Page 32 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Our archnemesis arriving to witness this disaster.
Chapter
Nine
REGINA
Through the window, I watch in paralyzed horror as the huge sandy wolf pins Kyle to the ground, massive jaws hovering inches from his throat. My breath catches. One quick snap, and Kyle's carotid artery would paint the grass crimson. He'd be dead before he could even scream.
I should be fucking delighted at the prospect of Kyle Starbridge's bloody demise. After everything he's done—the lies, the manipulation, the betrayal—I should be cheering for the wolf to finish the job.
Instead, my heart hammers painfully against my ribs. A sickening wave of fear for him crashes through me, leaving me dizzy and nauseated.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Why do I give a shit what happens to him?
Five years of programming doesn't vanish overnight, I guess. Must be Stockholm syndrome, manifesting thanks to the covenbond, pulling at me even as I do everything in my power to sever it.
The russet-furred wolf circles back behind the witches, cutting off their retreat. The midnight black wolf—Killian—stands his ground in his human form now, a wall of rippling muscle. The silver-gray wolf has shifted, too, into a man who's nearly as tall, though notquiteas muscular even if he still looks like he could snap Kyle in half. He has longer black hair nearly brushing his shoulders, tawny skin, and intense dark eyes that are somehow slightly less murderous than any other shifter I've encountered. Including his pack leader.
The prowling russet wolf and the bearlike wolf who's about to tear Kyle's throat out still haven't shifted back.
None of it matters. In moments, this will turn into a bloodbath. Wolves versus witches, and I'm the prize they both want to claim for some reason.
Lucky fucking me.
Then the air shifts.
The temperature drops several degrees in an instant. The shadows beneath the trees at the forest's edge deepen, swirling unnaturally. Something massive moves through them—something ancient and powerful enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
A man steps from the darkness.
At first glance, he appears human. Tall, lean, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. But no human moves with that fluid grace, no human exudes that aura of controlled power. Vampire,maybe? No, not quite. Something else. Something I've never encountered in my life.
Kyle and the wolves freeze, all attention snapping to the newcomer. Even Rebecca and Ryan stop their spellcasting, hands slowly lowering to their sides.
This is my chance. Maybe myonlychance. While they're all distracted, I could slip away. But to where? The forest that circles back here because it's a freaking enchanted forest? The campus where Kyle can track me down again? No, I need leverage, information, a bargaining position.
I need to face this.
Summoning the last dregs of my magical reserves, I force my glamour back into place. The familiar sensation of it settling over my scarred face feels like a mask tightening. Uncomfortable, bordering on painful, but necessary. It won't last long with my energy depleted, maybe an hour at most, but it's all I've got.
My hand shakes as I reach for the front door. The massive oak panel feels impossibly heavy as I pull it open and step onto the porch.
Eight heads swivel in unison toward me. Eight sets of eyes lock onto my face with varying degrees of shock, hunger, anger, and a bunch of other emotions I can't process, not that I care to right now.
The wolves' reactions hit me first. The two in human form—Killian and the silver wolf—stare at me with naked want, as if I hung the moon in the sky. I don't have time to process what the fuckthat'sall about before Kyle's face contorts with rage andrelief. The big wolf still has him pinned, but he strains against the massive paw on his chest.
"Regina!" His voice cracks with desperation. "About fucking time."
The sandy wolf snarls, pressing down harder with his paw until Kyle gasps for breath, his ribcage creaking audibly. I smell piss before the dark shadow forms on the front of Kyle's pants, and I'm too fucking terrified to fully revel in the schadenfreude.
The newcomer's gaze is the most disturbing of all. It's clinical, assessing, like I'm a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. His dark eyes betray no emotion, but the intensity of his focus makes my skin crawl.
"Ah, there she is." His voice carries effortlessly across the yard, cultured and precise with the faintest trace of a British accent. "Tell me, little witch, are you the one causing all this fuss?"
Something about him—the casual confidence, the subtle undercurrent of ancient power—tells me I've made a massive mistake. This man isn't just powerful. He's dangerous. The most dangerous one here, wolves and witches included.
