Chapter 8 – ROWAN
ROWAN
One moment we're all suspended in the eye of a magical hurricane, energy surging through our bodies, and the next, Regina's eyes roll back in her head and she crumples.
"Regina!" The shout tears from my throat.
We catch her together, like we've rehearsed this a thousand times. My hands find her shoulders while Killian's arms wrap around her waist. Sean and Micah steady her from either side. Her skin burns against mine, but her face has gone deathly pale.
My wolf rushes forward, hackles raised, fangs bared. Something's wrong. Our mate is in danger. And the only other person in the room to blame is Villeneuve.
I pivot toward him, a growl building in my chest. Killian's already halfway to shifting, his eyes blazing blue, claws extending from human fingertips. Sean and Micah keep hold of Regina, but they're both poised to attack if needed.
"What did you do to her?" Killian snarls, his voice barely human.
Villeneuve doesn't flinch. Doesn't even step back. Instead, he raises one elegant hand in a gesture that somehow manages to be both calming and dismissive.
"Control yourselves," he orders, as if he's not five seconds away from getting ripped apart by furious, overprotective wolves. "She's fine. This is entirely expected."
"Expected?" I snap, my own voice rougher than usual. "You didn't think to mention she might collapse?"
"I did say the ritual would be intense." He straightens his already immaculate suit jacket, looking irritatingly composed while we're all still naked and wild-eyed with fear.
"Ms. Cook has just severed a five-year-old coven bond while simultaneously forming a completely new connection with four alpha shifters.
The energy realignment alone would exhaust even the strongest practitioner. "
My wolf retreats slightly, logic tempering instinct. What he's saying makes sense, but I still don't trust him. None of us do.
"How long will she be unconscious?" Micah asks, his voice steadier than mine.
"A few hours, perhaps a day." Villeneuve moves to collect his coat from where he draped it over a chair. "Her energy needs time to stabilize. The bond is formed, but it will take time to settle properly and allow her to feed from you. The dragon's blood will sustain her in the meantime."
Regina's slight weight shifts in our collective hold as Killian gathers her more securely into his arms. Her head lolls against his chest, her breathing shallow but steady.
The mating marks on her neck stand out starkly against her pale skin—four distinct yet interlocking bite marks forming a pattern that satisfies something deep within me.
She's ours now. Truly ours.
"What do we do?" Sean asks, his usual irreverence replaced by genuine concern.
"Put her to bed. Keep her warm. Have someone with her at all times." Villeneuve sounds almost bored, as if he's reciting instructions for watering a houseplant rather than caring for our unconscious mate. "If she develops a fever or her condition changes in any way, you know where to find me."
He turns to leave, and for a moment, I consider stopping him. There are too many unanswered questions. What really happened at the end of the ritual? What was that fifth presence I felt in the bond? Did the others feel it, too?
It had to be Regina's magic, but it didn't feel like her. It didn't have the same intense, woodsy flavor.
But Regina is our priority now. Questions can wait.
"One more thing," Villeneuve pauses at the doorway, his dark eyes fixing on each of us in turn. "When she wakes, she may experience some... disorientation. The bond will take time to settle. Be patient."
And then he's gone, the front door closing behind him with a click that feels jarring in the silence of the room.
"I don't trust him," Killian mutters, echoing my thoughts.
"None of us do," I agree. "But right now, we need to take care of Regina."
We all look down at her, still cradled in Killian's arms. Even unconscious, she's beautiful, her features softened in rest. Her glamour is fading, as if her body is redirecting all non-essential magic to other things.
The scars that map the left side of her face catch the candlelight, silver against her skin.
She looks peaceful, at least. Not in pain.
"Let's get her upstairs," I suggest, already moving to gather our discarded clothes.
"Should we dress her?" Micah asks, hesitating with her green dress in his hands.
Sean shakes his head. "She'll be more comfortable in something soft. I'll grab one of my shirts."
"Just make sure it's not one of your gym shirts, that could be the final blow," I mutter.
"Ha fucking ha, Rowan."
The banter helps a little, even if my heart's not quite in it. Helps us feel like things are normal even if they're anything but.
We dress quickly, energy from the ritual still crackling over our skin.
I can feel the bond now, a warm presence in the back of my mind, connecting me to the others more deeply than our pack bond ever did.
And at the center of it all, Regina—a steady pulse of energy, dimmed in unconsciousness but undeniably there.
Killian carries her upstairs, his movements careful, as if she might shatter in his arms. We follow in silent procession, uncharacteristically solemn for a house of wolves.
