Chapter 17 – Regina
Chapter
Seventeen
REGINA
The Council facility looks exactly like any other bureaucratic hellhole, with the exception of the imp guarding the front desk and the occasional hum of magic from the various corridors of the building.
We’re flanked by guards in matching uniforms who look deeply uncomfortable with our presence as they escort us to the interrogation room.
Rowan’s on my left, Sean on my right. Villeneuve and Vyse lead the way, which is somehow both reassuring and terrifying at the same time.
Micah and Sadie stayed behind on campus with Killian, much to both alphas’ chagrin.
We can’t risk bringing Killian anywhere near a Council facility.
They have people like Vyse here, who can sense magic in ways most practitioners can’t.
One look at the dark veins spreading under Killian’s skin, one whiff of whatever supernatural wrongness is coursing through his blood, and the Council would know.
And then they’d kill him.
Or quarantine him for study.
Same result, just slower.
So he’s at Villeneuve’s mansion, probably climbing the walls. Micah promised to keep him distracted with video games. Sadie promised me to put a benign hex on anyone who tried to leave.
We’ll see which strategy works better.
The interrogation room is at the end of the hall, behind a door that looks like every other door we’ve passed, which is to say utterly unremarkable. Designed that way, probably. If you didn’t know better, this place could pass for the back rooms of any mundane DMV.
Which is probably why Sean looks like he’s already bored out of his mind.
“You okay?” I whisper to him as we walk.
“Yeah, I’m just allergic to fluorescent lights,” he says, scratching his arm.
Rowan squints over his shoulder. “That’s… literally not possible.”
“Tell that to the itch,” Sean says, holding up a meaty forearm that looks like he’s been playing tic-tac-toe on it with his nails.
“Silence,” Villeneuve snaps, somehow managing to glower at them both on either side of me. “If you embarrass me here, there will be consequences.”
Sean gulps.
Rowan waits until Villeneuve’s back is turned to flip him off.
Vyse opens the door to the interrogation room, which is as hideously banal as the rest of this place. Inside, there’s a one-way mirror taking up most of the far wall. The glass is thick enough to muffle sound, but I can still see her.
Rebecca.
She looks like shit, and that’s not just me being petty.
Okay, maybe it’s a little bit me being petty.
But objectively speaking, the woman who used to swan around Kyle’s coven in designer robes and perfectly applied makeup now looks like she’s been sleeping in a dumpster. Her red hair is tangled and unwashed. Her skin is sallow. Dark circles ring her eyes like bruises.
Vyse wasn’t kidding about those “enhanced” methods of interrogation.
“Damn,” Sean mutters. “This place is like one of those crime shows. Law and Order: Magical Crimes Division.” He makes the shape of a gun with his hands and darts into the far corner. “Houston, we have a witness.”
“Wrong genre, dumbass,” Rowan says with a sigh.
Villeneuve looks like his blood pressure just spiked. Hopefully dragons don’t have to worry about that. He looks at me and asks, “Can you at least try to control them?”
“I could, but the most effective methods usually involve fewer clothes than would be considered professional in a place like this,” I say with a shrug. “Your call.”
He just sighs.
I walk over to the window to observe Rebecca at closer range. Magical cuffs bind her wrists to the table in front of her. They glow faintly with containment sigils I recognize from various textbooks. Heavy-duty shit you use when you’re not sure what someone’s capable of.
“She’s been like that since we brought her in,” Vyse says, watching Rebecca through the glass with interest. “Won’t eat. Won’t sleep. Just sits there and stares.”
“Guilt?” Rowan asks.
“Doubtful,” Vyse answers. “More likely shock. Her beloved leader abandoned her to face the consequences of his actions. That tends to leave a mark.”
I don’t feel sorry for her. I refuse to feel sorry for her. This is the woman who helped Kyle gaslight me for years.
Fuck her.
But fuck Kyle even more.
With a rusty shovel.
“You’re sure about this?” Villeneuve’s voice is quiet. He’s moved to stand beside me, close enough that I can smell smoke and incense. “There’s no shame in changing your mind.”
“I’m sure.”
“If you feel uncomfortable at any point, we’ll intervene.” His hand settles on my shoulder. The touch is light, barely there, but I feel the weight of what he’s not saying.
I’ll know. Through the bond. If you need me. You don’t even have to say the word.
A low growl rumbles from Rowan’s direction.
Sean looks like he wishes his finger gun was real.
Villeneuve rolls his eyes and lets his hand fall away. “The possessive instincts of wolves are truly exhausting.”
