Chapter 22 – REGINA
Chapter
Twenty-Two
REGINA
I sneeze for what feels like the hundredth time, dust particles dancing in the sunlight like motes shining through the attic's small circular window.
The space at the entire top floor of the Victorian monstrosity of a pack house is impressive and packed to the ceiling with what can only be described as a magical hoarder's dream collection.
Bookshelves line the walls, crammed with ancient tomes whose titles are faded beyond recognition. Trunks overflow with mysterious artifacts wrapped in velvet cloth. Glass cases hold crystals that pulse and hum with energy.
If my coven—sorry, former coven—could see this place, they'd collectively lose their shit.
"Focus, Regina," I mutter to myself, turning another brittle page.
I've been holed up here all morning, hunched over stacks of grimoires from Killian's great-grandmother's collection.
The pack has been bizarrely protective since yesterday's.
.. activities, refusing to leave me alone in the house.
Which is how I ended up with a babysitter in the form of Killian, the only one without afternoon classes.
It should annoy me more than it does. I'm a grown woman, for fuck's sake. I've been taking care of myself for years, fending off magical threats and navigating supernatural politics. I don't need a six-foot-seven alpha wolf standing guard like I'm some helpless damsel in distress.
But after Rebecca's threatening text and the memory of Kyle's face twisted with rage as he tried to drain me dry, I can't say I mind the company. Not that I'd admit that out loud. The wolves are already insufferable enough in their protectiveness.
Even if I don’t totally hate it.
I lift another ancient tome from the pile, this one bound in leather so dark it's nearly black. The spine creaks as I open it, releasing a scent of age and magic that makes my witchy senses tingle. The pages are filled with handwritten notes in elegant script, diagrams of energy patterns, and what appear to be personal observations on magical bonds. Unlike modern textbooks with their clinical detachment, this feels intimate. It’s a witch's private thoughts on her craft.
So far, my research has been both enlightening and frustrating. There's no shortage of information on standard witch-to-witch bonds, and even a decent amount on witch-to-vampire arrangements.
But witch-to-shifter bonds?
Those sections could fit on a post-it note.
And siphons bonding with shifters?
That’s practically mythological.
The few references I have found are troublingly vague.
The siphon-shifter bond exists in a state of perpetual energy exchange, with the siphon drawing from the shifter's abundant natural vitality while grounding the often chaotic magical frequencies inherent to shapeshifting entities...
Great. Super helpful. Might as well say "something super fucking magical happens, good luck figuring it out."
And that's just the bond itself, not even touching on the mate aspect. The wolves seem so certain, so absolute in their conviction that I'm their destined partner. I'm still wrapping my head around it, around the way my body responds to them without my conscious permission.
Like last night.
I didn't plan for that to happen. I didn't expect to find myself at the center of their intense focus, and I definitely didn't expect to enjoy it so thoroughly.
Then there was the thoroughly unexpected potent rush of energy that flowed into me with their touch, more powerful than anything the coven ever provided.
I have a lot to think about, apparently.
A creak on the stairs pulls me from my thoughts. Footsteps approach, too heavy to be anyone but Killian. My pulse quickens instinctively. There's something about him that affects me on a purely physical level, like my body, heart, and soul all recognize something my brain is still catching up to.
He appears at the top of the stairs, ducking to avoid the low beam, a steaming mug in each hand.
He's dressed casually in a black t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and faded jeans that hug his muscled thighs in a way that should be illegal.
His dark hair is slightly damp like he's just showered, the strands curling at the nape of his neck.
"Thought you might need this," he says, offering one of the mugs. "Found any good spells for turning Sean into a productive member of society?"
I accept the coffee gratefully. "Not yet, but I did find three different ways to hex someone's balls off. Your great-grandma was not playing around about protecting her secret recipes."
He winces dramatically. "Remind me never to piss you off."
The coffee is perfect. It’s strong, with just enough cream and a hint of cinnamon. I try not to read too much into the fact that he's already memorized how I take it.
"How's the research going?" he asks, settling onto a trunk across from me. Even sitting, he's massive, all coiled strength barely contained in human form. And I can practically see his wolf's aura shining through, restless to get out.
