Chapter 18 – REGINA
Chapter
Eighteen
REGINA
I wake up with a jolt, momentarily disoriented by yet another morning with unfamiliar surroundings. For a heartbeat, I think I'm still at Villeneuve's, before memories of yesterday rush back.
The wolves.
The agreement.
Moving into their Victorian frat bro house.
What surprises me the most isn't where I am, though, but how well I slept. Despite everything—my fear of wolves, my precarious situation, the fact that I'm temporarily living with four giant alpha shifters who think I'm their destined mate—I slept better than I have in years.
No nightmares.
No waking in cold sweats.
Just deep, dreamless darkness.
Maybe it's the fact that this is the first time in five years I've slept without Kyle's energy signature buzzing in the background. Or maybe it's something about this house. The strange comfort I found in their scents, the feeling of safety I can't quite explain or justify.
Safety.
With wolves .
What the hell is wrong with me?
I stretch, sinking deeper into the plush mattress.
Sunlight streams through the sage green curtains the wolves picked out for me, and I know they did because there isn’t any dust on them and there are still creases from being fresh out of the packaging.
The room feels welcoming despite its unfamiliarity, and I allow myself a moment to simply exist without panic or urgency.
Reality creeps back soon enough.
Kyle is still out there.
Presumably one-armed and pissed in more ways than one, but not defeated.
If anything, my escape and his injury have likely intensified his determination to find me.
The coven bond is still intact, meaning Rebecca can still track me.
I'm counting on Villeneuve's elixir to keep me functional and the wolves' territorial wards to mask my signature temporarily, but that isn’t a permanent solution.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it with a sense of dread. A bunch of new messages. Two from Cadence, still worried but less frantic now that we’ve talked, and one from an unknown number.
I open it, knowing exactly who it is before I read a single word.
UNKNOWN: Enjoy your time with the dogs while you can, bitch. When Kyle recovers, we're coming for you. And we'll put your boyfriends down like the animals they are.
Rebecca.
I can tell.
She must be beside herself with rage that her precious High Priest lost an arm trying to retrieve me, although I’m admittedly kind of surprised she didn’t drop him like a hot potato when he literally pissed himself. Maybe I should be scared right now, but all I feel is a numb sort of annoyance.
Rebecca always did have a flair for melodrama.
I block the number, but what I really need is a new number, new accounts, new phone, new everything . Even more tasks for the ever-growing list of shit I need to do to extricate myself permanently from my mess of an old life.
But first, I need to find a way to pay for it.
There's another slew of messages from the group chat that's apparently been going since last night.
NERD: Hey, Regina! This is Micah.
NERD: Ignore the name, Kill started the chat and won't change our names…
Must be from when he added me to the chat. The others wasted no time replying, probably as soon as I got back to my room.
TOP DAWG: Damn right. Text us if you need anything.
OTHER NERD: Or if Sean is being too loud. This is Rowan, btw. Killian isn’t very creative.
KNOTHEAD: I'm never loud. I'm always the exact right volume for the occasion.
NERD: Sure, Sean. When the occasion is a monster truck rally on the Fourth of July.
KNOTHEAD: Ok, you have to admit, that sounds fucking awesome.
TOP DAWG: Stop blowing up her phone, she's trying to sleep.
NERD: Yeah yeah, sorry. Night, Regina!
KNOTHEAD: Sweet dreams, witchy lady. Hopefully about us.
OTHER NERD: Good night.
I roll my eyes as I scroll through the chat, but by the time I'm finished reading, my scars are tugging at the smile on my lips.
These alphas are ridiculous .
The bathroom calls to me, and I decide a hot shower is exactly what I need to wash away the remnants of yesterday's chaos.
The vintage fixtures gleam in the morning light, and I'm once again struck by the contrast between the house's historic bones and its current occupants.
Four college-aged alpha wolves in an architectural masterpiece that looks like it belongs in a period drama.
I turn on the shower, pleasantly surprised by both the immediate hot water and the impressive pressure.
As steam fills the room, I investigate the products lining the built-in shelf.
There's an astonishing array of high-end shampoos, conditioners, body washes, and face scrubs.
Way more than four guys would reasonably need.
Especially since they seem like the types to use one bar for everything.
Well, maybe not Rowan, but definitely the rest.
My initial guess must be right. They raided every Sephora, Ulta, and drug store they could find, grabbing one of everything in preparation for my arrival.
