Chapter 16 – REGINA
Chapter
Sixteen
REGINA
V illeneuve's study door feels impossibly heavy as I push it open. Or maybe that's just the weight of the decision I've made settling across my shoulders. He glances up from a leather-bound volume, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp, assessing.
"I've decided to go with them," I say, not bothering with preamble. "On a trial basis."
He marks his place with a thin ribbon and closes the book. "I see."
I eye him warily. "You don't seem surprised."
"I'm rarely surprised, little witch." His lips quirk into the ghost of a smile. "Though I must admit, the Underwood pack has a way of upending all expectations."
I shift my weight, unsure how to read his reaction. I'd expected resistance, perhaps even an argument. Villeneuve strikes me as someone who doesn't like to lose, and somehow, I feel like a chess piece moving to another player's square.
He also seems… sad?
Why ?
"Do you think I'm making a mistake?" I ask warily.
He considers that for what feels like a small eternity, hands steepled beneath his chin. "I think you are making a choice. Whether it proves to be a mistake depends entirely on what you do with it." He stands, moving to a cabinet near the window. "Are you certain this is what you want?"
“Certain? No.” I let out a short, humorless laugh.
“But it seems like the most practical option right now. They need a magical counterbalance. I need a new bond to break the old one. Hell, I was considering vampires, and they were asshole vampires. Asshole vampires that acted like they were going to puke into their stupid golden toilets when they saw my face.”
He doesn’t react to that. Doesn’t even blink or twitch his jaw. Okay, so maybe he isn’t a vampire, then? This guy really gives me absolutely nothing to work with when it comes to figuring out what he is.
“And they…” I continue, but I hesitate, unsure how to articulate the pull I feel toward them without sounding like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
"They call to something in you," he finishes for me, his back still turned as he rummages through the cabinet. "The universe has its own logic, Regina. Sometimes the most unexpected path is the one we're meant to follow."
"That sounds suspiciously like destiny," I say dryly. "I'm not much of a believer."
“And yet here you are, considering a bond with four wolves who found you through a spell and claim you as their mate.” He turns, holding a small crystal vial filled with the same golden liquid he gave me the night before. “Curious behavior for a non-believer, isn’t it?”
I don't have a good response to that.
He's right, though.
"Should you find the pack unsuitable," Villeneuve continues, extending the vial toward me, "or should they prove... difficult to manage, my door remains open to you."
I take the vial, surprised by the gesture. "You made more?"
"I made it for you," he corrects. "A parting gift. When your energy levels deplete, it will sustain you temporarily. Not a permanent solution, but it may buy you a bit of time, should you need it."
"Thank you," I say, kind of awkwardly, tucking the vial carefully into my pocket. "For everything. The sanctuary, the information..."
"You've had precious few allies in your life, haven't you?" His voice is softer now, almost gentle.
I look away, uncomfortable with his perception. "I manage."
"Yes," he says thoughtfully. "You strike me as someone who has always managed, no matter the cost. Perhaps now you might consider the novel concept of thriving, not just surviving."
Maybe in those early days at university, when the world seemed full of possibilities and my magic felt like a gift rather than a chain.
But I don’t tell him that.
"I should get my things," I say, suddenly eager to escape his too-perceptive gaze. "I've really overstayed."
"Quite the contrary." He inclines his head slightly. "But Margot has already gathered your belongings. You'll find your bag in the foyer."
I look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. "You knew I'd go with them?"
He gives me a knowing smile. Another sad one. "Few things in this universe have a pull stronger than a mate bond."
I'm halfway out the door when his voice stops me again.
"Regina."
I turn back.
"Those boys are reckless, impulsive, and frequently idiotic," he says, a touch of genuine amusement coloring his words. "But they are not cruel. Remember that."
"I will." I hesitate. Then, because I can’t help myself, I say, "What exactly are you, Professor Villeneuve?"
His smile widens slightly, revealing teeth that suddenly look a bit too sharp. “That is a question for another time.” He gives me a slight wave. “Good luck with your wolves.”
In the foyer, my pitiful duffel bag sits waiting.
Looking at it now, I'm struck by how pathetic it is that my entire life fits into a single bag.
Years with Kyle reduced to a few changes of clothes, basic toiletries, and my grimoire.
I guess that should make me feel sad, feel something, but all I can muster up is relief.
