Page 34 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Kyle brushes himself off prissily, straightening his designer shirt with exaggerated care. Then he takes a step toward me.
All four wolves move in unison, forming a protective circle around me. Far from comforting, the gesture makes my heart race faster.
I'm not being protected.
I'm beingclaimed.
The earth spins slightly, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision. Too much adrenaline, too little sleep, and magical reserves scraping rock bottom.
Bad combination.
Before I can process what's happening, the stranger raises his hand in a swift, elegant gesture. An invisible force yanks me forward, whisking me to his side with a speed that leaves me gasping. The wolves snarl in fury, but none move to attack.
The stranger's power crackles around me, ancient and cold. Not vampire magic. Not wolf. Not witch. Something else entirely. Something I've never felt before and hope I never feel again.
"None of you will make another move toward her," he states with quiet authority, "until I've gotten to the bottom of this situation."
"There's no need," Kyle interjects, drawing himself up to his full height. "The situation is clear as day. I am Kyle Starbridge, heir to the Starbridge line and High Priest of the Crescent Hollow Coven." He emphasizes each point as if dropping gold coins for us peasants to admire. "Regina is our Thirteenth, our siphon, and she's suffered a nervous breakdown after catching me in a... compromising position with another coven member."
"A compromising position?" I echo incredulously. "You were fucking that bitch in our bed!"
Rebecca actually has the audacity to look offended.
The stranger listens to Kyle's speech with a bored expression. "Yes, I'm well acquainted with the Starbridge line. Wasn't your grandfather caught embezzling from the Witches' Council treasury in the '80s? And your aunt Meredith attempted to sacrifice a virgin to extend her youth spell. The key wordbeingattempted." He blows a puff of air through his nose. "I have long suspected the prestige of the Starbridge witches has been slipping, and the present situation is not helping your reputation."
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at Kyle's outraged expression. I've never seen anyone dismiss him so thoroughly before.
The stranger turns to me, dark eyes searching mine. "Do you wish to return to your coven, Miss...?"
"Cook," I supply. "Regina Cook. And no. Absolutely not."
"It doesn't matter what she wants!" Kyle shouts, losing his carefully cultivated composure. "She is our Bonded, and she belongs to us!"
"She'sour mate," Killian snarls, the words reverberating through the clearing.
Every head snaps toward him. For a moment, absolute silence reigns.
"What?" I croak, hoping I've misheard.
"Our mate," Killian repeats, voice softening slightly though his intensity doesn't waver as he stares at me.Throughme. "Our Bonded. We've been searching for you."
He says it with such conviction, such absolute certainty, that for a second I almost believe him. But that's impossible. Shifters and witches are not mates. We might occasionally form alliances, and some witches without a lick of self-preservation might even choose to bond a pack, butmates?
That's the stuff of supernatural tabloids and fairy tales.
But the other wolves are staring at me with the same hungry reverence, as if I'm the answer to a question they've been asking their whole lives.
"Fascinating," the stranger murmurs, sounding more tired than intrigued. "That is a substantial claim to make." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I've had quite enough of your nonsense for one calendar year, Mr. Underwood, and your fraternity is already on thin ice."
Fraternity?
The word rattles around my brain, connecting disjointed pieces. Greek letters on the walls. The pool table and game consoles. A house near campus.
This istheirhouse.
A wolf pack fraternity house.
The jock bedroom I climbed into. The jersey I felt compelled to bury my face in. All of it belongs to these massive, terrifying wolves who are now claiming me as their mate. The wind shifts, carrying their scents to me once more as if to confirm what I already dread. Earth and bourbon. Spices and leather. Old books and sandalwood. Gingerbread. The scents that called to me even when I should have been focused on escaping.