The thought makes me smile and roll my eyes. There's something oddly endearing about their overkill approach to hospitality.
I step under the spray, allowing the hot water to pound away the tension in my back and shoulders.
The scent of jasmine and sandalwood fills the air as I lather my hair with a shampoo that I’m sure cost more than my entire food budget for the week.
I can't remember the last time I indulged in anything this luxurious.
Kyle always insisted that simple was better. Organic, unscented products only. For "magical clarity," he claimed. Just one more way he tried to control every aspect of my life, right down to how I smelled.
I take my time, enjoying the simple pleasure of being clean. When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel so soft it feels like a cloud, I feel almost human again.
After dressing in jeans and a simple green t-shirt—my wardrobe options remain severely limited to what I could grab in my haste—I attempt the glamour spell. It slides into place easily, more easily than it has in days, thanks to Villeneuve's elixir and a decent night's sleep.
In the back of my mind, I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with my close proximity to my theoretical mates. But that's something I try not to think about too deeply, for my sanity's sake.
I study my glamoured reflection, wondering not for the first time who the woman staring back at me really is. The real Regina has scars, inside and out. The glamoured version is a fantasy. Kyle's fantasy, really. His perfect, unmarred witch. The spotless, flawless Thirteenth.
I shake off the thought. The glamour is a tool, nothing more. A shield I choose to wear in a world that judges too quickly and too harshly. Maybe someday, I’ll be ready to face that world without it. Probably not, but… maybe.
What I do know is today is not that day.
When I check my phone again, there's a new message from the group chat.
OTHER NERD: Morning, beautiful. Breakfast is ready when you are.
Delicious smells greet me as I descend the stairs. Coffee, bacon, and something sweet baking. Suddenly hungry, I follow the scent trail to the kitchen, where I find three of the four wolves in various states of morning routine.
Rowan stands at the stove, methodically flipping pancakes while monitoring a pan of sizzling bacon.
His sleeves are rolled up to reveal muscled forearms dusted with dark hair.
Micah sits at the kitchen island, hunched over a mug of coffee, glasses slightly askew and hair sticking up at odd angles.
He looks barely awake, eyes half-lidded as he stares into the dark liquid like it’s a scrying mirror.
And then there's Sean doing rapid-fire pull-ups on a reinforced bar spanning the other entry to the kitchen.
The domestic scene is so unexpectedly normal—for wolves, at least—that I pause in the doorway, unsure how to enter without disrupting it. But Sean freezes halfway through a pull-up, wolf senses detecting my presence before I've made a sound.
He drops to his feet, his face flushed and sweaty. "One thousand and seventeen!" he announces with exaggerated triumph, as if he'd planned to stop exactly at that moment. "Morning, Regina! Didn’t, uh, didn’t see you there."
I can't help the snicker that escapes me. "Good morning."
"More like thirty pull-ups,” Rowan mutters without turning from the stove.
“Bullshit,” Sean grumbles at him, grabbing a towel and swiping at his flushed face.
"Good morning," Micah practically slurs into his coffee, still looking half-asleep as he blinks blearily at me. "Sleep okay?"
"Surprisingly well," I admit, stepping fully into the kitchen.
Rowan glances over his shoulder, offering a small smile that warms his usually serious face. "Breakfast is almost ready. Hope you're hungry."
"Can I help with anything?" I ask, feeling awkward just standing there while he works.
"Absolutely not," he says firmly. "But these two can make themselves useful and set the table. Our… potential future mate doesn't need to lift a finger."
I appreciate him hesitating, but for some reason, I don’t really care. "Really, I don't mind helping," I protest weakly. I’ve never been good at being on the receiving end of hospitality. It’s awkward as fuck.
Sean is already gathering plates from a cabinet. "House rules, witchy woman. Guests don't cook or clean."
"But I'm not—I don't even know if I'm staying, so?—"
"Table. Sit." Micah finally rouses himself enough to point at the large farm table in the adjoining dining area. He gives me a groggy grin. “Resistance is futile.”
I reluctantly take a seat, watching as Sean arranges plates while Micah manages to haul himself off his stool to collect silverware. "Where's Killian?" I ask, noticing the pack alpha's absence.
"Still running," Rowan answers, transferring pancakes to a serving platter. "We all go for morning runs, but he has more energy to burn than the rest of us."