She killed herself not long after my birth,” he continues, his voice flat.
“I suppose she couldn’t bear the weight of knowing she’d had any part in continuing the species that had nearly hunted her own to the brink of extinction.
Although they usually leave that part out of the textbooks, don’t they? The Fae-Draconic Wars. Too ugly.”
“You were a child.” The words come out before I can stop them. “Whatever horrible things your father did, you can’t blame yourself for that. For just existing.”
His laugh is low and bitter. “That’s a very human way of looking at it.”
He hates himself. The realization hits me with harsh and sudden clarity.
He absolutely fucking loathes himself. It’s as plain as the bond between us, now that I know to look for it.
All that distance, all that professionalism, it’s nothing more than armor.
Nothing more than protection, even if I’m not sure what could possibly threaten him.
“Earlier,” I say slowly, “you said you did what you did, weaving yourself into the bond, to protect me. From what?”
He turns to look at me, and for just a moment, the mask slips completely.
“Isn’t it obvious?” His voice is barely above a whisper. “From me.”
“Regina!”
Rowan’s voice cuts through the garden before I can respond to that, laced with a growl of concern.
I spin around to see him standing at the end of the path, still in yesterday’s clothes, his long hair disheveled from sleep.
His eyes have that faint glow I’m starting to realize all shifters have when their beast is near to the surface, ready to take over at the slightest provocation.
“Is Killian alright?” I ask, already moving toward him.
“Everything’s fine.” He meets me halfway, his hand finding my arm like he needs to reassure himself I’m real. “Or at least, nothing’s changed, but I woke up and you were gone. I was worried.”
“I’m fine. I was just—“
I turn to gesture to Villeneuve, hoping that two against one will make him slightly less cryptic and a lot more forthcoming, but—
But he’s gone.
The garden is empty. The stone bench sits abandoned in the gray morning light. The only evidence he was ever here is a small pile of ash on the ground where he crushed that flower in his hand.
I stare at the spot where he stood, feeling the bond pulse faintly between us.
The questions I still have pile up in my throat, but there’s no one left to ask.