Chapter 19 – KILLIAN
Chapter
Nineteen
KILLIAN
T he lecture drags on like a wounded animal.
Economics 305 is a class I'd normally find interesting enough. But today, all I can think about is Regina. I check my phone again, absently sketching snarling wolves and dragons in my notebook while Professor Hansen drones on about market fluctuations.
Then a sudden, sharp sensation pierces my chest.
Alarm bells ring in my blood. Something's wrong. I sit up straight, every muscle tightening. My wolf surges forward just beneath my skin.
I scan the classroom, trying to identify the threat, but it's not here. It's somewhere else. With someone else.
Regina.
I don't question the certainty. The mate bond, incomplete as it is, still connects us on an instinctual level. Before I'm even aware of moving, I've shoved my notebook into my bag and am halfway to the door.
"Mr. Underwood?" Professor Hansen calls. "We still have fifteen minutes of?—"
"Family emergency," I throw over my shoulder, not breaking stride.
It's not a lie.
Regina is family.
She's pack.
The campus blurs as I run, faster than I should among flighty weaker species, but I can't bring myself to care. The sensation in my chest tightens, an invisible tether pulling me toward home. Something fucking happened to Regina, and I wasn't there to protect her.
What a fucking joke. She's been with us less than twenty-four hours, still bonded to that psychopath witch, and I left her with only half the pack for protection.
When our house comes into view, I see Rowan's SUV pulling into the driveway. My heart nearly drills a hole through my chest when I spot Regina in the passenger seat, leaning against the window, alarmingly pale. Sean sits behind her, uncharacteristically serious.
I reach the car before Rowan's even killed the engine, yanking the passenger door open with enough force I almost tear the door off.
"What happened?" I demand, crouching to eye level with Regina. Her face is ghostly white beneath the glamour, which looks thin and unstable, like watercolor paint about to dissolve. The scent of her fear and exhaustion hits me hard, sharpening her deep, ethereal forest scent.
"I'm fine," she says, her voice too shaky and weak to be convincing. "Just, uh, got a little lightheaded at the park."
"She collapsed," Sean says from the backseat. His voice is strained. It must have been bad, then.
I growl low in my throat, my hands clenching into fists, elongating nails biting into my rough palms to keep from touching her without permission. “I knew I should have gone with you,” I mutter.
To my surprise, she laughs. It’s a soft, tired sound, but it’s genuine. "And what would you have done, exactly? Fought off my magical exhaustion with your big bad wolf alpha bark?”
"You don't know how effective that can be," I counter, relief mixing with my concern—no, my fucking fear —as some color returns to her cheeks.
"I'm fine, really," she insists, attempting to stand. "Just overdid it a bit. The glamour’s taking more energy than I realized."
She wobbles dangerously.
Before she can protest, I slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her against my chest.
"This isn't necessary," she grumbles, but the fight has drained from her voice. She weighs next to nothing in my arms, frighteningly fragile for someone who holds so much power. It makes me want to cradle her closer, shield her from everything. Including herself.
"Indulge me," I murmur, carrying her toward the house. Her scent wraps around me—old magic and forest after rain—but beneath it lies the tang of exhaustion and a fading sweetness that must be Villeneuve's elixir.
I try not to think about her relying on that bastard's concoctions. Whatever they contain, they're a temporary solution at best, and a dependence at worst. She needs real sustenance, real connection.
She needs us .
But she has to choose us first. And that's the fucking torture of it all.
Rowan opens the front door before we reach it. "I'll get water," he says. "Some electrolytes would help."
"I'll grab blankets," Sean adds, taking off.
I carry Regina straight to the sunken conversation pit in the living room, lined with cushions and pillows. It’s the perfect nest, though we've never used it that way before. My wolf rumbles with approval as I lower her gently onto the soft surface.
"Comfortable?" I ask, reluctantly releasing her.
"You didn't have to carry me," she says with an irritated arch of her eyebrow. “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.”
“Never said you were. But you scared the shit out of us.” I gesture to where Sean is piling blankets beside her. Rowan is already returning with a glass of water sizzling from the electrolytes tablet he dropped in it. "Let us take care of you. Just for now."
Something flickers across her face that looks dangerously like confusion and disbelief.
It hits me then that she's not used to this.
Not used to being cared for without strings attached.
The thought makes me want to hunt down every person who's ever failed her, starting with that one-armed piss-pants fucker who's still taking breaths he doesn't deserve.
A cosmic imbalance I intend to fix as soon as I get the chance.
"What do you need?" I ask, crouching beside her. "Anything at all."
"Nothing, really," she says, then hesitates. She touches her face, fingers skimming the glamour that hides her scars. "Actually… I should probably drop this. It's draining too much energy. So, um, maybe some privacy? Or I could go upstairs."
My heart sinks. She really thinks she has to keep that damn thing on around us.
I exchange a glance with Sean and Rowan, their distress as obvious as mine. We all want to argue, to insist she doesn't need to wear a mask around us, magical or otherwise, but we all know how that's gonna go.
She doesn't trust us enough to be vulnerable. Not yet. And I can only imagine what that dickhead said and did to her to make her feel that way.
He won't be so cocky when I peel all the skin off his face and wave it in front of him like a fucking slice of ham.
"Stay here," I add more gently. "You're comfortable, and it's easier for us to bring you things. We'll give you space."
She looks between us, clearly debating. "You don't have to leave your own living room. I can manage?—"
"Regina," Rowan interrupts, handing her the sports drink. "Stay hydrated. And stop arguing with three alphas who are all in protective overdrive right now. It's not a battle you're going to win."
A reluctant smile tugs at her lips. "Fine. But just for a bit."
"We'll be in the kitchen," I promise, gesturing for the others to follow me. “Just… call if you need anything, okay?”
As we head toward the kitchen, I catch Sean stealing glances back at Regina. I can practically hear his wolf whining.
My sentiments exactly.
Leaving her feels wrong, like we're abandoning her. But I know pushing too hard will only drive her away. She's skittish and independent and so goddamn stubborn. All qualities I admire, even though they’re frustrate me to hell right now.
"She's not used to anyone taking care of her," Sean mutters once we're out of earshot. "She acts like electrolyte mix and tampons are a virgin fucking sacrifice or something."
"Male witches are fucking useless," I growl, pacing the kitchen floor. "What's the point if they don't even take care of their women?"
Sean leans against the counter, still uncharacteristically serious.
That’s what’s really scaring me. Whatever happened out there, it was clearly enough to completely rob him of the ability to joke around.
“I know the assholes who hunt witches are usually the bad guys, but maybe just this one coven,” he grits out, lip curling into the beginning of a growl. “As a treat?”
“Focus,” Rowan interjects. “Regina needs energy. The glamour is depleting her, but she feels like she needs it. What are we going to do about it?”
I rake a hand through my hair, torn between what my wolf wants and what Regina needs. "Well, we can't pressure her. She has to come to us on her own terms."
"And if she doesn't?" Sean mutters.
"She will," I say with more conviction than I feel. "The bond works both ways. She feels it too. She just needs space to listen to her instincts."
Rowan's phone buzzes. He checks the message. “Micah's on his way. He felt it, too, but I texted him what happened.”
"Good." I lean against the doorframe, listening for any sound from the living room. All I hear is Regina's steady breathing, slower now. She might even be sleeping. "She needs all of us right now."
Even if she doesn't want to.