Chapter 13 – REGINA
REGINA
The panic hits me through the bond like a splash of ice water.
Micah's panic.
I'm out of the kitchen before I've consciously decided to move, bare feet slapping against the hardwood. Sean's right behind me, his earlier playfulness evaporated into something tense and alert.
The woman standing in the doorway looks like she was assembled from a corporate compliance manual.
Pale hair pulled back in a severe bun, skin with a faint greenish tint that marks her as something other than human, horn-rimmed glasses perched on a nose that's currently wrinkled in distaste.
Her pantsuit is the color of dry cement, and she's holding a clipboard like it's a weapon.
"Ms. Morgan," Micah says, his voice strained. "What a surprise."
"I prefer efficiency to surprise." Her gaze slides past him to land on me. Those sharp eyes observe everything. My wet hair, my borrowed clothes, the fresh mating marks visible above my collar.
Her eyes linger for an uncomfortably long time on my scars and I turn my face away slightly, my own eyes still locked on her.
"And you must be the Bonded."
She sounds kind of doubtful about that.
I feel Micah's anxiety spike through our connection, but I smooth my expression into something pleasant and step forward. First impressions matter, especially with bureaucrats.
"Regina Cook." I extend my hand. "Please, come in. Can I offer you some coffee?"
Surprise flickers across her face. Maybe because of my relative composure, considering my fearless mates who stared down an entire coven of angry witches without blinking now look terrified. She takes my hand in a brief, firm shake.
"Ms. Morgan. And no, thank you. This shouldn't take long."
She steps inside without waiting for further invitation, her heels ticking sharply against the floor as she surveys the living room. Her nostrils flare slightly, and I wonder what a nymph's senses pick up. Probably everything we got up to last night.
Professional. Be professional. Don't say fuck.
"We apologize for any confusion with the paperwork," I say, gesturing toward the couch. "Please, have a seat. The circumstances of our bonding were somewhat... um. Accelerated."
Ms. Morgan perches on the edge of an armchair, clipboard balanced on her knee.
"Accelerated. That's one word for it." She flips through several pages.
"The Dean's office received word yesterday that Lupe Tau had acquired a Bonded without submitting proper documentation.
No advance notice, no background verification, no magical compatibility assessment. And not even a student."
"She is a student," Sean protests. "She's practically taken out a PhD these past few weeks in getting—"
Rowan elbows him in the gut hard enough to knock the wind out of him before he can finish that sentence.
"To be fair," Micah starts, "we didn't exactly plan—"
"We've been preparing the application," I interrupt smoothly, shooting him and Sean a look that I hope conveys please stop talking.
"Given the unusual nature of the situation, we wanted to ensure all the information was accurate before submitting.
I can have everything finalized and on your desk by end of week. "
Ms. Morgan's pen taps against her clipboard. "You seem remarkably well-informed about our procedures, Ms. Cook."
"I believe in being prepared."
And lying through my teeth when the situation calls for it.
Something shifts in her expression. It's not quite approval, but perhaps a slight reduction of suspicion. She makes a note on her clipboard, then looks up at me with renewed interest.
"And your magical classification?"
"Siphon."
The pen stops moving. Ms. Morgan's eyebrows rise fractionally, the first genuine reaction I've seen from her. "A siphon? Bonded to a wolf pack?"
"Yes."
"That's... highly irregular."
"So I've been told."
She studies me for a long moment, and I hold her gaze without flinching. Whatever she's looking for, I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. Years of navigating Kyle's political games taught me exactly how to keep my expression neutral under scrutiny.
"How did a siphon end up bonding with four alpha shifters?" she asks. "Your kind typically align with covens."
I feel Rowan move behind me, his steady presence a comfort at my back.
"My previous coven arrangement ended." I keep my voice neutral. "The pack needed a Bonded. Our magical signatures were compatible. It seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Guess Villeneuve hasn't ratted us out to the university. Interesting.
"Hmm." Another note on the clipboard. "And the bond has been fully established?"
"Yes. Last night, during the new moon."
