Chapter 2 – REGINA
REGINA
I've been back at this shit for hours, and my eyes are starting to cross.
Books and scrolls litter the attic floor around me in concentric circles like some kind of wacky research nest that would give my college mentor a panic attack if he saw how disorganized this is.
But there's a system to my chaos.
Sort of.
Older texts on bonding rituals to my left, modern interpretations to my right, and arcane ingredients lists directly in front.
The closest thing I've found to a siphon-shifter bonding ritual is tucked into the margins of a grimoire that predates the Civil War, written in handwriting so cramped I've had to use a magnifying glass to decipher it while scribbling on a notepad.
The witch who wrote it—Killian's ancestor—didn't leave detailed instructions so much as cryptic notes that require interpretation.
"Energy melding requires blood from both parties at the new moon's zenith," I mutter, tracing the faded text with my fingertip. "Binding circle of crystals... lunar oil for stability... silver thread to represent the tether..."
Looks like Sadie's instincts for what we'd need for the ritual were pretty spot on.
I sit back on my heels, exhaling slowly. This is definitely possible, especially with the supplies Sadie is sourcing, but I can't shake the nagging anxiety that keeps crawling up my spine.
What if the ritual fails?
What if I end up even more magically depleted and stranded in supernatural limbo? No longer connected to Kyle's coven but not properly bonded to the wolves either?
Or what if it works perfectly, and I am magically and irrevocably bound for the foreseeable future to four alpha wolf shifters I'm falling for despite swearing off that kind of shit forever?
"Focus," I grit out, pulling another grimoire from the pile. This one is newer, bound in deep burgundy leather with silver clasps. A personal journal rather than a formal magical text.
I flip it open and find myself looking at a picture tucked between the pages.
It's woman with dark hair piled atop her head in elegant coils, her face serious but with a hint of mischief in her eyes.
She's standing next to a tall, broad-shouldered man who gazes at her with blatant adoration.
At the bottom of the photograph, someone has written a note in elegant script.
Eliza and Henry Underwood
1924
Killian's great-grandparents.
The witch who married a wolf.
I run my finger over the photograph, studying her face. She doesn't look afraid or uncertain. She looks... confident. Like a woman who knows exactly what she wants and has claimed it without apology or giving a single shit ever.
Must be nice.
I start reading her journal entries about the bonding ritual she used with Henry, noting the similarities to what I've pieced together.
She describes the energy exchange in detail.
How it felt to connect her magic to his shifter essence, the rush of power that flowed between them, the sense of stability that settled into her bones afterward.
But there's a line toward the end of the entry that makes my heart stutter.
The ritual solidified what my heart already knew. That I was his, and he was mine, and together we were something entirely new.
Great. Even Killian's ancestors were romantic saps.
I close the journal, setting it aside more carefully than the other texts. Something about holding this woman's private thoughts makes me feel like an intruder, even though she's long dead and her family has granted me access to her writings.
My phone buzzes from somewhere in the pile of books, and I fish it out, already knowing what I'll see. Sure enough, another message from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN
Kyle misses his arm more than he misses you and your ugly face. But we're coming for what's ours anyway.
Charming.
Rebecca has been sending these little love notes at least twice a day. I delete it, just like all the others, but I'm about to have to turn my phone off and slide it across the floor face-down so I'll stop checking it compulsively.
I need to draft the incantation. Something that will specifically target the coven bond while facilitating the new connection with the wolves. If I fuck up, someone could end up with a sparkly brand-new toad form. Or a wolf could lose the ability to shift.
That's definitely a conversation I don't want to have. "Sorry I accidentally made you permanently human because I was too tired to double-check my magical grammar" would not go over well.
I grab a fresh sheet of paper and start drafting the incantation in Latin. Most modern witches prefer their native language for spellwork because they think it provides clearer intent, and maybe that's true sometimes. But for something this complex and ancient, I trust the traditional approach.
Just as I'm getting into the flow of composition, a shout from downstairs interrupts my concentration.
