Page 88 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Like last night.
I didn't plan for that to happen. I didn't expect to find myself at the center of their intense focus, and I definitely didn't expect to enjoy it so thoroughly. Then there was thethoroughlyunexpected potent rush of energy that flowed into me with their touch, more powerful than anything the coven ever provided.
I have alotto think about, apparently.
A creak on the stairs pulls me from my thoughts. Footsteps approach, too heavy to be anyone but Killian. My pulse quickens instinctively. There's something about him that affects me on a purely physical level, like my body, heart, and soul all recognize something my brain is still catching up to.
He appears at the top of the stairs, ducking to avoid the low beam, a steaming mug in each hand. He's dressed casually in a black t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and faded jeans that hug his muscled thighs in a way that should be illegal. His dark hair is slightly damp like he's just showered, the strands curling at the nape of his neck.
"Thought you might need this," he says, offering one of the mugs. "Found any good spells for turning Sean into a productive member of society?"
I accept the coffee gratefully. "Not yet, but I did find three different ways to hex someone's balls off. Your great-grandma wasnotplaying around about protecting her secret recipes."
He winces dramatically. "Remind me never to piss you off."
The coffee is perfect. It’s strong, with just enough cream and a hint of cinnamon. I try not to read too much into the fact that he's already memorized how I take it.
"How's the research going?" he asks, settling onto a trunk across from me. Even sitting, he's massive, all coiled strength barely contained in human form. And I can practically see his wolf's aura shining through, restless to get out.
Or to meet me.
The thought, paired with the reminder of what the others said—about Killian having even more energy to burn—is unsettling.
"Slowly," I sigh, gesturing to the stacks of books surrounding me. "You Underwoods sure know how to collect occult texts. Some of these are incredibly rare."
He grins a little. “My great-grandmother—Eliza—she was kind of… obsessed. Started collecting them when she married into thefamily. Said a witch should never stop learning, especially one foolish enough to tie herself to a shifter."
"So she was a witch," I say, leaning forward with interest. "And she married a shifter? Your great-grandfather?"
He nods, a smile playing at his lips. "Family scandal of the early 1900s. Eliza Thereaux, a woman from one of the oldest witch lineages in New England, ran off with Henry Underwood, heir to the Underwood pack—and, according to her father, 'no better than a beast in a three-piece suit.'"
"I'm guessing her family didn't approve?"
"They disowned her," he confirms, taking a sip of his coffee. "Cut her off completely. But she didn't care. Said she knew what she wanted the moment she saw him, and no amount of magical lineage nonsense was going to keep her from it."
The parallels aren't lost on me. "Seems like it runs in the family," I mutter, "this whole 'claiming witches at first sight' thing."
"Family tradition," he grins, looking not the least bit apologetic. "Though I don't think Henry had to share his witch with three other wolves."
Heat floods my cheeks at the memory of exactly how that "sharing" worked out last night. "Yes, well, that part is certainly... unique."
His eyes darken, pupils expanding as he catches the shift in my scent. "Regrets?" he asks, his tone casual but a hint of vulnerability beneath it.
"No," I admit, surprised by my own certainty. "Not about that."
His face melts with relief, but it’s quickly masked by his usual confident expression. "Good."
"I am curious, though," I admit, shifting my position since I've been on the floor for a while. "How common is it for a pack to all bond to the same person?"
"Pretty fucking rare," he answers. "Then again, it's kind of rare for a pack to be made up entirely of alphas. Usually, there aresomeregular beta shifters in the mix to balance out the testosterone."
I snort. "Guess that falls to me, then."
"So, what's the verdict?" he asks. "How does one go about bonding a beautiful siphon witch to four extremely eager wolves? I mean, I know how a bonding usually works, but I'm assuming your powers add a different element."
Beautiful?
Well,that’sa fucking stretch by every possible definition, but I don’t comment. Maybe I’m just doing a better job of hiding my scars with my hair than I first thought.
