Chapter 3 – SEAN
SEAN
I wake up with a face full of Micah's armpit and an elbow in my kidney.
Worth it.
Because somewhere in the tangle of limbs and blankets that's become our nightly configuration, she's here. Not just physically, even though my leg is definitely draped over some part of Regina's body. I mean here in a way that makes my wolf want to roll over and show his belly like a complete simp.
It's still wild to me that this is real.
That the spell Sadie cast actually worked, and the woman sleeping in our pile is the one the universe picked out for us. My wolf knew it the second he caught her scent. Mine, he'd growled, and for once I didn't argue with him.
I crack one eye open, trying not to move too much. The room is dim, early morning light filtering through curtains Rowan insisted we hang because "civilized people don't wake up at dawn like farm animals, Sean."
Whatever. I liked the sunshine. But I like Regina more, and she needed the sleep.
Speaking of which…
She's curled up in the center of our pile, exactly where she belongs.
Killian's got her back, one massive arm wrapped around her waist like he's afraid she'll evaporate if he lets go.
Rowan's on her other side, and Micah's somehow ended up perpendicular to everyone else, which explains the armpit situation.
And me? I'm at her feet again.
It's becoming a thing.
I don't even mind. From here, I can see her face without being creepy about it. And right now, with her glamour completely down and the soft light turning her scars pearly silver, she looks like something out of a fucking dream.
The scars don't bother me. Never have, never will. But I know they bother her, which is why seeing her like this, unguarded and trusting us enough to let the magic drop while she sleeps, gives me the warm fuzzies.
She's so fucking beautiful it actually hurts.
And okay, I know she'd be mad, but I love the little snarl. The way the scar tissue pulls at her lip, showing a hint of teeth even when she's relaxed. She hates it. I've seen the way she angles her face to hide it, the way her hand drifts up to cover her mouth when she forgets her glamour is down.
But to me? It's adorable.
And it makes her look fierce as fuck.
Like even in sleep, she's ready to bite back. My wolf fucking loves it. Our mate has teeth, he practically purrs. Our mate is strong. Our mate survived a fucking werewolf attack. Our mate can survive ANYTHING.
She'd probably smack me if she knew. But I can't help it. Every part of her is perfect to me, including the parts she thinks are broken.
The scars are proof she lived. Proof that something tried to break her and failed. Every silver line is a middle finger to the universe and I am so fucking here for it.
My wolf rumbles in agreement. We're simple creatures, him and me. We see our mate, we want to protect her, provide for her, make her laugh until she snorts that adorable little snort she pretends doesn't happen.
The complicated emotional shit? That's more Rowan's territory. I just know what I feel.
And what I feel is fucking happy. Because she stayed, and now she's safe and warm and surrounded by four dumbass wolves who'd burn the world down for her without hesitation.
I let my senses expand the way only a wolf's can. Her heartbeat is slow and steady. Her scent is mossy forest and the hint of stormy air carrying her magic.
Then it changes.
The shift is subtle at first. A slight uptick in her pulse that makes my wolf's ears prick up. Then it builds. Her scent sharpens with fear and her body tenses against Killian's chest, muscles coiling tight.
Nightmare.
Regina lets out a soft whimper. The sound from my strong mate is so small, so fucking helpless, that it hits me like a punch to the gut. My wolf surges forward, snarling at an enemy he can't fucking see or fight.
The others react before they're even fully awake. Pack instinct, maybe, or the fated mate pull that's been riding all of us since we found her. Even Micah, still mostly unconscious, reaches out to rest a hand on her ankle.
We're all doing it on instinct. Closing ranks around our mate. Surrounding her with warmth and presence and the bone-deep message that she's not alone.
She's safe.
We've got her.
My wolf is pacing now, frantic with the need to do more. And then he has the worst idea in the history of ideas.
Shift, he practically demands. Shift and curl around her. We're bigger and fluffy as fuck in wolf form. We could cover her completely, keep her warm, protect her from everything—
No fucking way.
She's afraid of wolves, dumbass, I tell myself, forcing my wolf down like I'm stuffing a thick blanket into a shoebox. I'm practically bursting at the seams with wolf that wants to flop over Regina and snuggle on her and maybe squish her a little bit.
If Regina weren't traumatized, she'd love it.
But she is traumatized. And the last thing she needs is to wake up from a nightmare about claws and teeth to find an actual wolf wrapped around her.
So I stay human. We all do.
It's harder than it should be. My wolf keeps pushing and I have to actively fight the urge to let the change take me. My skin feels like it's on fucking fire. Then it starts to itch, which is somehow worse. I squeeze the meat between my thumb and forefinger until my hand throbs to distract myself.
No wolfing out. Not right now.
When I'm feeling more human-brained again, I crawl up from my spot at her feet, careful not to jostle anyone. I wedge myself into the pile properly, pushing Killian aside.
"Fuck off," Killian growls under his breath, but he's still asleep and I'm not, so I win.
I press my body against Regina's back and wrap my arms and another blanket around her, cocooning her.
Turning her into a perfect little witch burrito.
Being kind of thick has its perks—I run hot as fuck and there's more of me to cuddle.
Regina gets a built-in weighted blanket and a space heater in one package, and I don't even have to be a wolf for it.
Suck on that, pack.
"We're here," I murmur against her hair, kissing the scar behind her ear. "You're safe, pretty witch. Nothing's gonna hurt you."
She can't hear me. Not consciously. But maybe some part of her knows, because the tension in her body starts to ease. Her heartbeat slows. That sharp edge of fear fades from her scent, replaced by soft contentedness.
Fuck yes.
Nightmare status? Demolished.