This moment feels sacred somehow, the culmination of everything we've been working toward since Sadie's spell first led us to Regina.
In Regina's bedroom, Sean has already pulled back the covers. Killian lays her down with a gentleness I've rarely seen from him, while Sean returns with one of his soft sleep shirts—the one with the faded university logo that's been washed a hundred times.
"I'll dress her," I offer, taking the shirt from Micah.
They nod and step back, giving me space. There's no jealousy in their expressions, no possessiveness. The bond is already changing us, smoothing the rough edges of our alpha tendencies, making us more cohesive.
I slide the shirt over Regina's head, guiding her limp arms through the sleeves with care. It swallows her small frame, falling to mid-thigh. I pull the covers up to her chin, tucking them around her like a cocoon.
"I'll take first watch," I say, settling into the armchair near her bed.
"I'm staying too," Killian says immediately.
"Same," Sean and Micah echo in unison.
I should have expected this. None of us want to be separated from her right now, not when the bond is so new and fragile. Not when she's vulnerable.
"We should at least take shifts on staying awake," I suggest, ever the voice of reason. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the exhaustion from pouring our energy into Regina and the new bond is setting in. "So someone's always alert."
"Fine," Killian agrees reluctantly. "But I'm not leaving this room."
"None of us are," Micah adds.
And just like that, we're building another nest. Sean drags in blankets and pillows from the hall closet, while Micah pushes the armchair closer to the bed.
Killian simply stretches out beside Regina on top of the covers, one protective arm draped over her waist. I settle on her other side, sitting with my back against the headboard, close enough to feel her warmth but careful not to crowd her.
And Sean is curled up at her feet like the overgrown puppy he acts like most of the time. At least he's practically a human furnace.
We fall into a strange, watchful silence. The room is dark except for the small lamp on the nightstand. Outside, the night is quiet—no howling wind, no distant thunder, just stillness.
It feels almost anticlimactic somehow, as if the world should acknowledge the huge thing that just happened.
"I can feel her," Sean says suddenly from the bottom of the bed, his voice hushed with wonder. "In my head. Like... a warm spot."
"Me too," Micah nods. "It's different from our pack bond."
"More complete," Killian murmurs, his eyes never leaving Regina's face as he tenderly strokes her hair. "Deeper."
I close my eyes, focusing inward. They're right.
The bond with Regina feels fundamentally different from the connections between the four of us.
Where our pack bond is a sturdy rope, this is more like roots.
Something organic, living, growing deeper with each second that passes.
I can sense her essence, even in unconsciousness.
Her intelligence, her fierce independence, her carefully hidden vulnerability.
And beneath it all, there's a wellspring of power and magic unlike anything I've ever felt.
"What was that at the end?" Sean asks, voicing the question we've all been avoiding. "You guys felt it too, right? Like something else was watching us?"
"I don't know," Killian admits, his brow furrowing. "But I felt it. In the bond. Something that wasn't any of us."
"I felt it too," Micah confirms. "Like a fifth presence."
"Villeneuve?" I suggest, though it doesn't feel right. The presence had been within the bond itself, not observing from outside. And we were all already acutely aware of the mysterious professor.
"No," Killian shakes his head. "I don't think so. He doesn't even have a scent. This thing, whatever it was, was… intense. It smelled like old magic. Really fucking old. And… fire, I think."
We lapse into silence again, each lost in our own thoughts. The questions are going to have to stay unanswered, at least until Regina is awake, and shifters don't do well with uncertainty. If something else has attached itself to our bond, what does that mean for Regina? For all of us?
I brush it off and close my eyes, trying to rest even if I refuse to sleep. Tonight, all that matters is that Regina is safe and the bond is formed. Anything else, we can deal with.
Hours pass in quiet vigilance. Sean eventually falls asleep first, snoring quietly even though he usually sounds like a lumberjack operating a buzzsaw.
It's like even his sleep apnea somehow knows Regina needs rest. Micah dozes in the armchair, glasses askew on his nose.
Even Killian's eyes grow heavy, though he fights sleep with the same stubborn determination as the rest of us.
I remain awake, watching over all of them. My pack. My family. Expanded now to include the woman who lies at the center of our protective circle.
Regina's breathing changes subtly over time, becoming deeper and more relaxed.
Her eyelids flutter in dreams I can almost feel echoing through our new bond.
Whatever she's experiencing, it doesn't seem to be a nightmare.
Her expression remains peaceful, occasionally shifting into something that might almost be a smile.
"You're safe now, beautiful," I whisper, brushing a dark strand out of her face. "You're ours."