Chapter 21 – ROWAN
Chapter
Twenty-One
ROWAN
T akeout bags hang heavy from both arms as I nudge the front door open with my hip. I'd spent the last hour hitting every decent restaurant still open, determined to find something Regina might enjoy. After her collapse earlier, making sure she gets proper nourishment seems like the least I can do.
When I round the corner into the living room, I realize the others have found their own way to help. I freeze, my brain struggling to process the scene before me.
Regina sits astride Sean's lap, her lower half entirely naked.
Sean's hands grip her hips, his expression dazed and satisfied.
Killian stands nearby, tucking himself back into his pants with a self-satisfied smirk.
Micah kneels on the floor between Regina's legs, blood smeared across his mouth like some ritual aftermath.
I've known these three idiots long enough that I shouldn't be surprised they couldn't wait, but still.
I’d only been gone forty minutes.
Forty fucking minutes.
A wave of jealousy crashes over me, but I immediately dismiss it. This isn't about what I want, it's about our mate's needs. And here she is, in our home, accepting our touch. Her scent harmonizes with theirs in the air, and my wolf rumbles with approval.
Whatever happened while I was gone, she chose it. She wanted it. That's a huge step closer to accepting us—all of us—than we were this morning.
Regina's face flushes scarlet as she seems to fully register my presence. She scrambles to cover herself, grabbing a blanket from the nest we'd built around her earlier, hiding her scars in her hair.
"I should... I need to..." she mumbles, clearly mortified. "I'm just going to take a quick shower."
Sean reluctantly releases her, and she wraps the blanket around her waist like a makeshift sarong before darting up the stairs, careful not to make eye contact with me. The moment she disappears, I drop the takeout bags onto the coffee table and fix my packmates with a glare.
"Really?" I sigh. "Couldn't wait until I got back?"
Killian chuckles, entirely unrepentant. "She needed a distraction from her cramps. We provided." He rises smoothly, gathering another blanket from the floor. This one is visibly stained with blood. I have to resist the urge to snatch it out of his hands and bury my face in it. "I'll clean up."
"Dude, you should've seen it," Sean says, tucking himself back into his jeans after he cleans the blood off his cock with my favorite hand towel I'm never using again.
No amount of bleach is sufficient for me to dry my face with something that's been all over cock.
"She fucking loved it. And she tastes?—"
"I get the picture," I cut him off, not needing a detailed play-by-play that will only intensify my frustration at missing out. I turn to Micah. "Go clean yourself up. You look like you've been bobbing for apples in a fucking slaughterhouse."
Micah gives me a toothy grin, licking off his fingers. "We didn't plan it," he offers. "It just... happened."
"Everything just 'happens' with you three," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "Go. All of you. Clean up, give her some space. I'll set the table."
They shuffle off in different directions, Sean and Micah heading to their respective bathrooms while Killian takes the blankets to the laundry room.
I stand alone in the living room for a moment, breathing in the lingering scent of sex, blood, and our mate's pleasure.
Now the whole house smells like their scents mingled with that intense, otherworldly elixir that can only be described as Regina.
The wolf in me wants to claim her, too, to ensure my scent mingles with the others on her skin. But the man in me knows she's probably already overwhelmed. And despite my instinctive territorial jealousy, the satisfaction of the soothed pack bonds feels damn good.
I gather the takeout bags and head to the dining room, unpacking containers of pad thai, butter chicken, Mongolian beef, falafel, and a half dozen other dishes I couldn't decide between.
The dining table—normally cluttered with textbooks and beer bottles—was hastily cleared and wiped down the other day in anticipation of Regina's arrival.
Now I arrange the containers, plates, and silverware with more care than our usual pack takeout meals deserve.
I'm laying out the last set of chopsticks when I hear soft footsteps padding on the hardwood floor behind me. I turn to find Regina hovering in the doorway, dressed in a plush bathrobe bearing the pack’s letters and nothing else.
Must be Sean’s, considering he’s built like a grizzly bear and she’s swimming in it.
Her hair is damp from the shower, curling slightly against her neck.
Water droplets gather on her collarbone, disappearing beneath the neckline of the sweatshirt.
