Chapter 9 – REGINA
Chapter
Nine
REGINA
T hrough the window, I watch in paralyzed horror as the huge sandy wolf pins Kyle to the ground, massive jaws hovering inches from his throat. My breath catches. One quick snap, and Kyle's carotid artery would paint the grass crimson. He'd be dead before he could even scream.
I should be fucking delighted at the prospect of Kyle Starbridge's bloody demise. After everything he's done—the lies, the manipulation, the betrayal—I should be cheering for the wolf to finish the job.
Instead, my heart hammers painfully against my ribs. A sickening wave of fear for him crashes through me, leaving me dizzy and nauseated.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Why do I give a shit what happens to him?
Five years of programming doesn't vanish overnight, I guess. Must be Stockholm syndrome, manifesting thanks to the coven bond, pulling at me even as I do everything in my power to sever it.
The russet-furred wolf circles back behind the witches, cutting off their retreat.
The midnight black wolf—Killian—stands his ground in his human form now, a wall of rippling muscle.
The silver-gray wolf has shifted, too, into a man who's nearly as tall, though not quite as muscular even if he still looks like he could snap Kyle in half.
He has longer black hair nearly brushing his shoulders, tawny skin, and intense dark eyes that are somehow slightly less murderous than any other shifter I've encountered. Including his pack leader.
The prowling russet wolf and the bearlike wolf who's about to tear Kyle's throat out still haven't shifted back.
None of it matters. In moments, this will turn into a bloodbath. Wolves versus witches, and I'm the prize they both want to claim for some reason.
Lucky fucking me.
Then the air shifts.
The temperature drops several degrees in an instant. The shadows beneath the trees at the forest's edge deepen, swirling unnaturally. Something massive moves through them—something ancient and powerful enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
A man steps from the darkness.
At first glance, he appears human. Tall, lean, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. But no human moves with that fluid grace, no human exudes that aura of controlled power. Vampire, maybe? No, not quite. Something else. Something I've never encountered in my life.
Kyle and the wolves freeze, all attention snapping to the newcomer. Even Rebecca and Ryan stop their spellcasting, hands slowly lowering to their sides.
This is my chance. Maybe my only chance. While they're all distracted, I could slip away. But to where? The forest that circles back here because it's a freaking enchanted forest? The campus where Kyle can track me down again? No, I need leverage, information, a bargaining position.
I need to face this.
Summoning the last dregs of my magical reserves, I force my glamour back into place.
The familiar sensation of it settling over my scarred face feels like a mask tightening.
Uncomfortable, bordering on painful, but necessary.
It won't last long with my energy depleted, maybe an hour at most, but it's all I've got.
My hand shakes as I reach for the front door. The massive oak panel feels impossibly heavy as I pull it open and step onto the porch.
Eight heads swivel in unison toward me. Eight sets of eyes lock onto my face with varying degrees of shock, hunger, anger, and a bunch of other emotions I can't process, not that I care to right now.
The wolves' reactions hit me first. The two in human form—Killian and the silver wolf—stare at me with naked want, as if I hung the moon in the sky.
I don't have time to process what the fuck that's all about before Kyle's face contorts with rage and relief.
The big wolf still has him pinned, but he strains against the massive paw on his chest.
"Regina!" His voice cracks with desperation. "About fucking time."
The sandy wolf snarls, pressing down harder with his paw until Kyle gasps for breath, his ribcage creaking audibly. I smell piss before the dark shadow forms on the front of Kyle's pants, and I'm too fucking terrified to fully revel in the schadenfreude.
The newcomer's gaze is the most disturbing of all. It's clinical, assessing, like I'm a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. His dark eyes betray no emotion, but the intensity of his focus makes my skin crawl.
"Ah, there she is." His voice carries effortlessly across the yard, cultured and precise with the faintest trace of a British accent. "Tell me, little witch, are you the one causing all this fuss?"
