Chapter 5 – REGINA
REGINA
Rowan is tense beside me as we walk up the winding path to Villeneuve's modernist manor. Behind us, I know the other three are hidden in the treeline, just beyond the range of Villeneuve's wards. It would have freaked me out a few weeks ago, but instead, it's… oddly comforting?
At least as long as they're human right now.
"You know, for someone who's supposed to be the reasonable one, you're really on edge," I point out.
Rowan's mouth quirks. "Reasonable doesn't mean I like this situation. Just means I can control my dislike better than the others."
"What is it about him that bothers you all so much?"
"Besides the fact that he's ancient, unidentifiable, and powerful enough to paralyze four alpha wolves with a single word?" Rowan asks dryly. "Not much."
"Fair point," I concede.
We reach the invisible barrier of Villeneuve's wards, and Rowan stops. He carefully tests the edge with his hand, his expression tightening when he meets resistance.
"I'll go on ahead and ask him to let you in," I say.
Rowan nods, clearly unhappy but resigned. "I'll be right here."
I walk through the barrier, the magic washing over me like stepping through a waterfall. But before I can reach the door, it swings open to reveal Villeneuve himself, dressed as impeccably as ever in a tailored suit despite the early hour.
He looks like a fucking model.
I'm suddenly feeling slightly underdressed.
I have to admit, as detached as I am toward men in general, Villeneuve is beautiful. Suspiciously beautiful, even. High cheekbones, inky dark eyes, chiseled jaw. His suit fits like it cost more than my entire wardrobe, past and present combined.
His entire aesthetic does give vampire vibes. He doesn't seem like a shifter at all.
But today, Villeneuve looks... not quite himself. There's a pallor beneath his usual composure, faint shadows under his eyes that his impeccable appearance can't hide. If I didn't know better, I'd say he just woke up.
"Ms. Cook." He recovers quickly, but I catch the slight delay before his usual smoothness kicks in. "What an unexpected pleasure." He looks past me at Rowan, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "And you brought a guard dog. How charming."
Behind me, I hear Rowan growl low in his throat.
"We were hoping to speak with you," I say, choosing to ignore the jab. "May we come in? Both of us?"
Villeneuve studies Rowan, his expression unreadable. Then he makes a subtle gesture with his hand, and I feel the wards shift and ripple.
"Your wolf may enter," he says. "Temporarily."
It's the third act of magic I've seen him directly perform, the first being when he pulled me to his side during the confrontation with Kyle, and the second being when he froze both the pack and the coven in place like it was nothing.
I file this away as further evidence that he's not what he claims to be.
Normal shifters can't manipulate magic that way. And neither can vampires.
Hell, his affinity for magic is pushing it for every magical species I'm aware of.
Rowan crosses the invisible boundary cautiously, his body tense as if expecting pain. When nothing happens, he relaxes marginally and moves to my side.
"Psst," I hear someone whisper from the trees behind us.
I glance in the direction of the sound and see Sean's head and shoulders poking out of a large bush.
He points to Villeneuve, brings his knee up like he's kneeing an invisible man in the balls, and then gives me a thumbs up and a grin before disappearing back into the brush.
Villeneuve stares at him with a masterfully blank expression.
"Subtle," Rowan mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Thank you for seeing us," I say with an apologetic smile as Villeneuve leads us inside.
"I confess to curiosity," he replies, guiding us through the now-familiar hallways to the same parlor where I first spoke with him. "You seemed quite determined to join your wolves the last time we spoke. Having second thoughts already?"
"No," I say firmly. "Actually, that's why we're here. About the Bonding ceremony."
"Fascinating." He gestures toward the sitting area. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Would you care for tea?"
"Tea would be great," I say, knowing it's best to observe the niceties. "Thank you."
"Mr. Miftah?" Villeneuve turns to Rowan expectantly.
"Sure," Rowan says through tightly clenched teeth. "Thanks."
He's standing like someone starched his entire outfit into cardboard, but I'm impressed by his restraint.
Villeneuve disappears briefly and returns with a tray bearing an elegant tea service.
I notice Margot is nowhere to be seen today, but it feels intrusive to ask where she is when I was only a guest here for such a short time.
As Villeneuve pours, I find myself watching his hands. He's elegant. Too elegant to be a shifter, I think. I've seen serpent shifters with similar body language, but they're never this good with their hands.