“Yeah, well, deal with it,” Rowan mutters.
I almost laugh. “I’m fine. Really.”
Vyse produces a small earpiece from his pocket and hands it to me. “Communication device. I’ll be able to hear everything, and I can speak to you through this if needed. Standard Council issue, completely undetectable to the prisoner.”
I fit it into my ear. It’s smaller than I expected, but comfortable.
“One more thing.” Vyse’s blue eyes meet mine. “People like Rebecca respond to strength. Don’t let her see you waver. If she senses weakness, she’ll exploit it.”
“I know.” I’ve spent years in Kyle’s coven. I know exactly how these people operate. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” A thin smile crosses his face. “Have fun.”
The door to the interrogation room is heavier than it looks. I have to put my weight into it to push it open, and the hinges creak like they haven’t been oiled in decades.
Rebecca’s head snaps up when I enter.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I let the door swing shut behind me, let the sound of it closing echo through the small space. The room is sparse, furnished with just the table, two chairs, and the one-way mirror where I know the others are watching.
“The prodigal siphon returns.” Rebecca’s voice is hoarse but still manages to drip with contempt. “Did you come to gloat?”
“I came to ask questions.”
“How professional of you.” She leans back in her chair, the movement awkward with her wrists bound. “Let me save you some time. I’m not telling you shit.”
“We’ll see.”
I take the seat across from her. The metal is cold through my jeans. I fold my hands on the table, mirroring her posture, and study her face. She’s trying to put on a bold front, but she’s shaken. Anyone would be in her position.
“Kyle abandoned you,” I say. It’s not a question.
Her jaw tightens. “Kyle is… handling things.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” I tilt my head. “That he’s ‘handling things’? That he’s coming back for you? That any minute now, he’s going to sweep in and rescue his loyal followers?”
“Shut up.”
“He left you, Rebecca. Left you and everyone else to face the consequences while he ran. That’s what men like Kyle do.”
“I said shut up.” Her voice has gone sharp and brittle. Clearly I’ve hit a nerve.
“What’s the matter? Don’t like hearing the truth?” I lean forward slightly. “You were always his favorite, weren’t you? The one he confided in. The one he trusted. And look where that got you.”
Her eyes flash. “At least I was loyal. Unlike some people.”
“Is that what you call it? Fucking another woman in your girlfriend’s bed? Loyal?”
“You were never good enough for him.” The contempt is back, even sharper now. “You were just a siphon. A useful tool. You should have been grateful he even looked at you after what happened to your face.”
I feel three bursts of rage through the bond, but none of them are from me. Rebecca can’t get to me anymore. Not with her words and certainly not with Kyle.
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Grateful? For being treated like a battery? For having my magic rationed out like I was on some kind of supernatural allowance?”
“You were special.” Rebecca spits the word like a curse. “The great siphon. The Thirteenth. Everyone fawned over you, and you never even appreciated it.”
And there it is. The thing I never understood until right now.
She thinks I had it easy. She thinks being a siphon made me special, made me something to envy.
She has no idea that I spent years feeling like a burden. Like a fucking parasite. Something broken that needed constant maintenance just to function.
I never felt special, I felt used.
Until I found my pack.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I say quietly.
“I know what’s under that glamour.” Her smile is vicious. “What’s the matter? Still can’t stand to look at yourself? I don’t blame you. Kyle told me about your scars in excruciating detail. Said they made him sick, and he had to think about me just to get through fucking you.”
The words should hurt.
A few months ago, they would have.
Now they just piss me off.
“Kick her in the tits,” a familiar voice says in my head. “That’s like lady balls.”
Sean. Of course. He must have shifted into his wolf form in front of everyone behind the glass just to give me that little pointer through our bond.
I sigh and turn back to Rebecca.
Then I drop my glamour.
The spell dissolves like mist with the familiar sensation of the magic releasing, the slight tingle as my true appearance reasserts itself.
The massive scar that ruins one entire side of my face, the jagged star pattern that extends from my eye to my nose and lip, the exposed teeth, the milky blindness in that eye.
All of it.
Rebecca’s face falls.
Shock, mostly. Maybe a little fear.
I lean forward.
“What’s the matter?” My voice is steady and cold. “Don’t like looking at the results of a werewolf attack? The thing you unleashed?”
She doesn’t answer. For once in her miserable life, she’s speechless.
“Just remember,” I continue. “I survived worse than you. And I have people willing to fight for me. Can you really say the same?”