Something about him—the casual confidence, the subtle undercurrent of ancient power—tells me I've made a massive mistake. This man isn't just powerful. He's dangerous. The most dangerous one here, wolves and witches included.
Killian's entire body tenses at the man's voice, but his ice blue eyes focus entirely on me with frankly bizarre intensity.
"Not by choice," I mutter, my voice barely audible.
The stranger's eyebrow arches. "Ah." That single syllable contains volumes of understanding. He steps forward, moving with inhuman grace across the lawn.
The wolves growl in warning. All four of them—even the two in human form—bristle as the stranger approaches. They're acting like junkyard dogs defending a choice cut of meat, and the fucking ribeye is me .
"Fascinating," the stranger says, ignoring their warnings completely. "Perhaps someone would care to explain what is happening here? Why there is enough magic being thrown about so carelessly that it disturbed my evening meditation?"
Killian and Kyle both start speaking at once.
"She's our?—"
"This witch belongs to?—"
The stranger raises one elegant hand. "Silence." The word isn't shouted, yet it lands like a blow. "I wasn't speaking to either of you."
His dark eyes fix on me, patient but unyielding. Waiting.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly bone dry. "I know I'm trespassing," I begin, gesturing weakly toward the house behind me. "But I was running."
"From whom?" he asks mildly.
I look pointedly at the wolves, then at Kyle's coven. "All of them."
A flash of what looks almost like hurt crosses Killian's face, quickly masked by determination. The russet wolf makes a soft whining sound, head drooping.
"I see." The stranger's eyes narrow slightly. "And how do you know these witches?" He indicates Kyle, Ryan, and Rebecca with a dismissive wave.
"Those three are part of my former coven," I admit, not looking at Kyle. I don't want to see the rage on his face.
"There's nothing 'former' about it!" Kyle hisses, struggling against the sandy wolf's weight. "Regina is our Thirteenth. Our Bonded ."
The wolf silences him with another warning snarl, teeth flashing against Kyle's throat.
Not enough to tear it out, but enough to draw droplets of blood.
Kyle's struggles intensify, his hand flying up to grip the wolf's thick fur in a vain attempt to pull him off.
It's like watching him wrestle a mountain.
Rebecca's face is pinched, mouth trembling. I want to laugh. Is she actually worried about him? After the way she smirked at me behind his back for months while fucking him in my bed?
Gods, I was such an idiot. So blind to what was right in front of me. All those late-night "energy workings" they did together. The way Rebecca's eyes would track Kyle around the room. The private jokes. How did I not see it?
Because I didn't want to see it. Because admitting Kyle was cheating meant admitting I'd wasted five years of my life.
"Now the picture is beginning to form," the stranger says again, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.
"A lovely young woman—a siphon , no less—runs from her coven in the middle of the night.
And given her desperate situation, an equally desperate motivation must be in place.
" He pauses, studying Kyle and Rebecca carefully, head tilting slightly.
"Given the harmonic frequencies between these two, I'm assuming infidelity? "
Kyle bristles visibly. Rebecca has the grace to look embarrassed for approximately half a second before her chin lifts defiantly.
"This is coven business," Kyle says coldly. "None of your concern."
" That ," the stranger replies, smile sharp as a razor, "is where you're wrong. As a member of the University Board and the Disciplinary Committee, as well as an advisory member of the Council on Supernatural Relations, it is the very definition of my concern."
Fuck.
This isn't just some random powerful supernatural who happened upon our little drama.
This is someone with actual authority. Someone with the power to send me right back to Kyle once he learns who Kyle is—a witch from the prestigious Starbridge line, with connections throughout the magical community.
Kyle's smug expression confirms my fears. He knows it too. One well-placed name drop and I'm as good as dragged back to Crescent Hollow.
"Would someone get this overgrown dog off me?" Kyle demands, voice ringing with entitled impatience.