"Regina!" That's Sean's voice, booming through the house like he doesn't realize I can hear him perfectly well without him yelling at top volume. Then again, Sean's always at top volume. "REGINA! COME DOWN!"
"I'm working!" I shout back.
A moment later, footsteps thunder up the stairs to the attic. Micah's tousled head appears first, followed by the rest of him as he climbs into the space. His glasses are slightly askew as usual, giving him a perpetually rumpled look that's more adorable than it has any right to be.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, surveying the organized chaos around me. "But Killian's insisting. Says it's important."
"Important like actual emergency important, or important like he's bored and wants someone to scratch behind his ear important?" I ask, setting down my pen.
Micah's lips quirk into a smile. "Somewhere in between. He got you something."
I sigh dramatically but start gathering my notes into a semi-organized pile. These wolves and their gifts. It kind of reminds me of when my childhood golden retriever used to "spoil" me by leaving dead birds on my bed.
"Fine. I guess I could use a break anyway. My Latin's rusty."
My phone buzzes again on the stack of books, the screen lighting up with another message. Micah's eyes flick to it, then back to me, something unreadable crossing his expression.
"You've been getting a lot of those," he says carefully.
"Spam," I lie, scooping up the phone and shoving it into my pocket. "Nothing important."
He doesn't look convinced but doesn't press the issue. "Come on. Let's not keep the big bad alpha waiting. He gets cranky when he doesn't get immediate gratification."
I follow Micah down the narrow attic stairs, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness from hours of research. My back pops in a way that's both satisfying and concerning.
I'm going to need fucking acupuncture or I'll turn into one of those witches who ends up with a permanent hunch from too many all-nighters spent researching obscure magical phenomena.
The rest of the pack is gathered in the living room, all looking up expectantly when I enter. Killian stands in the center, holding a glossy shopping bag with a tech store logo emblazoned on the side. The manic gleam in his eyes immediately puts me on alert.
"What's going on?" I ask, glancing between them. "Micah said there was something important?"
"There is," Killian says, striding forward to thrust the bag at me. "This is for you."
I take the bag cautiously, as if it might contain something dangerous. For all I know, it does. When I peek inside, I see a sleek box containing the latest smartphone. It's the ridiculously expensive kind that costs more than I used to make in a month back when I had an actual job.
"What is this about?" I ask, confused.
"Your new phone," Killian says with a grin. "It's already set up with all our numbers. And before you ask, yes, it's on our plan, and no, we're not going to let you pay us back."
I stare at the box, then back at Killian, a knot forming in my throat. "I can't accept this."
"You can," Rowan chimes in from his spot on the couch. "Your old phone is compromised. We've all seen how you flinch every time it buzzes."
Sean nods enthusiastically. "We're not blind, Storm.
Your ex and his witchy friends are harassing you through that thing.
And while I'm pretty sure Killian here would love nothing more than to track down whoever's sending those messages and use their intestines as crime scene tape, we figured a new phone would be less likely to get us all arrested.
For now. At least until the bond kicks in. "
My face burns with embarrassment. They've noticed. Of course they've noticed. These are wolves with enhanced senses who watch me like I'm the most fascinating thing they've ever seen. Subtlety was never going to work.
"It's just a few texts," I say, trying to sound dismissive. "Nothing I can't handle."
"You shouldn't have to handle it at all," Killian says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Those fuckers need to leave you alone. New phone, new number they don't have. Problem solved."
I sigh, stuffing down the uncomfortable roiling in my throat. "I appreciate the thought, but I can't keep accepting things like this from you guys. The clothes, the food, now a phone? It's too much."
"It's really not," Micah says.
"This is what pack does," Killian adds, his tone softening. "We take care of each other. And you're going to be our Bonded. Our mate. Of course we want to make sure you're safe and have what you need."
"Yeah," Sean says, jabbing a thumb in his direction. "What he said."
"Why?" I ask warily.
Kyle convinced me to quit school, but he never minded that I kept working. He just started collecting the money from my paychecks and putting them into the "coven fund," telling me it was just how things were done.
And then he started having me mix potions for clients on the side whenever those funds dipped a little too low due to his excessive spending.