Chapter 4 – REGINA
REGINA
I sleep like the fucking dead.
At some point I woke up just enough to realize I was surrounded by four very awake, very restless wolves trying way too hard to stay still. Someone's stomach was growling. Someone else kept shifting positions every thirty seconds. I'm pretty sure Killian was literally watching me breathe.
"Downstairs," I mumbled. "All of you. Please."
They went, reluctantly. Good boys.
My body is finally catching up to the days of magical strain. As I get dressed and brush my hair, I hesitate for a moment before deciding to put my glamour back up. I may not be back to my usual power, but I've got enough energy to use it sparingly, thanks to the pack.
Just as a treat.
When I finally drag myself downstairs, it's well past ten o'clock. I'm disoriented by how well I slept—again—and by the sheer amount of noise coming from the living room. I follow the noise to find the pack engaged in what can only be described as somewhat organized chaos.
Sean and Killian are on the couch, their controllers gripped in white-knuckled hands as they scream obscenities at the television.
Micah sits cross-legged on the floor, his own controller nearly disappearing in his massive hands.
Rowan perches on an armchair, somehow managing to look simultaneously above it all and intensely engaged.
"You fucking knothead!" Sean yells, shoving Killian's shoulder hard enough to make a normal human topple over. Killian barely budges. "Stop spawn-camping, you cheap bastard!"
"Not my fault you keep running back to the same spot like a lemming," Killian fires back, not even bothering to look at Sean as his thumbs dance over the controller.
"Grenade!" Micah warns, and they all start mashing buttons frantically.
A massive explosion fills the screen, followed by Sean's howl of outrage. "Are you kidding me? I had fifteen seconds left on my power-up!"
Rowan catches sight of me first, his eyes flicking toward the doorway. "Morning," he says, straightening up immediately and feigning disinterest in the game. "Coffee's in the kitchen. Fresh pot."
The other three heads whip around in unison, and I can't help but laugh at how they look exactly like a pack of startled pups.
"What's so funny?" Killian asks, his brows furrowing.
"Nothing," I say, trying to suppress my smile. "Just didn't expect to find four grown shifters screaming over a video game at ten in the morning."
"It's team deathmatch," Sean says, as if that explains everything. "And Killian's a cheating asshole."
"You're just pissed because you suck," Killian retorts, but he's already setting down his controller and standing up to cross the room to me. "Sleep okay?"
His concern sounds completely genuine, which still disarms me every time. "Better than I have in a long time, actually."
"No nightmares?" Sean asks, perking up.
I pause, thinking about it. "No, actually."
Sean clenches his fist and pulls it in tight against his chest, biting his lower lip in a silent fuck yes that he's clearly struggling to keep quiet. Like he personally fought off a nightmare and won.
"The pendant looks good on you," Micah says, his eyes brightening behind his glasses.
"Thanks." I fiddle with the delicate chain. "It's... something special."
"You want breakfast, gorgeous? There's stuff for omelettes," Rowan says, unfolding himself from the armchair.
Wow. Men that stop gaming because there's a woman in the room. Wolves, at that. A miracle.
"Coffee first," I say, heading for the kitchen. "Then I actually have some news."
"News?" Killian follows close behind me, his presence so large that the kitchen immediately feels smaller. "Good news or bad news?"
"Depends on your perspective, I guess." I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a long, appreciative sip.
Whoever made it knew what they were doing.
It's strong but not bitter, with just a hint of cinnamon.
"I think I've figured out the ritual. It's complex, but doable with the ingredients Sadie's collecting. There's just one more thing I need."
"Name it," Killian says immediately, leaning against the counter. The others filter in behind him, forming a semicircle of attentive wolf. It's almost comical how synchronized they are.
"Is it shifter semen?" Sean asks, trying to dive over the counter even though it ends up as more of a slide. He catches himself, stretching out across the marble top and propping his head on his elbow in a cheesy pose ripped straight out of Playgirl. "Because we can totally supply that."
I snort a laugh even as Rowan glowers viciously at him and sneaks up behind his packmate to shove him off the counter. I'm assuming he's the reason it's spotless.
"Ow," Sean groans, rolling over on the floor. "Not cool, man."
