Chapter 9 – Regina
Chapter
Nine
REGINA
Nearly a week in this place and I still get turned around looking for the kitchen.
Villeneuve’s house operates on some kind of architectural logic that doesn’t exist in normal buildings. Hallways curve where they shouldn’t. Staircases lead to floors I’m pretty sure don’t exist from the outside.
And occasionally, when I make a wrong turn down a corridor I’ve never seen before, Margot is there to silently point me in the right direction.
Because that’s not creepy at all.
Right now, I’m looking for Sean, who’s probably even more lost than I am. Which means he could be anywhere, so I’m letting the pull in my chest lead me.
He wandered off after dinner, muttering something about needing to “handle some shit,” and that was forty minutes ago.
In my now constant paranoia about keeping Villeneuve out of my head, I’ve learned how to tap into the bond with each of my wolves individually.
Right now, Sean’s energy is calm and contemplative, which is weird for him.
His foremost emotions are usually hungry and horny, which I wouldn’t have even considered emotions until I met him.
The bond leads me to literally the last place I’d ever think to look for him, which is Villeneuve’s study.
The door is cracked open slightly. Maybe he really did get lost.
I push it wider, expecting to find him raiding Villeneuve’s liquor cabinet or playing with some probably cursed artifact he definitely shouldn’t be touching. Instead, I find him standing in front of a tall mirror in the corner, completely still.
No eyepatch.
He’s got one dangling from each hand, but his face is bare.
The wound has healed well since he’s an alpha, but the scarring is still extensive.
A jagged line runs from his brow through where his eye used to be, down to his cheekbone.
The socket itself is closed now, sealed over with pink scar tissue that’s still shiny and new.
He’s just staring at himself in absolute silence and the sight knocks the wind out of me.
I know this. I’ve done this. Stood in front of mirrors more times than I can count, just taking in the damage, trying to reconcile the face staring back at me with the one I remember having. Wondering if anyone will ever look at me the same way again.
My glamour is down right now. It has been for most of the day. I’ve been trying to wear it less ever since Sean got hurt. It feels hypocritical to hide my own scars while he’s walking around with fresh ones. Like I’m sending a message I don’t intend.
I touch his shoulder gently. “Hey. You okay?”
He blinks, like he’s coming back from somewhere far away. “Hey, Storm.” His voice is rough. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
I pause, considering my words carefully.
“Look, I understand what you’re going through,” I start. “If you want to tell me what you’re thinking about, I’m here.”
He blinks again, looking confused this time. Then he sighs.
“It’s just hard, you know?” He gestures vaguely at his reflection. “Especially with that big presentation coming up for my econ class.”
I wince. “I understand. Getting up in front of people and talking is hard enough, let alone when you’re trying to get used to looking—”
“So fucking sick,” he finishes in a thoughtful whisper.
I stop. “Huh?”
He holds one of the eyepatches up to the mirror, positioning it over the scarred socket. Then switches to the other one, comparing. “I don’t know which one looks more awesome. The one with the metal studs, or the one with the flames.”
I stare at him.
So he isn’t having an existential crisis about his disfigurement.
He’s trying to pick an accessory.
A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. “Uh... the uhm… the studs?”
His face lights up. “You’re right, Storm.” He grabs my shoulders, squeezing gently. “You’re totally right. The studs have more of that rugged space pirate vibe. That’s perfect for econ!”
I’m really afraid to ask how. “Space pirate?”
“Yeah, like Han Solo but with more edge.” He loops the chosen eyepatch over his head, adjusting it until it sits at what I assume he considers a rakish angle. “Micah said I looked more like a budget Nick Fury, but what does he know about fashion?”
“More than you, probably.”
“Harsh but fair.” He grins at his reflection, clearly pleased with the result. Then he turns and kisses me, quick and happy, like I’ve just given him the best gift he’s ever received.
“Space pirate, it is!” He raises the other eyepatch victoriously in his fist and heads for the door. “Gotta go tell Micah the good news. He owes me twenty bucks now.”
“You bet on which eyepatch I’d pick?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah! I bet on studs, he bet on flames. Thanks for coming through, babe!” He’s already halfway down the hall. “You’re the best!”
I wave weakly at his retreating form. “Happy I could help.”
The study goes quiet.
