Chapter 6 – KILLIAN
Chapter
Six
KILLIAN
T he Cauldron reeks of burnt coffee, contraband mugwort cigarettes, and enough academic anxiety to choke an elephant.
Par for the course on a Friday night when half the magical population of Stormvale University is cramming for midterms. The barista—Dax, some kind of demi-fae with silver eyes that glow under the right light—stiffens visibly when we walk in.
His hand twitches toward the emergency ward button under the counter.
"Killian," Dax says, practically choking on forced cheerfulness. "The usual for you guys?"
"Thanks, Dax." I flash my most diplomatic smile. All teeth, no warmth. The kind of smile that says I'll play nice, but we both know what I am and only one of us likes it.
I scan the room while he makes our drinks.
Same sad scene as always. A cluster of elemental witches huddled near the back, frantically highlighting textbooks.
Two vampires in the corner booth doing that weird stillness thing they do when they're trying to appear human and failing spectacularly.
The trio of coven witches from Professor Lao's advanced spellcrafting seminar, giggling and sneaking glances our way.
"Your hunting ground awaits," I mutter to Micah, nodding toward the witches. "Work your magic, Romeo."
"Why me?" He pushes his glasses up his nose, an unnecessarily nerdy gesture for someone who once took down a rogue wendigo with his bare hands. "You're the pack leader."
"And you're the one who doesn't terrify them on sight." I grab my black coffee from the counter. "Besides, they already like you. I've seen the redhead watching you in Comparative Anatomy."
Sean claps Micah on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "Yeah, bro. She definitely wants your comparative anatomy."
"You're a fucking idiot," Micah growls, but he's already moving toward their table.
I nod for Rowan to secure us a spot with sight lines to both exits. He understands without words, like always. The quiet one, the planner. Every pack needs someone who thinks before they act, especially when the rest of us are impulsive fucks with authority issues.
"Twenty bucks says he strikes out," Sean says, watching Micah approach the witches.
"Fifty says you strike out with every woman in here tonight," Rowan counters.
"You're on, asshole."
I tune out their bickering, focusing instead on the energy of the room. There's magic here, obviously—it's a supernatural hangout—but nothing special. Nothing that screams "destined Bonded" or whatever mystical bullshit Sadie promised.
Then it hits me.
A scent.
And not just any scent.
I freeze, coffee halfway to my lips, nostrils flaring to pull in more of it. Ancient forest after rainfall. Lightning-struck oak. Green smoke and emerald fire. Underneath that, something else. Fear and exhaustion and raw, wild power barely contained.
My wolf slams against my consciousness, suddenly alert, desperate.
Mine , it growls. Find. Protect. Claim.
"Kill? You good?" Sean's voice sounds like it's coming through water.
I don't answer. Can't. I'm already moving, drawn toward the darkest corner booth where the scent originates. All I can see is a small hooded figure hunched over a coffee mug. Face obscured, body rigid.
Female. Witch.
But not like any witch I've ever encountered.
Humans smell like food or flowers or sweat. Witches usually smell like whatever element they manipulate—earthy or airy or smoky. But she smells like... like the world itself. Like magic in its purest form.
My mouth goes dry. My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape my chest. I've never felt anything like this before. This immediate, visceral pull .
"Micah," I call without looking back. "Get over here." My voice comes out rough, guttural.
She tenses at the sound, still not looking up. Her knuckles whiten around her mug. She knows I'm coming for her, and she's afraid.
Good instincts. But unnecessary.
I'm five steps away when she suddenly bolts from the booth, keeping her hood low. She's fast, slipping between tables toward the back of the café.
Toward the bathrooms.
"Shit," I mutter, changing course to intercept her.
Micah appears at my side, confusion evident on his face. "What the hell, Kill? I was making progress with?—"
Then he catches the scent too. His eyes widen, pupils dilating. "Holy fuck. Is that?—"
"Yes." No need to explain. No words are adequate, anyway. This is all instinct. "Get the others. Can't let her leave."
He nods, immediately turning to signal Sean and Rowan. Meanwhile, I pursue the hooded figure, keeping my pace deliberately casual. No need to cause a scene. The last thing we need is campus security getting involved.
She's heading straight for the women's restroom, clearly planning to hide or escape. I reach the door just as it slams shut. I hear the lock click. From inside comes rapid, panicked breathing through the door.
Our fated mate is having a panic attack and we haven't even gotten to introduce ourselves yet.
So much for making a good first impression.
Micah, Sean, and Rowan converge on me, all wearing identical expressions of shock and excitement.
"Did you smell that?" Sean whispers, which for him is still too loud. "She smells like?—"
"Like when lightning hits the lake during full moon," Rowan interrupts, his eyes glassy. He always was the poet of the group.
"Like an old spell book," Micah adds wistfully.
"Like our fucking Bonded," I growl, cutting them all off. "And she's terrified."
"Of us?" Rowan's brow furrows. He sounds hurt.
"Maybe." I tilt my head, listening to movement inside. Something scraping across the floor. "Or maybe something else."
"We can't just barge into the women's bathroom," Micah reasons. "It looks suspicious as fuck that we're even standing outside it."
"So what do we do? Ask nicely?" Sean looks genuinely baffled. "Hey, flighty little witch who's hiding from us, please come out so we can smell you better? What's the protocol here?"
"There is no protocol for finding your Bonded in a coffee shop bathroom, dipshit," I snap.