"Without faculty supervision or official witnesses?"
"Professor Villeneuve was present for the ritual," I say quickly. "He provided assistance with some of the more complex elements."
Ms. Morgan's pen pauses again. "Villeneuve supervised your bonding?"
"He did."
Her eyes widen slightly. Respect or wariness? Maybe both.
"I see."
She makes several more notes, her pen scratching across the paper in quick, efficient strokes. The silence lingers, filled only by the distant sound of water running in the kitchen where Rowan apparently left the tap on.
Shit.
"This situation is highly irregular," Ms. Morgan finally says, looking up.
"Your pack has been on probation for two semesters.
The Dean has received multiple complaints about property damage, noise violations, and what appears to have been an incident involving the campus sprinkler system and an alcoholic beverage. "
"That was never proven," Sean mutters.
Ms. Morgan ignores him. "Additionally, the failure to secure a Bonded within the prescribed timeframe has put Lupe Tau at risk of dissolution."
My stomach tightens. I knew the wolves were under pressure, but hearing it laid out so… bluntly… makes the stakes feel more real.
"With respect, Ms. Morgan," I say carefully, "the pack now has a Bonded. The core requirement has been met."
"Met without following proper procedure." She taps her pen against the clipboard. "The paperwork alone will take weeks to process. Background checks, magical compatibility verification, registration with the Council..."
"We'll expedite everything on our end," I promise. "I've dealt with Council bureaucracy before. I know what they need."
Technically, I did the paperwork while Kyle took the credit, but I'm not volunteering that.
"Do you?" Her gaze sharpens. "I suppose we'll see."
Another long moment of scrutiny. Then Ms. Morgan closes her clipboard with a snap that makes Sean flinch.
"Very well." She rises from the armchair, smoothing her cement-colored jacket. "I suppose we can grant Lupe Tau an additional week to come into full compliance. All paperwork must be submitted by next Friday. No exceptions."
Relief floods through the bond from all three directions. I keep my expression neutral.
"Thank you, Ms. Morgan. We appreciate your flexibility."
"Don't thank me yet, Ms. Cook." She pauses at the doorway, turning back with an expression that suggests she's about to deliver bad news. "You'll still need a faculty sponsor, of course. Someone willing to take official responsibility for the pack during their probationary period."
The relief evaporates.
"A faculty sponsor," I repeat carefully.
"Standard procedure for packs on academic probation." Ms. Morgan's lips thin into something that might be a smile but looks more like a paper cut. "Given Lupe Tau's... colorful history, I imagine finding a willing faculty member may prove challenging."
She doesn't wait for a response, just turns and walks out the front door, closing it behind her.
The silence that follows feels suffocating.
I turn slowly to face the three wolves behind me. Sean has gone pale under his tan. Rowan's expression is blank. Micah is staring at the closed door like it might spontaneously combust.
"A faculty sponsor," I say flatly. "Anyone want to explain why this is the first I'm hearing about this?"
They exchange a look. The kind of look that says who's going to tell her more clearly than actual words.
"It, uh… kind of slipped our minds?" Sean offers weakly.
"Slipped your minds."
"There was a lot going on," Micah adds. "The ritual, the bonding, Kyle and his coven showing up—"
"A faculty sponsor is a pretty significant detail to forget." I fold my arms across my chest. "What exactly does it involve?"
Rowan clears his throat. "A faculty member has to formally agree to oversee the pack during our probation. Sign off on our activities, take responsibility for any... incidents."
"Incidents like egging the Dean's car?"
"Among other things," he admits.
"And you haven't chosen one yet because...?"
Another exchange of guilty looks.
"Like Morgan said, most faculty aren't exactly eager to take responsibility for a wolf pack," Micah says. "Especially not ours. We've kind of developed a reputation."
"A reputation."
"For being chaotic."
"And destructive."
"Aaaaand occasionally setting things on fire."
"That was like three times tops," Sean protests. "And most of them were accidents."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building behind my eyes.
These idiots.
