Chapter 12 – REGINA
Chapter
Twelve
REGINA
V illeneuve's arm hovers near my back without touching me as he guides me up a winding stone path toward his home.
The walk feels endless. Every step requires more energy than I possess. My feet drag through fallen leaves, catching on uneven stones. If I stumble, I might not get back up. I've been running on spite and adrenaline for days, and both tanks are now empty.
"We're nearly there," Villeneuve says, and I can't tell if it's reassurance or impatience.
I glance back once, against my better judgment. The wolves watch from the edge of the property, clearly following us, four silhouettes haloed by moonlight. From this distance, they look like part of the forest. Ancient guardians bound to the land.
I know better.
Villeneuve's home appears suddenly around a bend, as if conjured from nothing. Not a Victorian behemoth like the wolf house, but a sleeker, more modern monstrosity of glass and steel built into the hillside itself.
As we approach, I feel the magic saturating every molecule of air around us.
The wards pulse like living things, layer upon layer of protection spells woven so tightly not even a dust mote could slip through without permission.
Different from witch magic. Different from anything I've encountered, just like Villeneuve himself.
Villeneuve catches my obvious assessment. "The wards are intense, aren't they? They'll keep the wolves out."
I don't answer. My fingers unconsciously rise to the left side of my face, brushing against the ridges and valleys where my glamour spell usually hides my scars.
Being exposed like this is fucking humiliating.
"You needn't worry about that here," he says, apparently reading my thoughts. For all I know, he literally is.
"Easy for you to say," I mutter. My voice sounds dry and cracked. "You don't look like a monster."
"Neither do you." His tone remains even. "You look like a survivor."
I'm not sure what to make of that. But before I have the chance to decide, the front door opens without him touching it.
Of course it does. I'd anticipated cold minimalism to match the exterior, but inside feels warm, almost inviting.
Open spaces with soaring ceilings. Wood and leather and rich fabrics.
Books. Thousands of books, the gold leafing on their spines shining in the amber light from antique lamps.
"Welcome to my home, Miss Cook."
"Please, just… call me Regina."
I step over the threshold and feel the wards ripple around me, adjusting to permit my entry. Their energy signature is fascinating, ancient and complex yet oddly familiar. I've never tasted magic like this, but something in it resonates with my own power.
The echoes of it, at any rate.
Villeneuve leads me through a hallway lined with artifacts under glass.
Artifacts that look older than civilization itself.
Things that belong in a museum, not a private collection.
Strange symbols etched in stone. Weapons from lost cultures.
Maps and sketches of places that should only exist in dreams.
The library—or parlor, I suppose—lies at the end of the hall.
Towering shelves cover three walls, interrupted only by stained glass windows overlooking a garden illuminated by hidden lights.
A massive stone fireplace dominates the fourth wall, flames crackling beneath an ornate mantel even though no one's here to make sure the house doesn't burn down.
Guess magic takes care of that.
"Please, have a seat." He gestures toward a pair of leather armchairs near the fire.
I hesitate, suddenly acutely aware of my filthy clothes, scraped palms, and blood-caked knees. Not to mention my face. I'm a mess, and his furniture probably costs a fortune. Not a small fortune, either.
"They're just chairs, Miss Cook. They've survived worse than a bit of forest debris." A hint of amusement colors his words.
I sink into the nearest chair, its leather creaking softly. The fire's warmth makes my exhaustion hit harder. I'm so tired, it feels like if I fall asleep here, I could be out for weeks.
"Would you care for a drink?" Villeneuve asks, moving toward a cabinet near the fireplace.
"Actually, yes." My mouth feels like sandpaper. "Water, if you have it."
"Of course I have water. But I can offer something better." He opens the cabinet to reveal not just bottles of liquor but also dozens of small vials in various colors. "It's been many years since I've entertained a siphon, but I think I recall a cocktail or two."
A cocktail of what , exactly?
Yet another supernatural with mysterious intentions, and I have no fucking clue what this one even is. But what choice do I have? I'm trapped here until my body recovers enough to move, let alone formulate a plan for getting my life out of a tailspin.
"How many siphons have you known?" I ask, watching as he selects several vials.
