Page 52 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
“Yeah! Witches love books!” Sean says excitedly. If he were a wolf right now, his tail would be wagging.
"That's actually perfect," Rowan agrees, which is a sign it's not a completely terrible idea.
I push myself off the couch, energized with sudden purpose. "Micah, you and Sean go through those books. Find the good ones. Especially anything related to siphons, mate bonds, or breaking coven ties. Rowan, put together a summary of everything we've learned. Make it clear and simple. We've got—" I check my watch, "—seven hours to prepare, and I'm not wasting a single fucking minute."
"What about you?" Micah asks as I head for the stairs.
"I'm going to make sure we have a Plan B if Villeneuve tries to sabotage this meeting." I pause at the bottom step, turning to face them. "And I'm dead serious about this. None of you fucks this up tonight. I want everyone on their best behavior."
Because Regina deserves nothing less.
She's survived a werewolf attack, years of exploitation by her coven, and being hunted by them, too. She's stronger than any of us, whether she knows it or not.
And tonight, we have one chance to prove we're not like the monsters she fears.
Chapter
Fifteen
REGINA
How the hell am I supposed to dress to present myself to a pack of wolves who are convinced I'm their fated mate?
Should I go casual? Jeans and a t-shirt, projecting indifference? Or maybe something sharp and professional to establish clear boundaries and tell them I’m the wrong witch to fuck with?
Either way, I can't meet them looking like I just crawled out of bed after a post-breakfast afternoon nap.
I rummage through my duffel for the fourth time like something might magically pop out, wishing I'd packed with more forethought than "grab what fits and run." Eventually, I settle on my one pair of decent plaid pants and a simple black blouse. Not exactly formal wear, but at least I won't look completely disheveled.
The real decision comes next.
Do I use the precious magical energy I’m still recovering on a glamour?
I've gone most of the day with my scars exposed, but I’ve been alone in the house, other than Margot. And I have no idea where Margot even is. For all I know, she lives in the walls. Pretty sure she’s a ghost, and I’m only half joking.
Yeah, no. The thought of facing the wolves without my mask makes my stomach twist into knots. Not happening—however tempting it is to show the pack my full face again and tell them this is what they can look forward to staring at for the rest of our lives. Maybe then they’d stop insisting I’m their mate.
Probably not, but maybe.
I just don’t have the fucking stomach for it.
I gather my remaining energy, carefully channeling it into the familiar pattern of the glamour spell. The ritual is automatic after three years, but it still costs more than I should probably spend right now.
A knock at my door shatters my concentration.
"Regina?" Villeneuve's voice carries through the wood. "It's nearly time. Are you prepared?"
"Just a minute," I call back, taking one last look in the mirror.
An unmarred face stares back at me. A lie I've grown comfortable wearing. I straighten my shoulders, trying to project a confidence I definitely don't feel, and open the door.
Villeneuve stands in the hallway looking immaculate as always, not a wrinkle in his charcoal suit despite the fact he’s been gone all day. His eyes flick briefly to my face, noting the glamourwithout comment. Whether he approves or disapproves, he keeps it to himself.
"You look lovely," he says instead, subtly offering his arm with old-world courtesy. "Shall we?"
I don't take his arm, but I follow him down the corridor. "How is this going to work, exactly? Are we meeting them somewhere neutral, or...?"
"I've adjusted the wards to permit their entry into the western parlor only," he explains as we descend the grand staircase. "The moment they attempt to venture elsewhere in the house or cause any disturbance, they'll find themselves ejected quite forcefully onto the lawn."
