Chapter 16 – REGINA #2
They lead me through the first floor with the enthusiasm of real estate agents trying to unload a difficult property.
There's a surprisingly impressive kitchen for a frat house, a library lined with bookshelves full of occult books, and a well-equipped home gym in a huge glass room that must have been a conservatory before the wolves got to it.
"Are you guys the only ones who live here?" I ask as we climb the grand staircase to the second floor. "I thought fraternities usually had more members."
"Some years, there are more wolves on campus," Micah explains. "But this year, it's just us four. The pack, I mean."
"Most shifters get assigned to standard dorms," Rowan adds. "Only officially recognized packs get designated pack housing."
"And we're the only official pack at Stormvale right now," Killian finishes with a proud grin. "Others have come and gone, but they couldn't hack it."
The second floor has more bedrooms than seems reasonable for a private residence, all arranged around a central hallway. Most doors stand open, revealing varying states of masculine chaos within.
"This is Sean's room," Killian says, pointing to a door plastered with band posters and a "CAUTION: WILD ANIMAL" sign that someone has modified with magazine letter cutouts to read "CAUTION: WILD ANIMAL IN BED."
“I’m shocked,” I say dryly.
"You're welcome in there anytime," Sean says with a wink, earning simultaneous eye rolls from his packmates and an actual agonized groan from Rowan.
"Micah's," Killian continues, nodding to an open door to a room that’s more organized than I expected. It’s full of sports equipment—and the jersey I shamefully buried my face in last night.
Hopefully he hasn't noticed my scent on it.
Who am I kidding? He’s a fucking wolf.
"Also always open to you," Micah says quickly, glaring at Sean.
"Rowan's," Killian adds, nodding to the next room. It’s closed, and the door isn’t decorated. Yep. Rowan is definitely the most normal wolf here. "And this," Killian says, stopping before a door at the end of the hall, "is yours. If you want it."
He pushes the door open to reveal the largest room yet.
Unlike the rest of the house, the bedroom is spotlessly clean, with fresh linens on a queen-sized bed and plush towels folded on a dresser.
Someone even thought to place a vase of wildflowers on the nightstand that almost go with the soft sage green curtains.
"This is huge," I remark, looking around.
"It's the biggest room in the house besides mine," Killian explains, winking. "Which you're also welcome in anytime, FYI. But this one has a bigger bathroom, and we figured you'd want your own space."
He gestures to a door in the corner. Pushing it open reveals a vintage bathroom complete with claw-foot tub and pedestal sink.
Unlike Villeneuve’s tub, this one has gold wolf paws on the bottom, not clawed talons.
There are fresh soaps and shampoos littering the counter that I'm sure none of them use, which is probably why they appear to have purchased one of everything from whatever store they went to.
"You did all this today?" I ask, genuinely kind of touched by the effort.
The four massive wolves suddenly look sheepish.
"It's not a big deal," Killian says, rubbing the back of his head. He does that often, I notice. "We just wanted you to be comfortable until you can put your own touches on the place."
"Just basic hospitality," Rowan adds. “Sean picked the flowers, believe it or not.”
“Don’t give me away, dude,” Sean mutters to him. “Making me sound like a fucking softie.”
“You’re not?” Micah asks pointedly, raising his eyebrows.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. They're really trying. But they're still wolves, I remind myself. Still dangerous. Maybe they don’t have claws like knives, but they still have claws. And fangs, too.
The crunching, squelching sound of Killian tearing Kyle’s arm off plays helpfully in my head like a broken record, reminding me of just what wolves are capable of. Werewolves and shifters alike.
Killian sets my duffel on the chest at the foot of the bed, eyeing it with noticeable concern. “Is this all the stuff you need? We can take you shopping if you need more clothes or... whatever.”
“We didn’t get much in the way of toilet shit,” Sean admits. “We realized we don't really know what kind of stuff witches need. Or uh, women, either.”
“Toiletries?” I clarify, confused.
“Yeah, that.”
"I think I'm good for now," I reassure them. "I might need to pick up a few things eventually, but I packed the essentials."
They all look doubtful, eyes darting between my solitary, sad little duffel bag and the spacious room as if they’re unable to compute the math.
"We’ll go shopping soon," Rowan says. "So you can pick out things to make the place more suited to your style."
