Chapter 14 – KILLIAN
Chapter
Fourteen
KILLIAN
T hirteen hours.
Thirteen fucking hours we've been out here, watching Villeneuve's house like it holds the secrets to the universe. And actually, it does.
Our mate is in there.
The morning sun dapples through the trees, illuminating the heavy brush where I'm crouched with Micah.
We've been rotating shifts all night, two of us keeping eyes on the property at all times while the others patrol and go back and forth between here and the pack house.
My muscles ache from holding still too long, and my wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, desperate to crash through those wards and claim what's ours.
Sean just stepped too close to the wards a little while ago, though, and it didn’t go well. The smell of burned fur is still lingering in the air even though he’s off grabbing shit from the pack house. Serves him right for saying I have a fucking cutie mark.
"She was at the window earlier," Micah murmurs, his voice rough from hours of silence. "Just for a second."
"I saw." The memory makes my chest tighten. Regina, staring out warily at us before she vanished back into the depths of Villeneuve's fortress. She almost looked like she hoped she’d see us.
Almost.
Probably wishful thinking on my part.
But a guy can dream.
The rumble of a car in the garage pricks my ears.
"He's leaving," I growl, already on my feet. Human feet for now. Not for long, if my wolf gets its way. "This is our chance."
Micah grabs my arm. "Kill, we agreed?—"
"I'm not storming the place," I snap, shaking him off. "But if he's heading to campus, I can intercept him. Talk to him without those fucking wards between us."
"At least put pants on first," Micah sighs, gesturing to my naked body. We've been shifting back and forth all night, conserving energy and clothes where we can.
I snatch the jeans he offers. They're Sean's and a bit loose in the waist, but Rowan’s belt makes it work. Pretty sure I’m kicking off a round of the pants equivalent of musical chairs, but that’s not my problem right now.
"What if she still doesn't want to see us?" Micah asks, the question we've all been avoiding since she walked away with Villeneuve.
"She will." I zip up the jeans with more force than necessary. "She has to."
Because the alternative is unthinkable.
"Go tell the others Villeneuve is on the move," I order, not bothering to look back to see if he goes.
I circle the property at a dead sprint. The main road leads straight to campus, and there's only one way out from his driveway.
I position myself at the intersection, leaning against a tree with my arms crossed in the most casual position I can come up with.
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force my face into neutral lines.
Can't let that fucker see how desperate I am.
Villeneuve’s car—a sleek black Aston Martin—rolls to a stop at the intersection. He spots me immediately, those dark eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, I think he might just drive past me, but the window slides down with an electric purr.
"Mr. Underwood." His crisp British accent drips with disdain. "I suppose I should be grateful you're wearing pants this time."
I push off from the tree, approaching his car with measured steps. "Where is she?" I demand.
"Good afternoon to you too." He sighs, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "Your manners continue to astound with their consistent absence."
"Cut the shit, Villeneuve." I lean down, bracing my palms on the doorframe. "I need to see her."
“Need?” His eyebrow arches. “An interesting choice of words. Perhaps what Ms. Cook needs should take precedence over what you need.”
The question hits like a punch to the gut because he's right, and we both know it. My wolf growls, but I swallow it down. This isn't about dominance or territory. It’s about Regina. Nothing else.
I look away, jaw ticking, before forcing my eyes back to Villeneuve. “Is she okay?” I mutter.
Villeneuve’s eyes tighten. "She's recovering quite well, considering the ordeal she's been through. Both recently and... before."
The reminder of her scars—of what some rabid werewolf did to her—makes my blood boil. I'd tear the beast apart with my bare hands if I could find it. Slowly. Painfully.
And then I’d finish removing Kyle’s other three limbs from his body for being an irresponsible little shit and letting it happen in the first place. I can tell it’s his fucking fault. It’s as clear from his swagger and bitchy words as if it had been written in the damn dirt.
"We need to talk to her," I say, struggling to keep my voice even. "Explain things."
“Ah yes, explain how four strange wolves she's never met are suddenly laying claim to her, despite her obvious trauma at the hands of wolves.” Villeneuve's smile curls into a sneer. "I'm sure that will go splendidly."
I bite back a snarl. "We're nothing like the thing that hurt her."