I stand there for a moment, still processing the whiplash of that conversation. Here I was ready to have a deep emotional moment about trauma and self-acceptance, but Sean was apparently just stuck between two aesthetics.
“He seems to be adjusting well.”
I spin around.
Villeneuve is standing in the corner of the study in a spot that was definitely empty thirty seconds ago. He’s pouring wine from a decanter that also wasn’t there before.
“For fuck’s sake.” My heart is hammering. “Do you practice that, or does it just come naturally?”
“Practice what?” He offers me a glass. The wine is deep red, almost black in the dim light.
“The appearing out of nowhere thing. The looming.” I take the glass because my hands need something to do. “You’re not even pretending to not be menacing anymore, are you?”
His lips curve. “Would you prefer I pretend?”
“I’d prefer a warning. Maybe a bell around your neck.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.” He moves to the chair by the fireplace, which he lights with a snap of his fingers, and settles into it. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine.” The words come out automatically. “I’m not the one in stasis.”
“No.” He takes a sip of his wine. “You may not be a wolf, but the bond goes both ways. I know you’re deeply attached.”
I look down at my glass, watching the firelight play through the dark liquid. “I love him,” I admit. The words feel strange to say out loud, especially to him. True, but strange. “All of them.”
Villeneuve is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than usual. “Lucky boys.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
The silence goes on a beat too long, full of everything we’re both avoiding.
“Have you heard anything from your mysterious contact?” I ask finally. “Vyse?”
“No.” He swirls his wine. “But Vyse isn’t one to give regular updates. He works at his own pace and reports when he has something worth reporting.”
“How do you know him, anyway? You mentioned a debt.”
“We have history. Complicated history.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. It isn’t.” He sighs. “I happened to be visiting the Twilight Market at the same moment Vyse happened to be getting his head bashed in. Something about screwing the wrong demon.”
“Literally or financially?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
Villeneuve smirks and takes another sip of wine. “Didn’t want to know then, never asked since.”
“So you rescued him?” I ask. “That’s why he owes you?”
“That and I put in a word for him to the Council when he decided to go legitimate.”
“So you saved his life and got him his job.” I fold my arms. “That’s a lot of favors for a stranger you met at the black market.”
He chuckles, the sound as smooth as the wine. “I thought it might come in handy one day to have a siren in my back pocket. And more allies on the Council is never a bad thing.”
“So you collect people,” I reason. “People you think might be useful to you one day.”
“Life is a game, Regina,” he says, a weariness in his voice that belies the arrogance of his words. “You either play it, or you become someone else’s pawn.”
“How charmingly Machiavellian.”
His lips twitch. “You haven’t told your wolves about what I did during the ritual.”
He’s good at turning the tables, I’ll give him that. “No. I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
I take another sip of wine. It’s good and probably older than me. “You know they’ll kill you if I do, right?”
“I’m sure they’d try.” He sounds almost amused. “That would be... inconvenient. For now.”
I don’t like keeping secrets from my mates. It feels wrong, like a splinter under my skin that I can’t quite get out. But the alternative, telling them that the dragon professor who saved their alpha’s life also secretly bonded himself to their mate, would end badly for everyone.
Especially Villeneuve.
And right now, we need him.
“There was something you said before in the garden,” I start. “You said only a pack of wolves has ever managed to kill a dragon. What did you mean by—”
The doorbell rings.
The sound is jarring against the silence of the study. I reach for my glamour instinctively, pulling it over my scars before I can think about it. The familiar drain of energy settles over my skin.
Villeneuve sets down his wine glass. “Speak of the devil.”
“Vyse?”
“He’s one of the only things capable of slithering past my wards to reach the bell.” He stands, smoothing down his jacket. “It seems he does have an update, after all.”
We reach the foyer just as Rowan opens the front door. Micah and Sean are already there, drawn by the sound. Sean’s wearing his new eyepatch and looking extremely pleased with himself.
Rowan has no sooner opened the door than Vyse sweeps into the house like he owns it.
He’s exactly as Micah and Sean described, the photo come to life.
A tall, elegant man with red hair spilling over his shoulders like he’s straight out of a pre-Raphaelite painting.
His silk shirt is open enough to show off his tanned chest, and his leather pants are tight enough that I hope he’s not planning on reproducing anytime soon.
His blue eyes scan the room with lazy interest, lingering on everyone present just long enough to assess.