Page 13 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
UNKNOWN: Rebecca says you're with vampires. Bad choice, Regina. They can't protect you from me. 15 hours left.
He knows where I am. Or at least what I'm doing. Which means Rebecca is actively tracking me, not just passively following the coven bond.
"Shit," I mutter.
Valerian's smile turns predatory.
I look up at these beautiful, deadly creatures and weigh my options. They're powerful enough to give Kyle pause, maybe even powerful enough to protect me until I can break the coven bond. But their price—blood and sex and servitude—is steep.
Is it better than going back to Kyle? Maybe. Is it my only option? No. There's still Cadence, though the thought of crawling to my sister's door with Kyle's coven hot on my heels makes me physically ill.
"I need guarantees," I say finally. "Written terms. No blood-taking without consent. No compulsion. And I get veto power over any magical workings you request."
Valerian laughs, the sound eerily beautiful. "You're in no position to negotiate, little siphon. You need us far more than we need you."
"There are other vampires," I counter.
"And there are other witches. But none so desperate." Dominic rises, approaching slowly. "None so uniquely suited to our needs."
Something in his tone makes me step back involuntarily. The movement costs me concentration, and I feel my glamour flicker.
No. Not now.
I try to reinforce it, but I'm running on fumes. The magical mask slips for just a second.
It’s long enough.
Three sets of vampire eyes widen. Esme gasps, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.
"What is that?" she hisses, her hand flying to press against the pearls at her throat, all seductive pretense vanishing.
I slam the glamour back into place, draining the last of my reserves. "Nothing."
But it's too late. They saw.
"Your face." Valerian's voice hardens.
"It doesn't matter," I insist. "It's old. It doesn't affect my abilities."
"You’ve been mauled by a shifter," Dominic states coldly, his previous interest replaced with disgust. "And not a normal shifter, either. Was it?"
The room's temperature seems to drop ten degrees. The guards around the room shift position, moving closer.
“And you didn’t think to mention this?” Esme's voice drips with revulsion.
"It's not relevant." But we all know that's a lie. The ancient enmity between vampires and shifters is legendary. Vampires consider shifters filthy, primitive creatures—beneath contempt. Wolves in particular.
And I bear a wolf's mark on my face.
Not even a mating mark, but the evidence of violence. Of the predatory nature that lurks within them all, no matter how civilized they try to appear on the surface.
"Not relevant." Valerian laughs, the sound no longer beautiful but cruel. "You come into our home, seeking our protection, offering your services, while bearing the mark of our enemies?"
"It was an attack, not a bonding," I argue. "I have no connection to any wolf pack."
"Yet," Dominic adds ominously. "Wolf marks are rarely random, witch. The beast claimed you, whether you acknowledge it or not."
"That's superstitious bullshit," I snap, fear making me reckless. "It was an isolated incident years ago."
