Chapter 8 – ROWAN
Chapter
Eight
ROWAN
T he witch's scent guides us through the forest like lines pulling fish. My paws strike the earth in silent rhythm, every sense heightened in wolf form. Earth, rain, and wild magic—her fragrance fills my lungs with each breath, embedding itself in my memory.
I'd recognize it anywhere now.
Follow it to the ends of the earth if necessary.
Our pack moves with practiced unity, Micah scouting ahead while I flank Killian opposite Sean. I've never felt our pack leader this focused, this possessed by singular purpose. Through our telepathic pack bond, his thoughts thunder with protective rage, primal and consuming.
She's frightened , I project, analyzing the nuances in her scent trail. Exhausted too.
We already know she's injured. I can smell her blood.
I'll kill them , Sean's thoughts burst through, unusually dark for our normally jovial packmate. Whoever's hunting her. I'll rip their throats out.
Focus , Killian commands. We need to know who these magic-users are and what they want with her first.
I parse through the competing scents, cataloging what I detect. Three witch signatures. All part of the same coven. Their magic is harmonized. Old power structures. Hierarchy. The leader smells like an arrogant thunderstorm.
My wolf has always possessed the most sensitive nose in our pack, able to detect subtleties others miss. In human form, I'm the quiet analytical one, the engineering student. In wolf form, I'm the tracker, the one who finds what others lose.
Now, every instinct I possess tells me we're closing in on something precious beyond measure.
I can't believe Sadie's spell actually worked. Micah's stepsister is skilled, but her methods are usually unconventional. I had serious doubts and even the blue flame seemed almost theatrical.
Yet here we are, following the scent of a witch whose magic calls to us on a level I've never experienced.
Our Bonded.
The piece our pack has been missing.
They're heading back toward the house , Micah projects, russet fur flashing through the trees ahead.
Strange. Why would she double back? Unless...
The wards , I realize suddenly. Our territory protections. They must have redirected her, pulled her back to the origin point.
Ancestral magic soaks the grounds of Killian's family estate. The wards aren't just barriers but magnetic fields, designed to confuse intruders, guiding them in circles if they mean harm. But they've never attracted someone before, drawn them in.
She belongs there , Sean's thoughts are surprisingly profound. The house wants her as much as we do.
We burst from the tree line just in time to see her climbing the massive oak beside the house.
Even injured and exhausted, she moves with determined grace, launching herself from a branch to catch the second-floor windowsill.
My heart nearly stops when she dangles precariously for a moment before hauling herself inside.
Into Micah's room, if I'm not mistaken.
She's in the house , Micah confirms unnecessarily, all of us watching in collectively held breath as she disappears through the window.
Relief floods through me, quickly followed by renewed tension as the three witch-hunters emerge from the forest on the opposite side of the clearing.
They're winded but determined, scanning the grounds with coordinated sharpness.
The leader, radiating self-importance, gestures sharply to the others.
The fire-haired woman begins tracing sigils in the air while the blond witch's hands glow with golden energy.
Defensive positions , Killian orders, and we spread out automatically, forming a semi-circle around the witches and our home.
My hackles rise, a growl building in my chest. These strangers have no right to be here, hunting what's ours. The audacity of them, to chase a frightened woman across campus and into our territory. For what reason? What claim could they possibly have on her?
The coven leader notices us first, halting mid-stride. His face reveals a fleeting moment of surprise before settling into cool assessment. Not the terror most humans show when facing four massive wolves. Interesting. Experienced with our kind, then.
"Shit," the blond man mutters. "Shifters."
"Stay calm," the leader responds, voice pitched low but easily captured by our enhanced hearing. "They're campus wolves. Undergrads. Not a threat."
My lips curl back from my fangs at the dismissal.
Not a threat? We'll see about that.
The leader steps forward, hands raised in what's meant to be a placating gesture, but blue lightning crackles between his fingers. Not so non-threatening himself.
