Chapter 20 – Regina
Chapter
Twenty
REGINA
The sun is actually out for once, and the campus of Stormvale looks just like any other university, albeit a particularly picturesque one.
It feels wrong, somehow. Like the weather didn’t get the memo about everything going to shit.
But here I am, sprawled on a picnic blanket under the shade of a tree in Villeneuve’s back garden, pretending to read a book about something other than werewolves for once while three of my mates make absolute fools of themselves twenty feet away.
Sean catches the football with one hand and immediately spikes it into the ground like he just scored the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl.
“Did you see that?” he crows. “Did you see that?”
“We saw it,” Micah says flatly. “We’re standing right here.”
“That was a one-handed catch, bro. Tell that to my depth reception.”
“Perception,” Rowan corrects.
“Don’t diminish my accomplishments.”
Rowan retrieves the ball from where it’s rolled into a flower bed. “Your accomplishments are trampling Villeneuve’s roses.”
“They’ll grow back.”
“They’re like a billion years old.”
“Then they’ve had a good run.”
I snort and turn the page of my book. Haven’t absorbed a single word in the last hour. But the pretense gives me an excuse to sit here and watch them without being obvious about it.
They’re showing off. All three of them. Micah’s throws are getting progressively more elaborate—behind the back, between the legs, one memorable attempt that involved a somersault and nearly ended with him face-first in the garden pond.
I’m pretty sure Villeneuve would have torched him for upsetting his koi.
Sean is catching everything with increasingly unnecessary acrobatics. Even Rowan, who usually plays it cool, has been putting some extra spin on his passes.
For me.
They’re showing off for me, these complete dorks.
But Killian isn’t playing.
He’s sitting next to me on the blanket, close enough that I feel his warmth. He’s been running hot lately. Another symptom I’m trying not to think about. His eyes track the football as it arcs through the air, but his body is tense. Like he’s ready to leap up at a second’s notice.
He hasn’t touched me in days. Not really. A brush of fingers here, a careful hand on my shoulder there. Always pulling back before it becomes anything more. Always putting space between us.
I hate it.
But I understand it, too. He’s afraid of what he might do if he loses control. Afraid that the thing growing inside him will hurt the people he loves.
I set my book aside and shift closer to him on the blanket. Giving him every chance to move away if he needs to.
He doesn’t.
His whole body goes rigid when my shoulder brushes his arm, but he doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t put more space between us, just sits there while I lean into his side.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Hey.” His voice is rough.
“You should be out there with them.”
“I’m where I want to be.”
“Killian—”
“I said I’m fine.” The words come out sharper than usual and he flinches. “Sorry. I just—I’m fine.”
I don’t push. Just rest my head against his shoulder and watch the others play.
Sean is now attempting to catch the ball while doing a handstand. It goes about as well as you’d expect. Micah is laughing so hard his glasses have fogged up.
“He’s going to hurt himself,” Killian mutters.
“Probably. Should we stop him?”
“Some lessons have to be learned the hard way,” he answers. “All of Sean’s lessons, actually.”
I press closer. Feel the way his arm trembles against mine.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I tell him.
He doesn’t answer.
“I know what you’re thinking. That you’re dangerous. That you might hurt me.” I tilt my head to look up at him. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. “But I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.”
“Maybe. But I’m not.”
His hand moves. I think he’s going to push me away, finally do what he’s been silently threatening to do for weeks and completely shut down. Instead, his fingers find mine on the blanket. His grip is careful, like he’s handling something fragile.
Compared to him, I guess I am.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly.
“Shut up.”
“Regina…”
“I said shut up.” I lace my fingers through his. His palm is too warm against mine. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve. That’s my call. And I call bullshit on your whole self-sacrificing alpha routine.”
He gives a laugh that’s dry as dust, but I’ll take it.
We sit there in silence, watching the others play, and for a moment things feel almost normal. Almost like we’re not living on borrowed time.
The sun is warm on my face and the grass smells like summer that won’t come for months. Somewhere in the distance, a bird is singing.
It’s a nice day.
And then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, everything goes to shit.
I feel it before I see it, a ripple in the wards surrounding Villeneuve’s property. Someone is crossing the boundary. Someone who shouldn’t be here.