"A wolf all over my clean counter is the definition of not cool," Rowan says, already breaking out the Clorox wipes.
"I'm human right now, bro!"
"Almost worse."
"What do you need?" Micah asks me with a weary sigh, turning away from them.
"Not a what," I clarify. "A who. I need someone with more expertise to look over the ritual components."
Four sets of eyes stare at me intently, waiting. I take a deep breath, knowing they're not going to like this. Knowing how men usually take the news that someone is encroaching on what they see as their territory.
But no matter how doting and charming they are on the surface, I need to know how these wolves are going to react in that kind of situation before I fully commit to being their Bonded. It's as much of a test for them as it is a necessity for the ritual.
"I need to see Villeneuve."
Sean groans dramatically, tipping his head back like I've just shot him. "Not the Snape-looking motherfucker!"
Micah and Rowan are more neutral, but they exchange a worried look. Killian looks like I've just suggested we invite Kyle himself to move in and use the fraternity flag as a jockstrap.
"No," Killian says flatly.
"Killian—"
"Absolutely not." His voice drops to that deep rumble that makes me shiver in spite of myself. But he's not using his bark like most alpha wolves do the minute they're challenged. Interesting. "We'll find another way."
"There is no other way," I reason, setting my coffee down. "I need someone with ancient magical knowledge, someone who knows about siphons. And like it or not, Villeneuve is our best option."
"I don't like it," Micah grumbles.
"Nobody likes it," Rowan agrees.
"Technically, Regina likes it," Sean points out, earning a glare from Killian.
"I don't like it," I correct. "I'm being practical. This ritual is complex, and if we mess it up, anything could happen. We could fail to break my current bond, or worse, someone could sprout an extra head or lose a finger or—"
"A third asshole," Sean breathes ominously, breaking the silence.
We all turn to look at him and my head whips around so fast my neck actually hurts.
Rowan pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know I'm going to regret this. But how the fuck many holes do you have, Sean?"
Sean squints like he's thinking about it and starts pointing at his eyes and nose as he counts. "Uh… the normal amount?"
"Okay, but when you say a third asshole, that implies the existence of a second," Micah says, waving his hand around for emphasis.
At no point did I ever think my life was going to take a direction that would lead to me arguing about "holes" with frat shifters in the kitchen, but at least it's a momentary distraction from the heavy tension between me and Killian.
"Dude, that's my point!" Sean says, throwing his hands in the air. "Imagine how bad the ritual could go! Where could a third asshole even be?"
"Oh my God," Rowan mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face.
"He has a point," Micah reasons.
"Does he, though?" I ask. "Does he really?"
Killian paces the kitchen like a caged predator, ignoring the rest of us. "He's dangerous, Regina. We still don't know what he is."
"He helped me before," I remind him.
But he has a point. Villeneuve has to be some kind of shifter, at least partly, but he's also capable of using magic on his own. That's… technically impossible. Even more so than a siphon being mate bonded to a shifter pack.
And I'm all but certain he's lying to the school and the Council about being half vampire.
The only question is, what's so dangerous that being seen as a vampire hybrid is the less threatening option?
"That doesn't mean he should be trusted," Killian presses.
"I don't need to trust him to use his expertise.
" I cross my arms, standing my ground. I never expected him to roll over and wag his tail at the idea of me going to see his nemesis, even if it is a one-sided hatred, but here's the moment of truth.
Time to find out just how much of an alphahole this wolf can be.
"Look, I'm not asking for permission. I'm going to see Villeneuve today. I just need to know if you trust me."
Killian stops pacing, his eyes flashing an unnatural blue for a moment. I see the war in them. The protective predator fighting against…
A frat bro.
Neither half of this man is exactly civilized. Maybe I got my hopes up for nothing.
He finally lets out a growl of frustration that bleeds into his words. "Fine. But you're not going alone."
I blink, surprised he's not fighting it harder. Kyle would have stamped his feet—literally, in most cases—and stormed around, forbidding me from doing whatever it was that defied him. Sometimes I got the feeling he didn't actually give a shit, he just liked refusing for the sake of control.
