Page 72 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
"Guess that's why you only need five," Rowan says without missing a beat.
I'm not sure how to respond to that. The reminder of their physical prowess—their animal nature—sends a small shudder through me. Wolves need to run, to hunt. It's in their blood.
"He'll be back soon," Micah adds, setting a glass of orange juice in front of me. "Coffee?"
"Please," I nod, appreciating the change of subject.
But speak of the devil and he appears.
The front door opens and closes with a solid thud, followed by heavy footsteps heading our way. Killian strides into the kitchen, and my brain temporarily short-circuits.
He's shirtless, skin glistening with sweat, dark hair damp and pushed back from his forehead. Every inch of his torso is defined muscle—broad shoulders, sculpted chest, ridged abdomen—all moving beneath golden skin as he breathes. It's like watching a Renaissance sculpture come to life, only better.
"Morning," he says, his voice a low rumble that does strange things to my insides. His ice-blue eyes find mine immediately, intense and unashamed in their appreciation. "Sleep well?"
"Yes," I mumble, forcing my gaze back to my orange juice. "Fine, thanks."
Holy hell.
I'm used to witches. Academics, intellectuals, men who spend more time with books and spells than in the gym. Kyle is fit, sure, but in a lean, aristocratic way. These wolves are something else entirely. Raw power shaped into human form. And it's notjust Killian. They're all built like gods, all radiating that same primal energy.
It isnothelping my decision-making process.
"Shower," Rowan commands, breaking the moment. "You're dripping sweat all over my clean floor."
Killian grins, unrepentant. "Yes, mom." He snags a piece of bacon from the serving plate as he passes, earning a slap on the wrist from Rowan's spatula. He gives me a wink, nonplussed. "Be back in five."
I watch him go, then immediately curse myself for watching. When I turn back, I catch Sean smirking at me knowingly. I glare at him, which only makes his grin widen.
Breakfast is a surprisingly comfortable affair. Rowan's cooking is excellent, despite Sean complaining that he’s the only one who should be allowed in the kitchen because no one else can make bacon like he can. There are fluffy pancakes, crisp bacon, fresh fruit, and the best, most buttery scrambled eggs I've had in years. The conversation flows easily, focusing on safe topics like classes and local restaurants. They're clearly making an effort to keep things light, to put me at ease.
It's working.
"We were thinking," Killian says as we finish eating, freshly showered and dressed in a charcoal henley that clings to his still-damp body, "if you're up for it, we could head into town. Get you some supplies, whatever you need."
"That would be great, actually," I admit.
"Perfect," Sean claps his hands together. "Shopping spree!"
"More like basic necessities," I clarify. "I'm not exactly flush with cash at the moment."
A look passes between them, too quick for me to interpret.
"Don't worry about that," Killian says smoothly. "Pack takes care of its own."
Before I can protest that I'm not actually "pack," Rowan clears his throat and looks between Killian and Micah. "Don't you guys have classes this morning?"
The glares they both shoot him could melt steel.
"Not important," Micah mutters.
"We can miss one day," Killian agrees.
I shake my head. "Absolutely not. You're not disrupting your schedules because of me." Both look ready to argue, so I add firmly, "I mean it. You're both going to class. I'll be fine with Rowan and Sean."
Rebecca's text message lingers in the back of my mind, but if she were in any position to follow through on that threat, she wouldn't have sent a text at all. And confronting me with two alpha wolves flanking me would be flat-out insane, even for her.
Killian's jaw works. He’s clearly unhappy about it, but then he sighs. "Fine," he concedes finally. "But take my card, and get whatever you need. No arguments," he adds when I open my mouth to protest.