Or to meet me.
The thought, paired with the reminder of what the others said—about Killian having even more energy to burn—is unsettling.
"Slowly," I sigh, gesturing to the stacks of books surrounding me. "You Underwoods sure know how to collect occult texts. Some of these are incredibly rare."
He grins a little. “My great-grandmother—Eliza—she was kind of… obsessed. Started collecting them when she married into the family. Said a witch should never stop learning, especially one foolish enough to tie herself to a shifter."
"So she was a witch," I say, leaning forward with interest. "And she married a shifter? Your great-grandfather?"
He nods, a smile playing at his lips. "Family scandal of the early 1900s. Eliza Thereaux, a woman from one of the oldest witch lineages in New England, ran off with Henry Underwood, heir to the Underwood pack—and, according to her father, 'no better than a beast in a three-piece suit.'"
"I'm guessing her family didn't approve?"
"They disowned her," he confirms, taking a sip of his coffee. "Cut her off completely. But she didn't care. Said she knew what she wanted the moment she saw him, and no amount of magical lineage nonsense was going to keep her from it."
The parallels aren't lost on me. "Seems like it runs in the family," I mutter, "this whole 'claiming witches at first sight' thing."
"Family tradition," he grins, looking not the least bit apologetic. "Though I don't think Henry had to share his witch with three other wolves."
Heat floods my cheeks at the memory of exactly how that "sharing" worked out last night. "Yes, well, that part is certainly... unique."
His eyes darken, pupils expanding as he catches the shift in my scent. "Regrets?" he asks, his tone casual but a hint of vulnerability beneath it.
"No," I admit, surprised by my own certainty. "Not about that."
His face melts with relief, but it’s quickly masked by his usual confident expression. "Good."
"I am curious, though," I admit, shifting my position since I've been on the floor for a while. "How common is it for a pack to all bond to the same person?"
"Pretty fucking rare," he answers. "Then again, it's kind of rare for a pack to be made up entirely of alphas. Usually, there are some regular beta shifters in the mix to balance out the testosterone."
I snort. "Guess that falls to me, then."
"So, what's the verdict?" he asks. "How does one go about bonding a beautiful siphon witch to four extremely eager wolves? I mean, I know how a bonding usually works, but I'm assuming your powers add a different element."
Beautiful?
Well, that’s a fucking stretch by every possible definition, but I don’t comment. Maybe I’m just doing a better job of hiding my scars with my hair than I first thought.
"They do." I close the book in my lap, setting it aside carefully. "I think I've found enough to proceed safely. The process itself isn't that complicated. It's basically creating a structured energy exchange and sealing it with intent."
"Sounds sexy," he says, leaning forward. "When can we do it?"
"We'll need to wait for the new moon," I tell him, bracing for his reaction. "It's the optimal time for creating new bonds, especially for a siphon."
His groan is immediate and dramatic. "Isn't that a week away?"
"A week and two days," I correct, fighting a smile at his obvious frustration. "Think of it as time for us all to get to know each other better."
"I know you pretty well already," he says, his voice dropping to that seductive rumble that sends shivers down my spine. "But I'm always happy to learn more."
He is smooth. I’ll give him that.
"I'm sure you are," I laugh, shaking my head. "But there's more to bonding than the physical aspects. I'll be tying my magic to your pack. I need to be sure. We all do."
His expression softens, and he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
The casual intimacy of the gesture catches me off guard, even as I flinch because he did it on the side I’m trying to hide from him.
"We couldn't be any more sure than we already are, but I get it.
No rushing," he agrees. "We've waited this long for you.
Nine more days won't kill us. Probably."
"You seem very confident for someone who's only known me a few days," I observe, studying his face. "How can you be so sure? About me, about this mate thing?"
He contemplates for a moment, his ice-blue eyes focused on something distant.
"It's not like human certainty," he finally says.
"It's not a thought process or a decision.
It's knowing, on a level beyond conscious thought.
My wolf recognized you immediately—not just your scent or your appearance, but your essence.
Your energy. The unique signature that makes you you . And it was the same for the others."