Page 39 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Villeneuve's house sits just off the eastern edge of campus, a sleek modern monstrosity that looks like it was designed by aliens trying to understand human architecture. All sharp angles and glass walls and pretentiousness. A professor's salary shouldn't be able to afford that kind of place, which is just one more red flag on the Villeneuve danger list.
We approach from different directions. Killian and me from the front, Rowan and Micah circling to the back. Standard flanking maneuver we've used hundreds of times on full moon hunts. But as soon as I hit the edge of the property, something invisible slams into me like a fucking freight train.
I fly backward, landing hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. Pain runs through my body, every nerve ending screaming. It's not physical damage, it's magical. Like someone just ran a thousand volts of electricity through me.
"Son of a bitch!" I groan, rolling onto my side.
Across the lawn, Killian picks himself up from where he was thrown, looking just as pissed off and disoriented as I feel. From the cursing I hear behind the house, Rowan and Micah got the same welcome.
"Wards," Killian spits the word like it's poison. "He's got the place warded against wolves."
"No shit." I stand on wobbly legs, glaring at the invisible barrier. I can feel it now that I'm paying attention—a humming energy field that makes my skin crawl and my wolf retreat deeper inside me. "Strong ones too."
Rowan and Micah join us at the front, both looking like they've been through a blender. Micah's glasses hang crooked on his face, one lens cracked.
"We can't get within fifty feet of the house," Rowan confirms, irritatingly analytical even after being magically body-slammed. "The wards don't just keep us out. They actively repel us.Violently."
"What kind of professor has wards this powerful?" Micah asks, straightening his glasses.
"The kind that's not just a professor," Killian answers darkly.
We all know the theories. Killian's been ranting about Villeneuve being evil incarnate since freshman year. But I gotta admit,normal professors don't have military-grade supernatural barriers around their homes.
"You think he's Council Black Ops?" I ask, only half-joking. The supernatural world has its own shadowy agencies, after all. "Or maybe he's like... anancientvampire hybrid? That's what he says he is, right? Or maybe he's a demon in disguise. Secret government experiment gone wrong? Or?—"
"Whatever he is, he's got our mate," Killian interrupts.
His words send another surge of protective fury through me. Our mate. Regina. Even her name feels right, tastes sweet in my mind. Feels like home, even though I've barely met her. The pain of her rejection stings all the more because of it. Doesn't just sting.Hurts.Our wolves recognize her, but she can't stand the sight of us.
"What the fuck are we going to do?" I run a hand through my hair, frustration boiling over. "We can't get in, but we can't just leave her in there with Professor Villainous."
"We watch," Rowan decides. "Set up a perimeter, take shifts. Someone keeps eyes on the house at all times."
I nod in agreement. Nothing matters more than protecting our mate, even if she doesn't want our protection. Even if she hates us. "But we need a plan that doesn't involve us sitting in the bushes like stalkers," I point out. "Something that won't make her even more scared of us than she already is."
A heavy silence falls over us. We all saw her face—both the beauty of it and the damage done. And we all smelled her fear.
"The scar," Micah says quietly. "Did you all see it clearly?"
"Hard to miss," I mumble, getting pissed all over again.
"Not just wolf marks," Micah continues. "Werewolfmarks."
Werewolves aren't normal shifters like us. We're born this way, in control of our transitions, our wolves integrated with our human sides. Werewolves are made, bitten and infected with a curse that turns them into mindless killing machines during full moons where regular shifters just get worked up. They're so dangerous, the Supernatural Council has standing orders to eliminate them on sight.
"She survived a werewolf attack," Rowan murmurs. "Do you know how few people can say that?"
"She must be crazy fucking strong," Killian agrees, pride in his eyes.
I think about what that would take. Fighting off a creature designed by nature and hell to kill, surviving wounds that are almost always fatal. And from the faded look of those scars, it happened years ago. She's been living with the trauma, the memories, the proof etched into her skin every time she looks in a mirror.
And then we come charging at her, four massive wolves, claiming she belongs to us.
"We fucked up," I mutter.
The others go quiet.
"That coven of hers," I growl, my anger coming back with a vengeance. "What kind of coven lets one of their own get mauled by a werewolf? Where the hell were they when she was attacked?"
