Page 9 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
"Sadiehates us," I remind him.
"Yeah, but she's Micah's stepsister. She kind of has to help," he reasons.
I groan. The day Sean is being the logical one is the day I know we're fucked.
"Fine," I growl. "You can ask Sadie, but there are gonna be ground rules. No blood magic, no fire, andnodemons in the frat house."
Micah's face brightens immediately. "You got it, boss! I'll call her."
"Yeah! Guess who's getting a Bonded? Twenty-four seven magic pussy!" Sean whoops, trying to high five Rowan, who just leaves him hanging until he drops his hand in defeat.
"You repulse me," Rowan says flatly. "A Bonded isn't just some magical Fleshlight you can stick your dick in anytime you feel like. They're a pack's most sacred treasure. A gift from the gods."
"Yeah, a sacred treasure you can stick your dick in anytime you feel like," Sean counters.
Rowan's lip curls back in a snarl of disgust and he shoves his pool cue into Sean's chest. "If anyone needs me, I'll be cleaning. This place isn't fit for a pack of beasts, let alone a witch."
I look around the frat house with beer cans on more surfaces than not, and a thick layer of dust covering anything, and realize he has a point. Orderliness has taken a backseat to keeping the pack out of the dean's office—and supernatural prison, for that matter.
We really need to get our shit together.
Chapter
Three
REGINA
The stone gargoyles perched on every corner of the gothic vampire mansion seem to be staring through me through the fog with their ruby eyes. There's even a wrought iron gate covered in ivy, flanked by stone lions with their clawed paws gripping marble orbs.
There isnothingsubtle about vampires.
They've been the drama queens of the supernatural world since before electricity, and apparently, no one bothered to tell them that ostentatious castles in the middle of urban neighborhoods scream "we're not fucking human" louder than a neon sign.
But I'm not exactly swimming in options here.
The flyer I found tacked to a bulletin board at a supernatural-friendly coffee shop promised good terms for a Bonded position with the Crimson Heart Coven. A little redundant there with the name, but okay. The word "prestigious" appeared three times in two paragraphs, which should've been my first warning. My second warning should've been the blood-red cardstock.
But beggars can't be choosers. And if I don't find someone to sever my ties ASAP, that's exactly what I'm going to be.
I adjust my jacket and check my reflection in my pocket mirror. My glamour is still holding. It's costing extra energy to keep it perfect, but I can't afford to let it slip right now. Not here. Vampires are vain creatures who delight in physical perfection. The last thing I need is for them to see what's under the magical mask before I have a chance to properly sell myself.
Ugh. I feel like both a used carandthe salesman.
The iron gate creaks open at my approach, because of course it does. Dramatic bastards.
"Name?"
The voice materializes beside me and I flinch, hard.
A vampire, tall and pale with cheekbones that could cut glass, stands closer than any stranger should. He's beautiful in that undead way, with lips too red against alabaster skin and eyes as black as a starless night. His Italian suit looks so expensive, I'm afraid I'll accidentally touch it and have to pay for ruining it.
"Regina Cook," I say, feigning confidence. "I'm here about the Bonded position."
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in those depthless eyes. Hopefully interest, not hunger. "Follow me."
We cross a garden that somehow blooms despite the season, roses climbing trellises in midnight hues. Magic, obviously, but a different flavor than mine. Older. Bloodier.
"The Court has been seeking a suitable magic-user for some time." His voice carries the faintest trace of an accent I can't place. "Few meet our... exacting standards."
