Page 6 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Rowan sighs deeply, dragging a hand through his thick black hair. "Not this again."
"Yes, this again." My wolf stirs beneath my skin, agitated by the mere thought of Professor Villeneuve. "He's up to something. You all know it."
"We know youthinkhe's up to something," Micah corrects, finally looking up from his books. Dark circles rim his green eyes. He's been pulling all-nighters again. As pack alpha, I should probably enforce better sleep habits, but Micah is stubborn as hell.
I don't even know why he bothers. We're shifters, not mages. The only reason the Council of Supernatural Relations requires us to graduate from university in the first place is to make sure we form a solid enough pack bond to keep us from causing too much chaos when we're unleashed on the unsuspecting human world.
And it's a prime opportunity to find a Bonded. A Bonded is the glue that holds any supernatural group together, pack or otherwise.
Or a glorified babysitter, depending on your take.
"He claims he's a vampire-shifter hybrid, but he doesn't smell like anything we've encountered," I argue, pacing now, the pool game forgotten. "And we'rewolves. We have the sharpest noses on campus."
Sean snorts. "Maybe he's just really into cologne."
"Look at his name, for fuck's sake!" I bellow. "Villeneuve? It evensoundsevil. And you know what else? Evil has a 'V.' So does Villeneuve."
Micah blinks. "I thought you meant because it sounds likevillain."
I throw up my hands. "That, too!"
"So does 'vagina,'" Sean mumbles, "which is something none of us have touched in months."
"Speak for yourself," Rowan scoffs.
Before I can educate these idiots further on the obvious threat lurking in our Ancient History department, the doorbell rings.Not the normal college kid pounding, but an actual, proper use of the doorbell.
Bad fucking sign.
"I'll get it." I hand my cue to Rowan. "Don't touch the table. We're not done."
The floorboards of the old Victorian house creak beneath my boots as I stalk to the front door. The alpha in me bristles at anyone sniffing around my territory after hours, but years of pack diplomacy have taught me to at least appear civilized. I plaster on my best frat president smile and open the door.
Fuck.
The nymph standing on our porch is all business today. Her skin has that telltale green undertone, hair the color of fresh wheat trailing down her back in a tight braid. Sharp gray pantsuit. Clipboard. The campus compliance supervisor. Melissa? Melinda? Something with an M.
"Mr. Underwood." Her voice carries that musical lilt all nymphs have, but there's steel underneath. "Routine audit."
"Ms..." I trail off, hoping she'll fill in the blank.
"Morgan." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "We met last semester. After the... incident?"
Right. The "incident" that led to several priceless statues being destroyed in the university quad. Not my pack's finest moment.
"Of course, Ms. Morgan." I step aside, gesturing her in with what I hope looks like welcoming confidence rather than the simmering annoyance I actually feel. "Always a pleasure."
She steps into our hallway, nose wrinkling slightly at the unmistakable scent of wolf pack. A pack of four alphas, specifically. Nymphs are sensitive and not exactly the biggest fans of shifters, but to her credit, she doesn't comment.
"I'll need to see your membership records, event logs for the past semester, and proof of your Bonded registration."
There it is. The real reason for this "routine" audit.
“The guys are in the rec room. Records are in my office upstairs.” I jab a thumb in that direction. “Would you like some coffee? Brewski?” The very picture of hospitality. My mother would be proud.
"No, thank you." Her fingers tap impatiently against her clipboard.
I lead her to the rec room, where my pack brothers are failing miserably at looking casual. Sean has somehow acquired a book—upside down. Micah is actually studying now, head bent so low over his notes that his nose nearly touches the paper. Rowan is examining a pool cue like it contains the mysteries of the universe.