Everything I left behind was just stuff.
The important things—my independence, my dignity, my chance at a fresh start—are all ahead of me.
Even if I'm not sure about things working out long term with the pack. Knowing my history, and knowing how I’m going to feel on the next full moon even if they’re not completely bound to it, I don’t have high hopes.
One sudden, unexpected shift and I’m likely to take the nearest exist straight through a freaking window.
The front door opens before I reach it, revealing the four massive shifters crowded on the porch like dogs waiting for their owner to come home. Gods , that's a terrible analogy considering the circumstances. Guess it’s not far from the truth.
"You ready?" Killian asks, barely containing his obvious excitement.
"As I'll ever be," I reply dryly, reaching for my bag.
Four hands shoot out simultaneously.
"I'll get that?—"
"Let me carry?—"
"I can take?—"
"That looks heavy?—"
"Pretty sure I can manage," I interrupt, amused by their eagerness. "It's not heavy."
Rowan immediately cuts in. “It’s dishonorable to let our mate carry her bag?—”
“Please?” Sean interrupts him.
I sigh, unshouldering the strap and holding out the bag. “Fine. Knock yourselves out.”
This triggers an instant whispered argument consisting mostly of shoulder checks and growled threats between the four of them. Finally, Killian emerges victorious, slinging my bag over his shoulder with a smug grin flashed over his shoulder at his packmates.
“Pack alpha privilege,” he explains when he catches my raised eyebrow.
"Is everything a competition with you guys?" I ask as we move down Villeneuve's winding driveway.
"Yes," all four respond in unison, then look at each other with varying degrees of surprise.
"That's actually the first time we've all agreed on anything," Rowan mutters to me.
"Not true," Sean protests. "We all agreed Regina's hot."
My face heats instantly. “Uh, what?”
"Ignore him," Killian says, shooting Sean a death glare that could peel paint off a wall. "He has a tendency to come on strong."
Coming from Killian, that was saying a lot. If Killian were coffee, he'd come with a skull-and-crossbones warning label and would be banned in half the world.
But there's something almost refreshing about the wolves’ brazen honesty after years of manipulation and bullshit.
The walk to the Victorian mansion is mercifully short. In daylight, the house looks less gothic horror and more faded grandeur. It looks thoroughly lived in, for one thing, and could use a few new windows. Obviously, it’s still from old money.
"Welcome to Lupe Tau House," Killian announces as we climb the porch steps. "Officially campus housing, unofficially pack territory since my great-grandfather donated it to the university in the ‘20s with the stipulation that it always house the current Underwood alpha."
"So your family's been here for generations?" I ask, genuinely curious. And because I need to know as much as possible about these wolves.
"The Underwoods were founding members of Stormvale University,” he says, nodding.
"That's why his head's so big," Sean stage-whispers. "All that history packed into one overcrowded skull."
"Jealousy is an ugly color on you, Bennett,” Killian shoots back.
"Everything's a good color on me," Sean says with one of his usual shit-eating grins.
"Is he always like this?" I ask Rowan, who still seems like the most normal wolf of the pack. He definitely isn’t the same boneheaded jock level.
"No," Rowan says gravely. "Sometimes he's worse."
Inside, the house is... exactly what you'd expect from a fraternity occupied by four alpha male wolf shifters. And now, I have the chance to fully study it. The bones of the place are admittedly stunning. There are high ceilings, intricate woodwork, stained glass accents that have somehow survived the obvious brawls that have taken place here. Some of the furniture is busted up, which has my hair standing on end, but at the same time, I don’t see obvious claw and tooth marks, either.
And the massive flat-screen TV dominating one wall is intact despite being old enough to gather dust along the top edge, so there’s that.
If they really go nuts when they wolf out, the screen would be fucked up.
It’s cheaper to get a new TV than it is to replace it.
Some of the mismatched pillows clustered around a sunken conversation pit in the center of the room show signs of wolfish wear, but they’re intact, at least.
Despite obvious recent attempts at cleaning—I spot hastily hidden piles of laundry stuffed behind couches and catch the faint citrus tang scent of multiple cleaning products that probably shouldn't be mixed like potions—it's chaotic in the way only collegiate male living spaces can be.
Somehow, the normalcy is comforting.
"Grand tour?" Micah suggests with a bright smile.
I hesitate. “…Sure.”