Page 66 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Sean almost kills Rowan charging to the door. "I'll get it!"
“False alarm, the car was just turning around. But when it comes, anyonebutyoucan get it,” Killian intercepts him smoothly. “The last time you answered the door for food delivery, you traumatized the poor kid.”
"How was I supposed to know he was afraid of dogs?" Sean protests.
"Maybe because no one is expecting a giant wolf to answer the door with a wad of cash in his mouth," Rowan says dryly.
"Hey, it was a good tip."
"Yeah, and soggy," Rowan counters.
I'm about to add my own comment when movement on the stairs catches my eye. I turn and feel my breath catch in my throat.
Regina stands on the landing, watching us with an expression I can't quite read. Her glamour is still in place, hiding the scars we all caught glimpses of last night. Part of me wishes she didn't feel the need to hide them around us, but I understand. Trust has to be earned.
"Is that the pizza?" she asks, her voice soft but steady.
The room goes silent. Four sets of wolf eyes turn toward her with an intensity that I’m sure crosses the line from attentive to creepy. I mentally kick myself. Way to be normal.
Sean recovers first. “Just about! The map says the delivery guy’s getting close.” He flashes his most charming grin. "Want a beer?"
Rowan makes a disapproving noise. "She's a siphon," he says under his breath. "She doesn't wantbeer."
Regina hesitates. "Actually," she says, "I'd love a beer."
Sean pumps his fist triumphantly. “Fuck yeah!” He vaults clean over the back of the couch, sending our ugliest lamp crashing to the floor. The lamp we all hate. It survives, of course. "Coming right up!"
The doorbell rings. Killian shakes his head and goes to answer, while Rowan gives me a subtle nod toward the living room.
Right. Make her comfortable.
"We cleared some space on the couch," I say, gesturing to the section we hurriedly decluttered when we got home. "Or if you'd prefer the armchair..."
"Couch is fine," Regina says, descending the rest of the stairs. She moves cautiously, like someone entering unknown territory. Which I guess is exactly what this is.
Sean returns with not one beer but an entire six-pack, looking absurdly proud of himself. "Options," he announces. "IPA, lager, stout, and whatever this fruity shit is that Rowan drinks."
"It's a Belgian lambic," Rowan sighs, "and it's aged in wine barrels."
Regina's lips curl into a small smile that makes my heart do a weird flip. "Lager works for me."
I settle on the couch, careful to leave plenty of space between us. Despite my best efforts to play it cool, I can't help watching her from the corner of my eye. Her scent fills the room, that intoxicating mixture of old magic and forest that makes my wolf whine with want. It's taking every bit of self-control I possess not to lean closer and huff her in.
Killian returns with a tower of pizza boxes and a bag of drinks, the delivery guy's eyes still visible through the crack in the door as it closes, wide and alarmed at the sheer quantity of food.
"Okay," he announces, setting the boxes on the coffee table. "Let the feast begin."
"You guys got... eight different pizzas?" Regina looks between the boxes and us with dawning amusement.
"We couldn't agree," Sean explains, rubbing the back of his head. “So we got one of each.”
"That seems..." She pauses. “Diplomatic, I guess.”
"We're a democracy," Sean grins, grabbing the box on top. "A democracy that recognizes my buffalo chicken jalapeño masterpiece is going to win."
"In your dreams," Killian snorts.
What follows is possibly the most simultaneously wonderful and torturous meal of my life. Wonderful because Regina is here, in our house, eating our food, occasionally even smirking a little at our banter. Torturous because every wolf in the room is trying so hard not to overwhelm her that the restraint is practically visible in the air.
