Page 7 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
"Ms. Morgan, campus compliance." I make the introduction short and sweet. "She's here to audit us."
Three sets of eyes snap to the nymph, then to me, a silent question passing between us. I give the slightest shake of my head.Stay cool. I'll handle this.
"Gentlemen." Morgan nods curtly. "I'll try not to take up too much of your time."
"Take all the time you need," Sean says with a grin that's gotten him into more beds—and trouble—than I can count. "We're just hanging out. Studying. Normal student stuff."
Morgan ignores him completely, flipping through papers on her clipboard. "I see from our records that Lupe Tau still hasn't registered a Bonded with the university."
The tension in the room spikes. Even without our enhanced senses, any idiot could feel it.
"We're working on it," I say smoothly. "Finding the right magical practitioner for a wolf pack bond is delicate work. But you'd know all about that, being a fae and all."
"Nymph," she snaps.
I give a stiff laugh. "Right. Sorry."
Her eyebrow arches. "Indeed. Well, I don't need to remind you that according to university bylaws, all supernatural groups must have a registered magical counterbalance by graduation. Inyourcase, by the end of the semester."
She doesn't need to remind us. But she's nice enough to do it anyway.
"Failure to comply will result in the disbanding of Lupe Tau and the expulsion of all its members." She delivers this with all the emotion of someone reading a grocery list. "And I certainly don't need to remind you what happens to packs who don't graduate."
Oh, she's good. Hitting below the belt with that one.
Unaffiliated wolf packs without college degrees are banished to the outskirts of society, not permitted to live among humans or even other supernaturals. And the packs themselves are usuallycompletely disbanded by magical force. Considering the fact that lone wolf status is a fate worse than death to most wolf shifters, it's a sufficient deterrent. Lone wolves end up as muscle for vampires or worse—running errands for witches like Sadie and her kind.
The thought makes my skin crawl.
"We'll have our Bonded registered well before the deadline," I assure her, forcing confidence into my voice even as doubt gnaws at my gut.
I leave off the fact that we've been searching for two years with no luck. Most witches want nothing to do with wolf packs. It's all vampires this, fae that.
"Excellent." Morgan makes a note on her clipboard. "I'll need to see those records now."
"Right this way." I lead her upstairs to my room, which doubles as the pack's administrative office. And energy drink storage whenever there's a sale at Costco.
It takes about thirty minutes of her rifling through our paperwork, making disapproving noises at our event planning—"Fire limbo is not an approved fraternity activity, Mr. Underwood"—before she finally leaves with a warning that she'll be back in two weeks to check our progress on the Bonded situation.
I close the door behind her with more force than strictly necessary, then press my forehead against the cool wood, allowing myself five seconds of pure frustration before returning to my role as the unflappable pack alpha.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
When I return to the rec room, Sean is sprawled across the couch on his phone again, Micah has his head in his hands, and Rowan is methodically racking the pool balls.
"Well, that was pleasant," I say, dropping into an armchair.
"Why do they always send nymphs?" Micah grumbles. "It's like they'retryingto torture us. It’s a fucking pussy drought."
"Because you're a nympho," Rowan shoots back without missing a beat.