The stranger glances pointedly at Killian, who curls his lip in frustration but makes a quick gesture. The sandy wolf reluctantly backs away with a dangerous growl, allowing Kyle to scramble to his feet.
Kyle brushes himself off prissily, straightening his designer shirt with exaggerated care. Then he takes a step toward me.
All four wolves move in unison, forming a protective circle around me. Far from comforting, the gesture makes my heart race faster.
I'm not being protected.
I'm being claimed .
The earth spins slightly, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision. Too much adrenaline, too little sleep, and magical reserves scraping rock bottom.
Bad combination.
Before I can process what's happening, the stranger raises his hand in a swift, elegant gesture. An invisible force yanks me forward, whisking me to his side with a speed that leaves me gasping. The wolves snarl in fury, but none move to attack.
The stranger's power crackles around me, ancient and cold. Not vampire magic. Not wolf. Not witch. Something else entirely. Something I've never felt before and hope I never feel again.
"None of you will make another move toward her," he states with quiet authority, "until I've gotten to the bottom of this situation."
"There's no need," Kyle interjects, drawing himself up to his full height.
"The situation is clear as day. I am Kyle Starbridge, heir to the Starbridge line and High Priest of the Crescent Hollow Coven.
" He emphasizes each point as if dropping gold coins for us peasants to admire.
"Regina is our Thirteenth, our siphon, and she's suffered a nervous breakdown after catching me in a.
.. compromising position with another coven member. "
"A compromising position?" I echo incredulously. "You were fucking that bitch in our bed!"
Rebecca actually has the audacity to look offended.
The stranger listens to Kyle's speech with a bored expression.
"Yes, I'm well acquainted with the Starbridge line.
Wasn't your grandfather caught embezzling from the Witches' Council treasury in the '80s?
And your aunt Meredith attempted to sacrifice a virgin to extend her youth spell.
The key word being attempted. " He blows a puff of air through his nose.
"I have long suspected the prestige of the Starbridge witches has been slipping, and the present situation is not helping your reputation. "
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at Kyle's outraged expression. I've never seen anyone dismiss him so thoroughly before.
The stranger turns to me, dark eyes searching mine. "Do you wish to return to your coven, Miss...?"
"Cook," I supply. "Regina Cook. And no. Absolutely not."
"It doesn't matter what she wants!" Kyle shouts, losing his carefully cultivated composure. "She is our Bonded, and she belongs to us!"
"She's our mate ," Killian snarls, the words reverberating through the clearing.
Every head snaps toward him. For a moment, absolute silence reigns.
"What?" I croak, hoping I've misheard.
"Our mate," Killian repeats, voice softening slightly though his intensity doesn't waver as he stares at me. Through me. "Our Bonded. We've been searching for you."
He says it with such conviction, such absolute certainty, that for a second I almost believe him. But that's impossible. Shifters and witches are not mates. We might occasionally form alliances, and some witches without a lick of self-preservation might even choose to bond a pack, but mates ?
That's the stuff of supernatural tabloids and fairy tales.
But the other wolves are staring at me with the same hungry reverence, as if I'm the answer to a question they've been asking their whole lives.
"Fascinating," the stranger murmurs, sounding more tired than intrigued. "That is a substantial claim to make." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I've had quite enough of your nonsense for one calendar year, Mr. Underwood, and your fraternity is already on thin ice."
Fraternity?
The word rattles around my brain, connecting disjointed pieces. Greek letters on the walls. The pool table and game consoles. A house near campus.
This is their house.
A wolf pack fraternity house.
The jock bedroom I climbed into. The jersey I felt compelled to bury my face in.
All of it belongs to these massive, terrifying wolves who are now claiming me as their mate.
The wind shifts, carrying their scents to me once more as if to confirm what I already dread.
Earth and bourbon. Spices and leather. Old books and sandalwood.
Gingerbread. The scents that called to me even when I should have been focused on escaping.
Oh.
Oh no.
New rock bottom unlocked.