"You'd probably want different curtains," Micah suggests. "Or, you know, girl stuff for the bathroom."
“Tampons,” Sean clarifies.
"Yeah, no, I got that," I say dryly. "Look, I haven't even decided to stay yet. This is still trial basis, remember?"
Their faces fall in such perfect synchronization that I almost laugh. It is kind of funny that they all do things at the same time, like they share some kind of telepathic wolf pack bond that affects them all at once. For all I know, that’s exactly what it is.
I’m trying not to let it freak me out. It isn’t like they can help what they are any more than I can help being… well. A disfigured witch, as the vampires I first interviewed with so gently put it.
"Right," Killian says, straightening his shoulders. "Of course. Trial basis. No pressure."
An awkward silence falls. They all stare at me expectantly, like they're waiting for instructions or permission or... something.
I clear my throat. "I think I'll just settle in, then, if that's okay."
Sean jolts. “Oh. Right. Sorry. We should, uh… we should go,” he says, already inching toward the door.
"Are you hungry?" Killian asks me. "We can cook something. Or we can get takeout."
I blink, surprised. "You guys can cook?" I ask, having a hard time imagining these wolves doing anything but gulping down cheeseburgers and beer.
“Sean can,” Rowan clarifies. “I just add seasoning to things until they taste good, which is technically not cooking.”
“Sean puts sriracha sauce on cereal,” Micah points out without missing a beat.
"That was one time!" Sean protests.
"I'm actually kind of hungry," I admit before the bickering can spiral out of control again.
The wolves exchange one of their looks.
"Pizza?" Micah suggests.
"Pizza," Killian agrees.
"Wait, can siphons eat pizza?" Sean asks, suddenly concerned.
I can't help it. I laugh. A real laugh, one that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me that I thought had withered away years ago. “Yes. I can eat pizza.”
"Told you," Sean says triumphantly. "She's definitely mate material."
That sobers me instantly. "Don't... uh, don't get ahead of yourselves. I'm not promising anything."
"Right," Killian says quickly. "Pizza's just pizza. Any preferences? Toppings? Allergies?"
"I'm good with anything except pineapples and sardines," I tell them. "Surprise me."
Another look passes between them, and I can almost see the instant competition forming over who can order the best pizza to impress me.
These guys are ridiculous.
"We'll get the pizza situation handled," Killian assures me as if this is a really big fucking deal and not a pizza order. "You settle in. Take your time. House is yours. Make yourself at home."
They file out with obvious reluctance, each casting backward glances like they're afraid I'll disappear if they look away too long. Sean pauses in the doorway.
“Just yell if you need anything,” he says. “We’re wolves. We’ll hear you.”
I manage a tight smile. “I’ll be fine.”
When they're gone, I close the door after them and lean against it, pinching the bridge of my nose and finally letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The quiet feels almost unnatural after their boisterous, intense energy.
I inspect the door, checking for a lock.
There's an old-fashioned skeleton key in the keyhole, which I turn experimentally.
It works, but it's hardly secure against shifters.
Especially ones as big as these ones. Sean in particular is stupidly huge.
He could just press against this door and it would cave in.
As soon as I have enough energy, I'll need to set up some basic wards. Not that I expect them to burst in on me, exactly, but old habits die hard. Those years wasted with Kyle and his shitty coven taught me the value of enforceable boundaries.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my stomach drops when I see who it is. I've been avoiding this conversation for days, but I can't put it off any longer. I take a deep breath and answer.
"Hey, Cadence."
"REGINA ELIZABETH COOK!" My sister's voice blasts through the speaker with enough force that I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "Where the actual fuck have you been? I've been calling and texting and thinking you were in a gutter full of used needles and serial killers."
"How much room do you think gutters have?"
"Not the point!"
"I texted you,” I point out weakly.
“That could’ve been your creepy cult boyfriend for all I knew.
You know he called me, right? Trying to find you?
You should’ve heard the bitching and guilt tripping.
He cried, Regina. Cried. Complete with sniffling and snot.
The whole nine yards. Gross as fuck. I don’t know what you even saw in him.
He looks like he smells weird. Does he smell weird?
My money’s on onions. You know you can do better than that, right?
I know you’re upset about… about… well, you know, the scars and?—”
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “I was... it's been a lot.”
"Tell me everything," she demands, her volume dropping from ear-splitting to merely intense. "Right now."