She shifts uncomfortably under my gaze, carefully turning her face away.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, avoiding my eyes. "I didn't... I mean, I wasn't expecting..."
It takes me a moment to realize what's different—what's missing. Her glamour. She isn’t wearing it right now.
Wow. We really have made progress.
"Why the hell are you sorry?" I ask, setting down the chopsticks.
"I'm just sorry I went back for these." I dig into the pocket of my coat for the after-dinner mints I snatched from the basket of one of the restaurants.
"If I'd known what kind of dinner party was happening, I'd have skipped the mints and come straight home. "
Her eyes widen, finally meeting mine like she's afraid of what she'll find. All she's ever going to find, though, is genuine appreciation. Adoration. She's the most perfect fucking thing I've ever seen, and the only change I'd make is having her wrapped in my shirt instead of Sean’s bathrobe.
“But if you're up for it later, maybe we can make up for that,” I say dryly, hoping my grin doesn’t come off as too forward.
A blush spreads across her cheeks, deepening the pink already there from her shower. She doesn't say no. Doesn't look away or shut down the possibility.
Oh yeah. That's definite progress.
"The food smells amazing," she says, expertly changing the subject. But the small smile playing at her lips tells me she's not entirely opposed to my suggestion.
"I got a bit of everything," I say, gesturing to the spread. "Wasn't sure what you like. Although after what I just walked in on, I'm guessing my packmates have a pretty good idea what that might be."
She makes a strangled noise that's half embarrassment, half laughter. "You're just as bad as Sean."
“ Ouch .” I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know I'm much more creative."
Before she can respond, the rest of the pack files into the dining room. They've all showered and changed, too, which is a damn good thing because I’m not having alpha come at my table.
Sean’s eyes light up at the sight of the food. "Damn, Rowan went all out," he whistles, immediately gravitating toward the nearest container. "Good thing, too. I've definitely worked up an appetite. Not that anything could taste as good as you, little storm."
“Little storm?” Regina echoes dryly, arching an eyebrow.
"Yeah, because of your scent," Sean says, his grin widening. "And because I don't mind getting soaked in you."
Regina rolls her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders has eased. She moves toward an empty chair, but Killian intercepts her, pulling her smoothly onto his lap as he sits.
"I've got a better seat for you, beautiful," he murmurs, his arm circling her waist.
For a moment, I think she might protest. Instead, she settles against him, her body relaxing into his. “I guess you do only have four chairs,” she muses. “This place really hasn’t had anyone but frat wolves in it for a long time, has it?”
“Nope,” Sean says.
"Hope you're hungry," I say, taking my own seat across from them. "There's enough here to feed a small army. Or one Sean."
Regina giggles.
The sound makes all of us pause momentarily to appreciate it. In the short time she's been with us, genuine laughter has been rare. Precious enough that we all instinctively want to preserve it. And make her laugh even more.
We fall into an easy rhythm, passing containers back and forth, each of us encouraging Regina to try our personal favorites.
Killian makes sure she tastes the butter chicken, Sean practically force-feeds her his beloved Mongolian beef even though he once nearly took my finger off for daring to reach for it, and Micah offers her perfect bites of falafel with tzatziki.
I select the most delicate dumplings from my soup, carefully placing them on her plate.
It's instinctive, this need to provide, to ensure she's well-fed and satisfied. Our pack is already revolving around her, as it should. As nature intended. She is our center now, whether she believes us or not.
Between bites, conversation flows easily. We avoid the weightier topics. Instead, we share stories of campus life, pack antics, everyday mundanities that seem to amuse the shit out of her. Maybe because they're so normal, so far removed from the shit that’s clearly still stressing her out.
"So then," Sean says, gesturing wildly with his fork, "Killian gets caught in the dean's office with his pants around his?—"
"We don't need to tell that story," Killian interrupts, though the corner of his mouth twitches.
"No, I think we absolutely do," Regina counters, her eyes dancing with amusement.
The food and company have brought color back to her cheeks, vitality to her movements.
If I didn't know better, I'd think what she did with the others restored her energy even without an official bond.
"Along with the fact that a suspicious number of these stories involve nudity in public buildings. "
"Hey, we can't shift with our clothes," Micah says in our defense. "Shit happens."