"We don't want trouble with your pack," he announces, voice carrying across the clearing. "We're just here to collect one of our own."
Killian's snarl is deafening, a clear rejection of whatever this witch thinks is happening.
One of us needs to shift to communicate , Micah says.
I'll do it , I offer reluctantly. While we can understand human speech in wolf form, responding requires shifting.
I'd rather stay four-legged and fanged for this confrontation, but someone needs to speak for the pack, and Killian's too enraged to form coherent sentences right now.
His thoughts are a constant stream of mine-protect-kill-threat .
I let the shift take me. The change is smooth after years of practice. Bones reorganizing, muscle reforming, fur receding.
"You're trespassing," I state flatly, walking barefoot through the fallen leaves to stand beside Killian. "Supernatural territorial law is clear. You have no right to be here."
The witch leader's eyes narrow. "This is university property."
"Leased to the Underwood family for generations and currently housing the Lupe Tau fraternity," I counter. "AKA, our pack. Registered territory with the Supernatural Council. And you're here why , exactly?"
"Kyle," the redhead murmurs, anxiety evident in her voice. "She's inside the house. I can sense her."
All our gazes snap toward the mansion as movement flickers behind one of the first-floor windows. For a split second, I glimpse a shadow ducking back into shadows.
My heart stutters. Even that brief glimpse affects me physically. She's real. She's in our house. Our Bonded.
Our mate .
"What business do you have with her?" I demand, keeping my voice controlled despite the wolf raging beneath my skin.
Kyle—typical douchecanoe name—straightens, adjusting his expression into something more diplomatic. "She belongs to our coven. We're here to bring her home."
Belongs? Sean's thoughts explode with outrage.
"She doesn't seem interested in going with you," I observe, nodding toward the house where she's hiding from them.
"It's complicated," Kyle says with rehearsed patience. "Regina is going through a... difficult phase. She's not thinking clearly."
Regina.
The center of our world's name is Regina.
My heart fucking soars.
"If she's hiding from you, maybe you should respect that," I suggest, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
"You don't understand." Kyle's tone shifts to condescension that makes my hands itch to shift back to claws. "Regina is bonded to our coven. She's our Thirteenth. The magical balance requires her return. This isn't just about preference."
Thirteenth .
The term carries heavy magical significance. In traditional covens, the thirteenth member serves as an anchor, a focal point for collective power. Often a position given to the most powerful practitioner.
This complicates shit.
For them .
It's irrelevant to us whether she's their Thirteenth, or some low-level witch who couldn't cast her way out of a paper bag.
She's our mate.
"She came to us," I state simply. The universe's choice seems clear enough to me.
"She doesn't know you," the blond man interjects. "She ran from your pack at the Cauldron, remember? We saw that part."
A fair point, though it stings. She did flee from us. But I'm pretty sure she was already running when we encountered her. Frightened prey doesn't distinguish between predators.
"Enough discussion," Kyle says, taking a step toward the house. "We're collecting Regina and leaving."
Killian's snarl vibrates through the ground beneath my feet. The black wolf's ice-blue eyes burn with fury.
"She's not going anywhere with you," I translate, though Killian's meaning is perfectly clear without words.
"She's our Bonded," Kyle insists, voice rising. "You wolves have no right to her."
The words hit me like a punch straight to the gut. Their Bonded. The term echoes our own claim, the very thing we've been seeking. Sadie's spell led us to someone already bound?
But no. Something doesn't fit. The terror in her scent when fleeing these people. The desperation in her movements as she broke into our house rather than face them. That's not how a witch treats her coven. Not a coven that deserves her, at any rate.
I meet Killian's gaze, seeing my own certainty reflected there. Whatever relationship exists between Regina and these witches, it's not one of mutual respect and care.
"She's in rough shape," I observe coldly. "Magically depleted. Physically exhausted. Injured. Running in terror. If that's how you treat your Bonded, you don't deserve her."
Kyle's face darkens with indignation. "You know nothing about our relationship."