Rowan puts a calming hand on my shoulder, which I immediately shrug off. "We need to think this through. If she's our Bonded, she'll feel the connection too. Eventually. Maybe give her space?"
"She has to come out eventually," Micah reasons.
I hesitate. He has a point. She's trapped, and if she thinks four strange alpha wolves are cornering her, she's not going to be thrilled. But something in my gut rages against the idea of waiting.
I press my ear back to the door. The scraping sound has stopped. Now there's a metallic creaking, like a latch being forced.
A window?
Fuck !
I shoulder the door open, lock splintering under the force. Inside, the bathroom is empty, and the small window above the sink hangs open, cool air drifting in.
"You've got to be kidding me," I growl.
"She fit through that?" Sean gapes at the narrow opening. "Damn, she's tiny."
"She probably took one look at Kill and thought he'd eat her," Micah says flatly.
I roll my eyes, already moving toward the window and craning my neck to peer out. It opens into a narrow alley behind the Humanities building. No sign of her, but her scent hangs in the air, potent as moonlight.
"We're not losing her," I say, pushing past the pack and heading for the door. "Back exit. Now."
We burst out of the Cauldron, ignoring Dax's shouts about property damage and confused giggling from the witches. I lead the pack around the building to the alley, nose lifted to track her. The scent trail leads toward the quad, then veers sharply between buildings.
"Spread out," I order. "Micah, cut across the science building. Rowan, take the north path. Sean?—"
"Look!" Sean interrupts, pointing. "Is that her?"
A distant figure sprints across the edge of the quad, hood fallen back to reveal dark hair streaming behind her. She's fast, agile, clearly familiar with running for her life.
The wolf inside me howls with recognition.
"That's her," I confirm.
But she's not alone.
Three figures pursue her, two men and a woman. All three of them smell like powerful magic. Not as powerful as her, but still more potent than the average student learning to cast on campus, and she's outnumbered.
The three witches spread out to cut off escape routes. The woman's hair is flame-red, unnaturally bright even at this distance. Easy to follow.
"Are those friends of hers?" Rowan asks.
"Does it look like they're friends?" I snarl, already moving. "She's running like her life depends on it."
His eyes darken dangerously.
The tallest pursuer shouts something I can't quite catch, and the hooded witch— our witch—changes direction sharply. She's heading for the edge of campus, toward faculty housing and the forest preserve beyond.
White-hot rage floods my system.
Someone is hunting what's ours.
Un-fucking-acceptable.
"She's heading for the pack house," Micah realizes, quickening his pace to match mine.
Our house sits at the edge of campus, an ancient Victorian monstrosity that's been in my family for generations. Technically campus housing now, though no one outside Lupe Tau has lived there in decades. The university rents it to the fraternity as "special accommodations" for us shifters.
Special code for "we don't want you in the dorms where you might eat someone when you get overstimulated on a full moon."
She can't know it's our territory. Must be coincidence. Or instinct leading Little Red straight to the big bad wolves' door.
"Who the fuck are they?" Sean growls beside me, his eyes already shifting to amber.
"Doesn't matter," I reply. "They're hunting on our territory. Time to stop playing human," I decide, pulling off my Henley as we reach the tree line. "Shift."
No arguments from my pack. Clothes are shed in seconds. The shift comes easily, fueled by protective rage and possessive hunger. Bones crack, skin stretches, fur erupts. Within moments, four massive wolves stand where men had just been.
My wolf form towers over the others, midnight black with ice-blue eyes that retain their human color. The pack alpha, unmistakable. Sean's sandy-brown bulk moves to my right, while Rowan's silver-gray form slips to my left. Micah, russet-furred and fastest of us all, takes point.
I lift my muzzle, drinking in scents multiplied tenfold by wolf senses. Hers stands out like a beacon—ancient magic, wild and untamed power—but now I catch more. Blood from scraped palms. Salt from dried tears. And something else, something that makes my hackles rise and a growl build in my chest.
Her fear has a distinct flavor. Not the sharp fear of being suddenly chased. This is older. Deeper. The terror of someone who's being hunted, who's been hunted before.
I project my thoughts through our pack bond, a telepathic link that only works when we're shifted.
Follow her scent. Don't engage unless I give the signal. I want to know what these fuckers want and if there are more of them coming for her before I rip their throats out.
She smells like fucking paradise, Sean's thoughts burst through, characteristically unfiltered. Like magic and thunderstorms and ? —
Focus, Rowan cuts in. She's hurt. Moving northeast, toward the ravine.
Is she running from us or them? Micah wonders.
Does it matter? I respond. Someone's hunting what's ours.
We don't even know her name, Rowan points out, ever the voice of reason.
Don't need to, I reply, pushing deeper into the forest, paws almost silent on the leaf-strewn ground. She's pack now. She just doesn't know it yet.
We run as one unit, four predators moving with instinctive fluid coordination. Micah ranges ahead, the scout. Sean and Rowan flank me, watching for threats. I track the scents, sorting through layers of information.
The hunters aren't ordinary coven members. Their magic carries weight, authority. Old power, like hers but different. Hers is wild and raw. Theirs is disciplined, harnessed—and tainted with something I can't identify. Something that makes my fangs itch to tear them to shreds.
Fuck the dean's ultimatum.
Fuck the campus truce.
And fuck these sons of bitches who think they can take what's ours.
The witch belongs to us, and I'll burn down the entire forest before I let anyone take her from us.