These absolute lovable disaster-prone idiots.
"So let me get this straight. You've been on academic probation for two semesters. You knew you needed both a Bonded and a faculty sponsor to stay enrolled. And you waited until the last possible moment to secure one, and completely forgot about the other?"
"When you put it like that, it sounds bad," Sean mutters.
"It is bad." I drop my hand, looking at each of them in turn. "We have one week. One week to file all the paperwork and convince some poor faculty member to take responsibility for..." I gesture at them. "This."
"We'll figure something out," Rowan says, though he doesn't sound convinced.
"Have you even asked anyone?"
"We asked Professor Weeks last semester," Micah says. "She said she'd rather retire early."
"Professor Mcloughlin laughed in our faces," Sean adds helpfully. "And Professor Clarke pretended not to know who we were, even though Killian sits in the front row of his class."
"He also pretended he didn't speak English, which is especially egregious, considering he's the English Professor," Rowan says with a weary sigh.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to think past the frustration. There has to be a solution here. Someone who might be willing to help, even knowing the pack's reputation.
The answer comes to me immediately, and I already know how the wolves are going to react.
"I have an idea," I say slowly.
All three of them look at me with almost all wariness and the slightest hint of hope.
"Villeneuve."
The hope dies a quick, ugly death.
"No," Micah says immediately.
"Absolutely not," Rowan agrees.
"Have you totally lost your mind?" Sean demands. "Killian will combust. And not in a silly way. He will go nuclear."
"Villeneuve helped with the ritual," I point out. "He was present for the bonding. He's already involved."
"Being present for a ritual and taking legal responsibility for our entire pack are very different things," Rowan counters.
"And he's scary as fuck," Sean adds. "We still don't know what he is and my money is a demon in a nice suit."
"He's not a demon."
"How do you know?"
"Because demons don't teach Ancient History and Occult Studies."
"That sounds exactly like the kind of shit a demon would teach," Sean argues.
I resist the urge to rub my temples again, because demons physically cannot teach Occult Studies. As in, it's literally impossible. But I don't have the mental bandwidth to infodump on why.
Their distress flickers through our fresh bond at the suggestion. It's not just competitive alpha posturing. They're genuinely worried about having him more involved in our lives. Especially around me. Like dragons with a treasure.
But I'm also practical. And right now, Villeneuve might be our only option.
"Do you have a better idea?" I ask pointedly. "Someone else on the faculty who might actually say yes?"
Silence.
"Right," I mumble.
"We'll find someone," Rowan says finally. "We'll ask around. There has to be somebody willing to help."
"Professor Styles seems to like Killian," Micah offers. "Maybe she'd—"
"She's the one whose lectures he keeps skipping out on," I remind him.
More silence.
"We'll figure it out," Sean says, scratching his head. Oh, he's nervous. There goes all his usual confidence. "We've got a week, right? That's plenty of time."
"To convince a faculty member to take responsibility for the pack that's known for property damage and chaos?"
"When you put it like that..."
"We're not asking Villeneuve," Rowan says firmly. "Killian would never agree. And honestly, neither would I. We don't know enough about him. We don't know what he really wants."
"He helped us," I remind him.
"He helped himself," Rowan counters. "Everything Villeneuve does serves his own agenda. We're just not sure what that agenda is yet."
I want to argue, but I can feel his certainty through the bond. All three of them are united on this. United in their distrust of the mysterious professor who knows things he shouldn't and wields magic no normal creature should be able to use. Not even an alleged hybrid.
And Killian would certainly agree.
"Fine," I concede. "You have until Killian gets back from class to come up with an alternative. But if you can't find someone else..."
"We will," Micah promises.
"We'll make it work," Sean adds.
"Somehow," Rowan finishes.
I watch them scatter. Sean to his phone, presumably to start making calls, Rowan to his laptop, Micah heading upstairs with the promise he's going to try calling in a favor from his coach.
Valiant but certainly doomed efforts. There's no one on this campus crazy enough to take on my wolves.
No one except someone they want nothing to do with.