Page 53 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
The clinical detachment in his tone makes me wonder how many times he's done exactly that.
"And if they try anything?" I ask.
Villeneuve's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Then they'll discover that my wards are the least of their concerns.”
We've reached the bottom of the stairs, and I pause, taking a deep breath. Four wolves wait on the other side of a door somewhere in this maze of a house. Four wolves who claim I'm their mate. Or maybe they just want to use my power. Who the fuck knows.
“Are you ready?” Villeneuve asks. “You can still change your mind.”
"I'm ready," I say with far more conviction than I feel.
Villeneuve studies me for a moment, then nods. With a casual gesture, the doors swing open, and there's an immediate flurry of movement on the other side. Four tall figures practically stumble into the room, clearly having been pressed against the door listening.
"Dignified as always," Villeneuve remarks dryly.
Killian Underwood straightens to his full imposing height, looking faintly embarrassed but attempting to cover it with bravado.
“Professor,” he grits out.
The wolves cluster together in the doorway, all trying to appear casual and failing miserably. They're dressed up, I realize with surprise. Not in suits or anything, but clearly in more formal clothing than they would usually wear—dark jeans without tears, button-down shirts, and the blond one that crushed Kyle into the dirt even has his hair styled.
The effort is... unexpected.
Their eyes find me immediately, and that same look of reverence washes over their faces. Four pairs of eyes—ice blue, warm brown, amber, and hazel—fixed on me as if I hold their lives in my hands.
No pressure or anything.
"Ms. Cook," Villeneuve says, drawing my attention back to him. "Would you prefer I remain present for this meeting?"
I consider it. Having Villeneuve here would provide a buffer, a safety net if things go south. But it would also prevent any genuine conversation. And if I'm being honest with myself, I want to hear what these wolves have to say without an audience.
“It's alright,” I tell him, trying to project confidence. “I can handle it.”
"As you wish." He inclines his head slightly, then turns to fix the wolves with a cold stare. "Remember what I said, gentlemen. Merely a word from Ms. Cook, and our arrangement terminates."
He doesn't bother disguising the threat, and the wolves shift uneasily.
"We understand," Killian says, his deep voice serious.
Villeneuve gives me one last evaluating look before withdrawing, closing the doors behind him. I'm suddenly alone with four massive wolf shifters in a room that feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.
And they’re still staring at me.
“Let’s sit down,” I say finally, gesturing to the elegant arrangement of sofas and chairs. I take a high-backed armchair for myself, partly because it looks comfortable and partly because it makes me feel like I'm just conducting a simple job interview.
Technically speaking, that’s what this is.
The wolves exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them before they move to sit. Killian and the one with glasses take the sofa directly across from me, while the other two settle in adjacent chairs. They're all perched on the edges of their seats, radiating a restrained energy that reminds me of coiled springs.
The silence stretches, growing more awkward by the second. They're watching me too intently, like I might vanish if theyblink. If I weren’t constantly hyperaware of my glamour, I might be flattered. Instead, I’m vaguely unnerved.
"You can go ahead," I prompt when it becomes clear they're waiting for me to speak first. "I'm willing to listen to what you have to say."
"What happened to your scars?" the blond one blurts out, immediately wincing as Killian's elbow connects sharply with his ribs. The other two wolves glare at him in perfect synchronicity.
"What? I didn't mean anything by it," he protests, rubbing his side. "I was just curious."
I sigh, fingers automatically twitching toward my face before I stop myself. "It's a glamour. I'm more comfortable with it on."