My head snaps up. The others have felt it too. Sean has stopped mid-handstand, frozen in place. Micah’s laughter has died out and Rowan is already moving toward us, his expression gone sharp and alert.
Killian is on his feet before I can blink. His hand is still gripping mine, pulling me up beside him. The tension that he wears like armor lately has hardened into something dangerous.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Company,” Rowan says grimly, sniffing the air. “Undead.”
A figure emerges from the tree line at the edge of the garden. A tall man in an expensive-looking charcoal suit, with pale skin and slicked-back black hair that’s turned prematurely white at the temples, considering he doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.
And his eyes are wrong. They’re a shade of purple I’ve only ever seen in the supernatural world, and even then, rarely.
I know what he is even before he opens his mouth. Lich. One of the undead practitioners who traded their mortality for power centuries ago. They’re rare and dangerous and almost always connected to one dark organization or another.
This is not good.
“Regina Cook?” His voice is smooth and deceptively pleasant. It makes my skin crawl.
“Who’s asking?” Killian steps in front of me. His hand has shifted from holding mine to gripping my wrist, keeping me behind him.
The lich’s gaze moves over Killian boredly. Then it shifts to the others—Sean and Micah flanking us, Rowan positioned slightly behind—before finally settling back on me.
“Knox Warner,” he says. “Council Special Investigator. I’m here regarding the incident with the Starbridge coven.”
My stomach drops.
“The Council already investigated,” Rowan says carefully. “We cooperated fully.”
“Yes.” Knox’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve reviewed the reports. Quite thoroughly, in fact. There are... inconsistencies.”
“What kind of inconsistencies?” Micah’s voice is sharper than usual.
“The kind that result in eight dead witches and a rogue siphon walking free.” Those purple eyes fix on me with an intensity that makes my magic stir uneasily beneath my skin.
“You should have been taken into custody, Ms. Cook. The moment your pack killed those coven members, you became a person of interest.”
“Those coven members attacked us,” I say. My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “They brought a werewolf. A reanimated werewolf. We were just defending ourselves.”
“So you claim.”
“So the evidence shows.” Killian’s growl is barely human. “The Council sweepers found traces of necromancy at the scene. Dark magic. That’s not on us.”
“The Council sweepers found what they were told to find.” Knox’s tone is dismissive. “This investigation has been compromised from the start. Favoritism. Interference from certain parties who have a vested interest in protecting Ms. Cook.”
“Bullshit,” Sean spits.
“Is it?” Knox takes a step closer. The wards around the property should have stopped him, but he walked through them like they weren’t even there.
Council authority, probably, assuming he really is who he says he is.
Or something worse. “Kyle Starbridge is missing. His coven has been decimated. Eight of his followers are dead, including one who was in Council custody while being interrogated by the woman who left him. And yet Ms. Cook remains free.”
“Because she’s innocent,” Rowan says, his lip curling back in a snarl.
“That remains to be determined.” Knox’s gaze never leaves my face. “You’ll need to come with me. For questioning.”
Killian moves so fast I barely track it. One second he’s standing in front of me. The next, he’s right in Knox’s face, every line of his body screaming violence.
“She’s not going anywhere with you.”
Knox’s eyebrow arches. “You’re interfering with a Council investigation, Mr. Underwood. I’d advise against it.”
“And I’d advise against trying to take my mate into custody without probable cause.”
“Your mate.” Knox scoffs. “How touching. Unfortunately, the bonds of a pack do not supersede Council authority. She will come with me, or I will summon enforcement to collect her. By force, if that’s what it takes.”
The air around us crackles with the magic this guy is packing. A supernatural dick-measuring contest. I feel my wolves preparing to fight, feel the violence building in all of them, ready to explode.
This is going to end badly.
“That won’t be necessary.”
The voice comes from behind us. Cold and absolutely furious.
Villeneuve steps out of the mansion’s back entrance like he’s just walked through a portal. His expression is carved from a solid block of ice, and his eyes…
His eyes are green.
Not dark, like they usually are in his human form. Not the ancient, knowing black that makes students check their homework twice before they turn it in. These eyes are burning emerald and bright, and one look into them makes Knox take an involuntary step backward.
His dragon is close to the surface.
“Professor Villeneuve.” Knox’s voice has lost some of its smugness. “You do seem to be quite intimately involved in this matter.”