Chapter 11 – SEAN
Chapter
Eleven
SEAN
" F uck, fuck, fuck !"
I slam my fist into the oak tree outside our house, bark splintering under my knuckles. The pain barely registers. Our mate—our fucking mate —just walked away with Villeneuve. The most dangerous thing on campus. The bastard who's been fucking with our heads since we got here.
And we just let her go with him.
My wolf howls inside me, clawing to get out again. I've already burned through one shift tonight, and my bones ache from the double transformation, but the wolf doesn't care. It wants to chase. Hunt. Protect.
"We need to calm down," Rowan says, that infuriatingly reasonable tone making me want to punch him instead of the tree. "Following them now would only make things worse."
" Worse ?" I spin around, vibrating with rage. "How the fuck could this be worse, man? Our mate just chose Villeneuve over us! She looked at us like we were monsters!"
"We are monsters," Rowan says flatly.
"Yeah, but not like that!"
The memory of her face—both before and after the glamour dropped—hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. The way she flinched from us. The absolute terror in her eyes. And then those scars... gods . The claw marks raked across her beautiful face, pulling at her eye, warping her mouth.
Wolf marks.
Unmistakable.
No wonder she ran from us at the Cauldron. No wonder she looked at us like we were death coming for her.
"She didn't choose him," Micah says, jamming his legs into a pair of jeans he grabbed from our emergency stash behind the porch. We've learned the hard way to keep clothes hidden around the property. "She chose not-us . There's a difference."
"Yeah, and the difference fucking sucks balls," I growl.
Killian stands silently at the edge of our property, staring in the direction Villeneuve took Regina.
There's blood still sticking to his chin and chest. That prick Kyle's blood.
I can smell it from here, coppery and tainted with dark magic.
I'm pissed Kill couldn't finish the job.
Couldn't rip the asshole's throat out for what he did to her.
What he's probably been doing to her for years.
But if Villeneuve was right, killing Kyle might have killed Regina too.
"He said she's a siphon," I say, raking a hand through my hair. "What is that?"
"Fuck if I know," Killian growls. "But we're going to find out."
"You think Villeneuve was right about it hurting her if you'd killed that prick?" Micah asks warily.
Killian's face falls. "I don't know," he mutters. "But we need to figure it out."
I shudder at how close we came to losing her before we even had her. "It's like having a pet hamster."
They all turn to stare at me.
"I'm going to regret this," Rowan says, pressing a hand into his temple, "but what do you mean?"
"When I was a kid, my brother brought home the class pet for the weekend, and he tried to feed it potato chips," I explain. "Turns out, hamsters need pellets and shit. They don't eat potato chips. Anything you do can fuck up a hamster. Shit you wouldn't even imagine could be an issue."
They're staring again.
"No animals eat potato chips, Sean," Rowan says slowly.
"I do," I argue.
He opens his mouth, then closes it again.
"She's not a fucking hamster !" Killian bellows, already stalking toward the path leading away from the mansion. "Gods, I'm surrounded by fucking idiots. We need to follow them."
"You ain't exactly the valedictorian yourself," I mutter.
"Do you even know what that word means?" Micah asks.
"Sure. Class president."
"And what the fuck do we do when we catch up to them?" Rowan asks, ignoring the bickering and following after Killian. Micah and I bring up the rear. "Storm Villeneuve's place? Break down his door? She's clearly terrified of wolves. Of us."
"We wouldn't hurt her," I protest, the words burning my throat. "We would never?—"
"She doesn't know that," Micah interrupts softly. "All she knows is we're wolves, and a wolf hurt her. Badly."
I turn away, trying to swallow the bitter truth in his words. My mind keeps replaying the moment when Kyle tore away her glamour. The shock and horror on her face as she tried to cover her scars with her hand. The shame in her eyes. Shame she should never have to feel.
I've never wanted to kill someone as much as I wanted to kill Kyle in that moment. If Killian hadn't lunged first, I would have.
Thing is, I might not have been able to stop,
Villeneuve's house sits just off the eastern edge of campus, a sleek modern monstrosity that looks like it was designed by aliens trying to understand human architecture.
All sharp angles and glass walls and pretentiousness.
A professor's salary shouldn't be able to afford that kind of place, which is just one more red flag on the Villeneuve danger list.
We approach from different directions. Killian and me from the front, Rowan and Micah circling to the back. Standard flanking maneuver we've used hundreds of times on full moon hunts. But as soon as I hit the edge of the property, something invisible slams into me like a fucking freight train.
I fly backward, landing hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. Pain runs through my body, every nerve ending screaming. It's not physical damage, it's magical. Like someone just ran a thousand volts of electricity through me.
"Son of a bitch!" I groan, rolling onto my side.
Across the lawn, Killian picks himself up from where he was thrown, looking just as pissed off and disoriented as I feel. From the cursing I hear behind the house, Rowan and Micah got the same welcome.
"Wards," Killian spits the word like it's poison. "He's got the place warded against wolves."
"No shit." I stand on wobbly legs, glaring at the invisible barrier. I can feel it now that I'm paying attention—a humming energy field that makes my skin crawl and my wolf retreat deeper inside me. "Strong ones too."
Rowan and Micah join us at the front, both looking like they've been through a blender. Micah's glasses hang crooked on his face, one lens cracked.