"I know enough," I counter. "She chose our territory as sanctuary. That's answer enough for me."
He doesn't need to know she's our mate, not if we can help that. She's the one who should know it first.
"This is absurd," Kyle snaps. "Stand aside. We're taking her home."
He takes another step forward, and everything happens at once.
Sean launches forward in a blur of sandy fur, tackling Kyle to the ground.
Three-hundred-plus pounds of mostly muscle and all aggression pin the witch down, crushing him into the ground, massive jaws hovering inches from his throat.
The witch freezes in terror, survival instinct momentarily overriding arrogance.
"Kyle!" The redhead screams, hands filling with crackling energy.
The blond witch traces quick symbols in the air that manifest as golden shields, positioning himself to attack. But Micah circles behind them, cutting off any chance of retreat. Killian stands his ground, midnight fur bristling.
I raise my hands, trying to de-escalate before someone dies. Not that I give a shit about sparing these fuckers, but tearing three witches apart is going to make protecting our mate even more complicated. "Nobody needs to get hurt. Your friend is still breathing because we're allowing it."
Kyle remains impressively composed for someone with werewolf fangs at his jugular. "Rebecca, Ryan, stand down," he orders tightly. "These animals don't understand what they're interfering with."
Sean's growl deepens, saliva dripping onto Kyle's designer shirt.
The air thickens with competing magic. The witches' spells humming with potential energy, our pack bonds radiating protective fury, and from the house, the faint signature of our Bonded's unique power.
No wonder they're fighting so hard to get her back. She's like nothing I've ever encountered. But it's clear these assholes don't appreciate her as anything more than a trophy for their coven.
Killian shifts in one fluid motion, standing naked and somehow even more imposing in human form.
"Here's what's going to happen," he states, voice lethally calm. "Your coven is going to leave our territory. Now . You won't return. You won't contact Regina again. Consider your ties severed."
"You can't—" Ryan begins.
"If any of you takes another step toward our house," Killian continues as if uninterrupted, "my packmate will rip out Glitter Fingers' throat. Are we understanding each other?"
The red-haired witch looks genuinely frightened now. "Kyle, maybe we should?—"
"Shut up," Kyle cuts her off, still staring up at Sean's dripping fangs. "You cannot break a coven bond by mere declaration, wolf .'
Before anyone can respond, a new presence registers on the periphery of my awareness. An ancient magical signature, quiet yet unmistakably powerful. Unmistakably familiar.
All of us—wolves and witches alike—freeze as the forest at the edge of the clearing seems to darken, shadows deepening unnaturally. I catch glimpse of something massive moving through the trees, a monstrous silhouette that makes my wolf growl.
But what emerges is merely a man.
Professor Elias Villeneuve steps from the tree line as though he'd been summoned from some dark fantasy, his lean six-and-a-half-foot frame cutting an elegant silhouette against the shadows.
Even at this ungodly hour, he's immaculately dressed in one of his signature charcoal suits.
His short black hair is perfectly styled despite the fact he just stepped out of the forest. Those sharp, aristocratic features and penetrating dark eyes survey the scene with cold amusement at Sean pinning Kyle, Killian and I naked and ready to shift back and finish this, the witches with magic dancing at their fingertips.
Of all the complications this night could bring, Professor Villeneuve might be the worst. Not only is he on the University Disciplinary Committee, but he's also the most infuriatingly smug supernatural being I've ever encountered.
And while I'm reluctant to encourage Killian's conspiracy theories, even I have to admit, something about him has always felt. .. off.
Wrong in ways I can't articulate.
"When I felt multiple trespassers trip my wards, I knew there'd be trouble," the professor says, his voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing. "Imagine my shock to find it involves my four favorite degenerates on campus."
Why do I get the feeling he's not actually shocked ? Sean snorts.
Shut up , Killian responds through our bond, while snarling aloud, "Villeneuve."
Just what we need.
Our archnemesis arriving to witness this disaster.