"Not many." He places the vials on a small table, uncorking each with practiced ease. "You are a rare breed. And little wonder—few practitioners these days are well-versed in the proper care and keeping of a siphon."
I bristle at his wording. "I'm not a pet."
He chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm considering he's like winter personified. "No, little witch. You are something far more rare and valuable than that."
He combines liquids from three different vials into a crystal tumbler, then adds an amber fluid from a decanter. The mixture swirls, changing color from deep purple to electric blue before settling into a soft gold. He offers it to me.
"This should help," he says with a slight smile.
I eye the mysterious concoction warily without facing him, keeping my head turned slightly to hide my scars with my hair. "What exactly is it?"
Instead of answering, he takes a small sip himself, then extends it to me again. "Perfectly safe, I assure you."
I hesitate, then take the glass. My fingers shake slightly. I stare at the golden liquid, weighing my options. Kyle would have a fit seeing me accept a magical drink from a stranger, but Kyle isn't here. And Kyle just ripped away my magic and exposed my face to everyone.
Fuck what Kyle would think.
Just to spite him—and because I have nothing to lose—I take a sip when Villeneuve turns away to return the vials to their cabinet.
The liquid tastes bizarre. Good, but bizarre.
Honey and citrus and a metallic tang I hope to the gods above and below isn't a hint of blood.
Some drops spill through the mangled part of my lip, and I quickly wipe them away, humiliation twisting in my chest.
Gods, I fucking hate my scars.
Then the effect hits. Energy floods my system, not like an espresso shot or adrenaline rush, but deeper. Like a dying plant finally receiving water. I take another, larger swallow.
"What's in this?" I ask, already feeling my extremities tingling with renewed life.
"An old elixir." Villeneuve returns to the chair opposite mine. "It restores energy in siphons and other beings who feed off external energy sources. It appears I remembered the correct proportions."
I drain half the glass, unable to help myself. "I can use elixirs to restore energy? No one ever told me that."
"I'm not particularly surprised." His eyes narrow slightly. "Your former coven leader strikes me as someone who thrives on others' dependency."
He's not wrong. Kyle never shared anything that might have given me independence. Why teach me to fish when he could control me by rationing the fish himself?
"Unfortunately, it's no substitute for feeding from a Bonded coven," Villeneuve continues. "But it will replenish you for a couple of days. Long enough to figure out your next move."
I finish the drink, savoring the way strength returns to my limbs. Not enough to cast anything significant, not even a glamour, but enough to feel less like a hollowed-out husk.
"Thanks," I mutter, setting down the empty glass. "Now I can actually focus on finding a way to break the coven bond."
"Yes, I imagine you're in quite a hurry to do that. The traditional method would be forming a new bond to override the existing one." He studies me thoughtfully. "Though I suspect that's precisely what you're trying to avoid, given your reaction to the wolf pack's claim."
"Those wolves don't know what they're talking about," I say, rubbing my temple with my knuckle. " Mates ? That's ridiculous. Some witch just did a spell for them to find a Bonded. That's not the same as—" I cut myself off, unsure why I'm even explaining this.
"Isn't it?" Villeneuve raises an eyebrow. "The universe has a peculiar sense of humor. Sometimes it gives us exactly what we need in the form we least wish to receive it."
"I don't need wolves." My voice comes out harder than intended.
"I can't say I blame you for your hesitation." He leans forward slightly. "Tell me about the werewolf that marked you."
My hand flies to my face automatically. "I don't…"
"I apologize for the intrusion." He doesn't sound particularly sorry. "However, context matters when dealing with complicated magical entanglements."
I’m tempted to tell him to fuck off, but the energy from his elixir helped way more than I expected it would.
Not to mention he's the one with the power to say whether I can stay here or not, however temporarily. And I’d take this over getting stuck with a wolf pack any day, even wolves that look at me like the long-lost love of their lives.
Especially those wolves, actually.
"It was three years ago," I begin, staring into the fire rather than at him. "I was still new to Kyle's coven. I heard something in the basement. Whimpers, groans... I went to investigate."
For a moment, it feels like I'm there again.
The cold stone steps.
The heavy wooden door.
The stench of blood and fear.