"We can't get within fifty feet of the house," Rowan confirms, irritatingly analytical even after being magically body-slammed. "The wards don't just keep us out. They actively repel us. Violently ."
"What kind of professor has wards this powerful?" Micah asks, straightening his glasses.
"The kind that's not just a professor," Killian answers darkly.
We all know the theories. Killian's been ranting about Villeneuve being evil incarnate since freshman year. But I gotta admit, normal professors don't have military-grade supernatural barriers around their homes.
"You think he's Council Black Ops?" I ask, only half-joking. The supernatural world has its own shadowy agencies, after all. "Or maybe he's like... an ancient vampire hybrid? That's what he says he is, right? Or maybe he's a demon in disguise. Secret government experiment gone wrong? Or?—"
"Whatever he is, he's got our mate," Killian interrupts.
His words send another surge of protective fury through me.
Our mate. Regina. Even her name feels right, tastes sweet in my mind.
Feels like home, even though I've barely met her.
The pain of her rejection stings all the more because of it.
Doesn't just sting. Hurts. Our wolves recognize her, but she can't stand the sight of us.
"What the fuck are we going to do?" I run a hand through my hair, frustration boiling over. "We can't get in, but we can't just leave her in there with Professor Villainous."
"We watch," Rowan decides. "Set up a perimeter, take shifts. Someone keeps eyes on the house at all times."
I nod in agreement. Nothing matters more than protecting our mate, even if she doesn't want our protection.
Even if she hates us. "But we need a plan that doesn't involve us sitting in the bushes like stalkers," I point out.
"Something that won't make her even more scared of us than she already is. "
A heavy silence falls over us. We all saw her face—both the beauty of it and the damage done. And we all smelled her fear.
"The scar," Micah says quietly. "Did you all see it clearly?"
"Hard to miss," I mumble, getting pissed all over again.
"Not just wolf marks," Micah continues. " Werewolf marks."
Werewolves aren't normal shifters like us.
We're born this way, in control of our transitions, our wolves integrated with our human sides.
Werewolves are made, bitten and infected with a curse that turns them into mindless killing machines during full moons where regular shifters just get worked up.
They're so dangerous, the Supernatural Council has standing orders to eliminate them on sight.
"She survived a werewolf attack," Rowan murmurs. "Do you know how few people can say that?"
"She must be crazy fucking strong," Killian agrees, pride in his eyes.
I think about what that would take. Fighting off a creature designed by nature and hell to kill, surviving wounds that are almost always fatal.
And from the faded look of those scars, it happened years ago.
She's been living with the trauma, the memories, the proof etched into her skin every time she looks in a mirror.
And then we come charging at her, four massive wolves, claiming she belongs to us.
"We fucked up," I mutter.
The others go quiet.
"That coven of hers," I growl, my anger coming back with a vengeance. "What kind of coven lets one of their own get mauled by a werewolf? Where the hell were they when she was attacked?"
"The same place they were tonight," Killian says darkly. "Using her instead of protecting her."
My fists clench at the memory of Kyle's smug face. The way he spoke about her like she was property. The casual cruelty when he stripped away her glamour to expose her scars.
"He wanted us to reject her," I grit out. "That's why he did it. He thought we'd reject her because of the scars."
"He's a fucking piece of shit," Rowan agrees.
"Fuck him," I spit. "She's beautiful. Scars and all."
And she is. Even with half her face marred by deep, silvery claw marks, Regina radiates a kind of power and grace I've never seen before. The scars don't diminish that. If anything, they enhance it. Evidence of what she's survived. What she's overcome.
"We have to be careful," Micah says pointedly, giving the rest of us a look. "We can't scare her off. She's already been through hell."
"Yeah." I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.
We fall silent, each lost in our own thoughts. The night air grows colder around us, but none of us make a move to leave. To abandon our post would feel like abandoning her , even though we can't get near the house, even though she doesn't want us anywhere near her.
"So what's the plan?" I finally ask, cutting through the heavy silence. "We can't force our way in. We can't grab her when she comes out. That would just confirm she's right to be afraid of us. But we can't sit on our asses and do nothing ."
Killian paces along the invisible barrier, clearly fighting his instincts. As pack leader, every fiber of his being is screaming to protect what's his. To tear through anything—or any one —that stands in his way. But the usual approach won't work here.
Not with Regina.
"We need to understand what a siphon is and what that means," he finally answers. "So we know how to take care of her."
"Like a hamster," I add gravely. They all glare at me. "What?"
"I can ask Sadie and find out if she knows anything about the Starbridge coven," Micah adds. "Or Crystal Cookies, or whatever the fuck he said it's called. She knows all the witch gossip."
"We also need to watch this place 24/7," Killian decides. "We take shifts. At least two of us at all times, just beyond the wards. The second Regina steps foot outside, we need to know."
"And then what?" Rowan asks. "Approach her? Scare the shit out of her again?"
"We give her space," Killian says reluctantly. "We don't push. We don't force. We let her come to us when— if —she's ready."
I stare at him, genuinely shocked. Killian Underwood, notorious control freak and take-charge alpha, suggesting patience and restraint? I must look as stunned as I feel, because he shoots me a glare that could curdle milk.
"What? I can be reasonable," I mutter.
Doesn't mean I have to like it, though.