Page 85 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
"The food smells amazing," she says, expertly changing the subject. But the small smile playing at her lips tells me she's not entirely opposed to my suggestion.
"I got a bit of everything," I say, gesturing to the spread. "Wasn't sure what you like. Although after what I just walked in on, I'm guessing my packmates have a pretty good idea what that might be."
She makes a strangled noise that's half embarrassment, half laughter. "You're just as bad as Sean."
“Ouch.” I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know I'm much more creative."
Before she can respond, the rest of the pack files into the dining room. They've all showered and changed, too, which is a damn good thing because I’m not having alpha come at my table.
Sean’s eyes light up at the sight of the food. "Damn, Rowan went all out," he whistles, immediately gravitating toward the nearest container. "Good thing, too. I've definitely worked up an appetite. Not that anything could taste as good as you, little storm."
“Little storm?” Regina echoes dryly, arching an eyebrow.
"Yeah, because of your scent," Sean says, his grin widening. "And because I don't mind getting soaked in you."
Regina rolls her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders has eased. She moves toward an empty chair, but Killian intercepts her, pulling her smoothly onto his lap as he sits.
"I've got a better seat for you, beautiful," he murmurs, his arm circling her waist.
For a moment, I think she might protest. Instead, she settles against him, her body relaxing into his. “I guess you do only have four chairs,” she muses. “This place really hasn’t had anyone but frat wolves in it for a long time, has it?”
“Nope,” Sean says.
"Hope you're hungry," I say, taking my own seat across from them. "There's enough here to feed a small army. Or one Sean."
Regina giggles.
The sound makes all of us pause momentarily to appreciate it. In the short time she's been with us, genuine laughter has been rare. Precious enough that we all instinctively want to preserve it. And make her laugh even more.
We fall into an easy rhythm, passing containers back and forth, each of us encouraging Regina to try our personal favorites. Killian makes sure she tastes the butter chicken, Sean practically force-feeds her his beloved Mongolian beef even though he once nearly took my finger off for daring to reach for it, and Micah offers her perfect bites of falafel with tzatziki. I select the most delicate dumplings from my soup, carefully placing them on her plate.
It's instinctive, this need to provide, to ensure she's well-fed and satisfied. Our pack is already revolving around her, as it should.As nature intended. She is our center now, whether she believes us or not.
Between bites, conversation flows easily. We avoid the weightier topics. Instead, we share stories of campus life, pack antics, everyday mundanities that seem to amuse the shit out of her. Maybebecausethey're so normal, so far removed from the shit that’s clearly still stressing her out.
"So then," Sean says, gesturing wildly with his fork, "Killian gets caught in the dean's office with his pants around his?—"
"We don't need to tell that story," Killian interrupts, though the corner of his mouth twitches.
"No, I think we absolutely do," Regina counters, her eyes dancing with amusement. The food and company have brought color back to her cheeks, vitality to her movements. If I didn't know better, I'd think what she did with the others restored her energy even without an official bond. "Along with the fact that a suspicious number of these stories involve nudity in public buildings."
"Hey, we can't shift with our clothes," Micah says in our defense. "Shit happens."
"Trust me, that story requires more alcohol than we currently have in the house," I say, selecting another dumpling. "But I'd be happy to share the security footage sometime. I've got an arrangement with the campus tech guy."
"You wouldn't dare," Killian growls, though there's no real heat behind it. His hand remains gentle on Regina's waist, thumb rubbing against the fabric of her—Sean’s—bathrobe.
"Try me," I challenge with a smirk. "I've got a whole folder labeled 'Killian's Greatest Hits.' Perfect blackmail material."
"I've never understood that phrase," Sean muses. "'Blackmail.' It's not like the mail is in black envelopes. And nobody uses actual mail for blackmail anyway. It's all digital now."
“What, are you a fucking scholar now? Remind me to never let you fuck again, for all our sakes,” Micah snorts, earning a barking laugh from Sean. “The point is Rowan has enough dirt on Killian to bury him alive. We don't use that to our advantage often enough.”
"Just remember it goes both ways," Killian adds pointedly. "We've all got our secrets, and if you want to keep it that way, the witch never sees that video."
The atmosphere shifts subtly at the word “secrets.” Regina tenses almost imperceptibly on Killian's lap, and we all turn to look at her.
"Speaking of secrets," she says, setting down her fork carefully and tucking her hair behind her ear on the unscarred side. She isn’t wearing her glamour, but she’s still managing to keep her hair like a curtain over her scars. "We should probably talk about what happens next. With... this." She gestures vaguely between herself and the four of us.