Then I notice his hand isn't quite steady. The stream of tea wavers slightly before he corrects it. For a heartbeat, the dark irises burn gold, his pupils narrowing to slits.
And then it's gone.
When he glances up and catches me staring, one dark eyebrow arches slightly, and I look away quickly, heat creeping up my neck.
Was my little investigation that obvious?
Rowan is watching him too, with considerably more suspicion. Looking for even the slightest indication that he's a threat. I'm sure the professor notices, but he pretends otherwise.
Somehow, I get the feeling he's used to people thinking the worst of him.
"I can see you're adjusting well to pack life," Villeneuve observes, handing me a delicate porcelain cup.
The heat in my face flares into full blown hot ears as I wonder exactly what he can sense. Can he smell the pack on me? Sense the energy exchange from the other day's... activities?
Gods, I hope not.
"It's been an adjustment," I say neutrally. "But a positive one."
Rowan accepts his cup with a polite nod, though when Villeneuve turns to add sugar to his own tea, I notice Rowan discreetly dumping his into a nearby potted plant.
I suppress an amused grin and bring the cup to my lips, only pretending to drink so my overzealous guardian doesn't have a complete meltdown.
"Well then," Villeneuve says, settling into an armchair opposite us with less grace than usual. Like his bones are heavier than they should be. "What can I do for you?"
"I've been researching the bonding ritual," I explain. "I think I have a workable approach, but as a siphon, it's difficult to find reliable information specific to my type of magic. I was hoping you might be willing to look it over."
"Ah." A flicker of genuine interest crosses his normally impassive face. "I'd be delighted to offer my expertise."
I extract my grimoire and the reference materials from my bag, passing them across to him. He handles the ancient texts with surprising reverence, his long fingers tracing the faded script with care.
"This is impressive work," he murmurs after several minutes of silent reading. "You've integrated multiple traditions quite seamlessly."
I can't help the pleased flush that spreads across my face. "Thank you."
A rumble from my left reminds me of Rowan's presence, but it seems to be involuntary, because he cuts it off and tries to pass it off as clearing his throat.
"Do you have all the required materials?" Villeneuve asks, finally glancing up from the pages.
"They've all been procured," I confirm. "Sadie—Micah's stepsister—helped with the more obscure ingredients."
"The Bryer witch." He nods thoughtfully.
"Talented, if somewhat overconfident and unorthodox.
" He resumes scanning the papers, one finger tapping against his lips as if in deep thought.
"This is really quite remarkable spellwork.
The arcane Latin is rusty in a few places, but the structure and cadence is top notch. "
Beside me, Rowan shifts impatiently. "We know she's smart," he says, nodding toward me. "The question is, will it work?"
Villeneuve's eyes return to the grimoire, studying it for a moment longer before closing it with a soft sigh. "No," he says finally. "I'm afraid it won't."
My heart sinks. "What? But I checked everything—"
"Your research is commendable," Villeneuve interrupts gently. "But there are several critical errors."
"What errors?" Rowan demands.
Villeneuve turns a page in one of the reference books. "This passage, for instance. You've interpreted it as referring to a siphon, but the original Greek actually translates to 'vessel of channeled power.' Similar, but not identical. The distinction matters for the incantation."
I lean forward, examining the text he indicates. And damn it, he's right. The subtle difference in terminology would completely change the energy flow of the spell.
"And here," he continues, pointing to my ritual diagram.
"Rowan branches for the binding circle are correct in principle, but you've specified the common European rowan.
For a ritual of this magnitude involving wolf shifters, you would need the American mountain ash variant to stabilize the disparate energies. "
"Shit," I mutter.
"Most critically," Villeneuve continues, turning to my grimoire, "your approach assumes a simple energy transfer, but what you're attempting is more complex.
You're not just creating a bond from scratch.
You're trying to simultaneously break your existing coven bond while establishing a new pack bond.
That requires a bridging agent to stabilize the transition. "
"What kind of bridging agent?" Rowan asks, his academic interest seemingly overriding his distrust momentarily.
Villeneuve smiles, and something about the expression makes my skin tingle. "Dragon's blood."
The words are a sucker punch. "Dragon's blood," I repeat flatly. "As in, blood from an actual dragon."
"Precisely."