Page 49 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Because the alternative is unthinkable.
"Go tell the others Villeneuve is on the move," I order, not bothering to look back to see if he goes.
I circle the property at a dead sprint. The main road leads straight to campus, and there's only one way out from his driveway. I position myself at the intersection, leaning against a tree with my arms crossed in the most casual position I can come up with. My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force my face into neutral lines. Can't let that fucker see how desperate I am.
Villeneuve’s car—a sleek black Aston Martin—rolls to a stop at the intersection. He spots me immediately, those dark eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, I think he might just drive past me, but the window slides down with an electric purr.
"Mr. Underwood." His crisp British accent drips with disdain. "I suppose I should be grateful you're wearing pants this time."
I push off from the tree, approaching his car with measured steps. "Where is she?" I demand.
"Good afternoon to you too." He sighs, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "Your manners continue to astound with their consistent absence."
"Cut the shit, Villeneuve." I lean down, bracing my palms on the doorframe. "I need to see her."
“Need?” His eyebrow arches. “An interesting choice of words. Perhaps what Ms. Cook needs should take precedence over whatyouneed.”
The question hits like a punch to the gut because he's right, and we both know it. My wolf growls, but I swallow it down. This isn't about dominance or territory. It’s about Regina. Nothing else.
I look away, jaw ticking, before forcing my eyes back to Villeneuve. “Is she okay?” I mutter.
Villeneuve’s eyes tighten. "She's recovering quite well, considering the ordeal she's been through. Both recently and... before."
The reminder of her scars—of what some rabid werewolf did to her—makes my blood boil. I'd tear the beast apart with my bare hands if I could find it. Slowly. Painfully.
And then I’d finish removing Kyle’s other three limbs from his body for being an irresponsible little shit and letting it happen in the first place. I can tell it’s his fucking fault. It’s as clear from his swagger and bitchy words as if it had been written in the damn dirt.
"We need to talk to her," I say, struggling to keep my voice even. "Explain things."
“Ah yes, explain how four strange wolves she's never met are suddenly laying claim to her, despite her obvious trauma at the hands of wolves.” Villeneuve's smile curls into a sneer. "I'm surethatwill go splendidly."
I bite back a snarl. "We're nothing like the thing that hurt her."
“A distinction that matters greatly to you, I'm sure, but perhaps less so to her.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “However, as it happens, Ms. Cook has expressed a willingness to meet with you and your… cohorts.”
I blink, certain I've misheard. “She wants to see us?"
"Wantmight be overstating it. She's agreed to speak with you. On neutral ground. This evening." His eyes bore into mine. "I suggest you spend the interim attempting to acquire some common sense and basic manners. Both seem to be in short supply among your pack."
Hope surges through me so powerfully I have to grip the car door tighter to stay upright. She's agreed to meet us. After everything—after the horror on her face when she saw us, after choosing Villeneuve over us—she's willing to at least listen. That's something.
"Where?" I demand, already calculating what we need to do to prepare. "And when?"
"Tonight. Eight o'clock." He puts the car in drive. "And… Mr. Underwood?"
"What?"
His eyes flash. "If you or your wolves do anything to upset her, I will personally ensure you never see her again. Are we clear?"
The threat isn't empty. Whatever Villeneuve is—and I still haven't figured that out despite two solid years of investigating—he has the power to back up his promises. And right now, he controls access to our mate.
"Crystal," I grind out.
“Excellent.” The window begins to close. “Oh, and wear a shirt. First impressions only happen once, and I'm afraid yours has already been abysmal. Make the second impression count, at least.”
The car pulls away, leaving me standing in the middle of the road, torn between wanting to flip off Villeneuve'scondescension and elation that Regina has agreed to meet us. I wait until his car disappears around the bend before punching the air and letting out a whoop that probably carries all the way back to campus.
She's giving us a fucking chance.