“A distinction that matters greatly to you, I'm sure, but perhaps less so to her.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “However, as it happens, Ms. Cook has expressed a willingness to meet with you and your… cohorts.”
I blink, certain I've misheard. “She wants to see us?"
" Want might be overstating it. She's agreed to speak with you. On neutral ground. This evening." His eyes bore into mine. "I suggest you spend the interim attempting to acquire some common sense and basic manners. Both seem to be in short supply among your pack."
Hope surges through me so powerfully I have to grip the car door tighter to stay upright. She's agreed to meet us. After everything—after the horror on her face when she saw us, after choosing Villeneuve over us—she's willing to at least listen. That's something.
"Where?" I demand, already calculating what we need to do to prepare. "And when?"
"Tonight. Eight o'clock." He puts the car in drive. "And… Mr. Underwood?"
"What?"
His eyes flash. "If you or your wolves do anything to upset her, I will personally ensure you never see her again. Are we clear?"
The threat isn't empty. Whatever Villeneuve is—and I still haven't figured that out despite two solid years of investigating—he has the power to back up his promises. And right now, he controls access to our mate.
"Crystal," I grind out.
“Excellent.” The window begins to close. “Oh, and wear a shirt. First impressions only happen once, and I'm afraid yours has already been abysmal. Make the second impression count, at least.”
The car pulls away, leaving me standing in the middle of the road, torn between wanting to flip off Villeneuve's condescension and elation that Regina has agreed to meet us.
I wait until his car disappears around the bend before punching the air and letting out a whoop that probably carries all the way back to campus.
She's giving us a fucking chance.
I shift and run the whole way back to the edge of Villeneuve’s property, my wolf surging with renewed energy.
I get Micah and Rowan to follow me back to the pack house with a few barks and howls.
We rush up the porch steps and burst through the front door, bristling with excitement even though I haven’t even gotten a chance to tell him the news.
As pack members, we’re just that good at reading each other’s energy.
"She's meeting us tonight!" I announce to the rest of the pack, shifting back into my human form and striding into the living room where we’ve transformed our recreation area into a research center.
Laptops open, books scattered across every surface, Sean actually taking notes from a grimoire about siphon care like it's finals week.
"What?" Sean's head snaps up. "For real?"
"Eight o'clock." I can't keep the grin off my face, even if the next part sours it. "Villeneuve is arranging it."
"Holy shit," Micah breathes, pushing his glasses up his nose. Lucky bastard gets to shift with those, unlike our pants. "That's—we didn't expect?—"
"I told you," Rowan interjects calmly, though his eyes burn with the same excitement I feel. "She felt the connection too. She wouldn't have agreed otherwise."
"What did Villeneuve say?" Micah asks, picking leaves out of his hair. "How is she?"
"He says she's recovering." I drop onto the couch beside Sean, pushing books aside to make room. Pretty sure none of us have ever studied this hard for an actual test. "He's being dodgy as fuck, but he's not trying to stop us from seeing her."
"Maybe he's not as evil as you think," Rowan suggests.
I shoot him a look. "He's definitely evil. Just a different kind of evil than we thought."
"Or maybe he actually cares about Regina's wellbeing," Rowan pushes. "Unlike her coven."
The mention of her coven—of Kyle—darkens my mood instantly. I should have torn out his throat when I had the chance, except no, since apparently, that could have killed our mate.
Definitely a miscalculation.
I'm glad she's willing to see us this soon, but it also hasn’t been enough time to learn enough about what a siphon is and how to care for one without her… dying.
Maybe Sean had a point about the hamster thing.
"So what have you found out?" I ask Sean, forcibly redirecting my thoughts. “Didn’t expect to find you nose-deep in a book without pictures in it.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to singe my ass on Villainoodle’s wards, either,” Sean mutters, raking a hand through his disheveled sandy hair.
"Siphons are even more rare and special than we realized. Like, unicorn rare. They can’t generate their own magic.
They pull from external sources. Trees, the ground, rocks, other shit.
The really powerful ones can draw from other supernaturals. ”
“Like shifters?” I ask hopefully.
He grimaces. "Yeah, uh, so… witches don't really bond with shifters unless they can help it. Especially not siphons."
"Oh," I say, unable to hide my disappointment.
This is even more of an uphill battle than I thought.