The fact that Killian is adamantly opposed to anything remotely related to Villeneuve, especially where I'm concerned, and he's still backing down—even if he's making his displeasure known—is…
Well, it's surprising.
"His wards won't let you through," I point out. "Remember?"
"Then we'll wait outside," Micah says.
"Like stalkers?"
"Like protection," Killian counters. "Regina, you were alone with that man for two days and it drove us all batshit fucking insane. We still don't know what his agenda is."
"I was fine then," I remind him. "I'll be fine now."
"Yeah, with four wolves watching his property the entire time," Sean says. "If he'd tried anything, we'd have found a way through those wards."
"Or died trying," Rowan adds dryly. "And trust me, he knows that."
"We're running out of time," I say finally. "The new moon is tonight and Sadie already gave me all the supplies. If we're going to do this, we need to make sure the ritual is correct."
"Fine," Killian says, his lips twisting like it physically fucking pains him to relent. "But we're not sending you in there alone with him."
"I have an idea," Sean says.
In unison, we all say, "No."
"Aw, come on," he pleads. "It's a good one."
"Doubt that," Killian says under his breath.
"What's the idea, Sean?" I ask, fully prepared for it to involve flamethrowers. He's… concerningly quick to suggest fire as a solution to most problems.
"Villeneuve might not go for having four alpha wolves in his house," he reasons with a grin. "Too much raw testosterone for Mr. Books. But maybe he'd agree to let just one of us past the wards."
I blink at him and realize I'm not the only one staring. Rowan looks downright unnerved.
"What?" Sean asks defensively. "Bad idea?"
"No," Rowan admits like it hurts him to say it. "It's actually… a good idea."
"Yeah, man," Micah agrees with a nervous laugh. "I thought you were gonna say we should use a trebuchet to fling ourselves over the wards or something."
"The fuck is a trebuchet?" Sean asks, wrinkling his brow.
"It's like a medieval slingshot," Micah answers warily.
"Dude!" Sean bellows. "Forget asking Villeneuve, the trebucket is a way better idea!"
"Trebuchet," Micah corrects.
"Bro, since when are you French?"
"And just like that, the balance of the universe is restored," Rowan says with a sigh of relief.
It's not an unreasonable compromise—the idea of bringing one of the wolves, not the fucking trebuchet—and having one of them with me might actually make Villeneuve more forthcoming.
"Fine," I agree. "One of you can come. But only one, and you have to promise to behave. That means you decide who's coming without World War Wolf."
"I'll go," Killian says immediately.
"No chance," Rowan objects. "You can barely say his name without growling."
"He has a point," Micah says. "Maybe someone with a little less... history with Villeneuve?"
"I'll go!" Sean volunteers, raising his hand like we're in class.
We all fix him with a pointed look. He's definitely run out of good ideas.
"What?" he says defensively. "I can behave."
"You called him 'Temu Dracula' to his face during freshman orientation," Micah reminds him.
"That was just a joke," Sean mutters. "He has no sense of humor. Which totally proves my point."
"Rowan should go," I decide. He has been the most level-headed of the bunch and the least antagonistic toward Villeneuve. The only one I can trust to behave rationally. I hope. "He's the only one of you who might actually manage to be civil."
Killian doesn't look happy, but he knows I'm right. "Fine. But if he tries anything—"
"We'll handle it," Rowan says smoothly, placing a calming hand on Killian's shoulder. "I'm not going to let anything happen to her."
Killian relaxes slightly, and if I'm being honest, so do I.
It's not that I feel like I have a reason to fear Villeneuve, who's been nothing but kind to me, but I also know better than to trust a supernatural I really don't know very well.
Especially one who's managed to hide his entire identity this long.
Rowan is definitely the voice of reason in a house full of impulse and instinct. I'm starting to understand what role each of them plays, and this is his.
"Alright then," I say, draining my coffee cup. "Let me get dressed, and we'll head over."
As I climb the stairs to my room, I can hear them arguing in hushed voices below. Debating how they're going to spread out around the property and what to do if something goes wrong. For once, even Sean is being completely serious.
If they took their academics half as seriously as my safety, the Dean wouldn't be breathing down their necks.
But it's…
Sweet.