Page 80 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
"Actually, I don't mind the company," I admit.
You'd think I'd just announced Christmas morning from the way all three wolves light up.
"We could watch a movie," Sean says.
"Fine with me," I say. "Whatever you want to watch."
This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. The wolves immediately launch into a heated debate over film selection with the passion of film critics at Cannes.
"Horror," Sean insists. "The new 'Vengeful Nights' film just dropped on streaming."
"She doesn't want to watch people getting dismembered right now," Killian argues. "How about that historical drama about the Viking settlement?"
"Boring," Sean groans. "Regina, back me up. Horror's better than some three-hour snooze-fest about bearded dudes building log cabins, right?"
I can't help but smile. "I do actually like horror."
As they continue setting up the movie, I find myself strangely drawn to them. Their scents, at least. They’re pulling at something instinctive inside me. I shift closer almost unconsciously, like a plant bending toward sunlight.
Sean notices first, his nostrils flaring as he leans in and sniffs me. “Dude, Micah, your scent is all over her. That isn’t fucking fair.”
Micah smirks. “Yourpants would have fallen off her, bubble butt.”
“So you finally admit you can fit into girl pants,” Sean snaps back without missing a beat.
Micah’s smirk flattens. “That isdefinitelynot what I said.”
Sean throws his hands up in the air. “Hey, if you wanna roast yourself like that, be my guest.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, but it catches on a wave of cramping that makes me wince. This period is definitely going down in the history books.
Sean's expression softens instantly. "You sure you don't want that massage? Might help with the cramping."
I hesitate. The offer is tempting. My lower back is killing me, and I've been carrying tension in my shoulders for so long, I’m going to need an alignment. The magical kind, not just a human chiropractor. Sometimes I wonder if I should just lay on one of those medieval stretching torture devices some witches use as kitchen tables and let it go to town.
"Well... maybe."
If I'm seriously considering Bonding myself to this pack, what's one little massage?
That's all the encouragement Sean needs. He plops down behind me, gesturing for me to turn around. "Shirt on or off?"
"On," I say firmly, though his knowing smirk suggests he already figured that would be my answer.
“We'll do it the boring way, then,” he says.
His massive hands settle on my shoulders, strong fingers digging into knots I didn't even realize I had. I have to bite back a moan he'll definitely read into as he works his way down my spine, seemingly finding every point of tension with unerring accuracy.
"Told you," he says smugly. "Magic fingers."
He wasn't lying. Under his ministrations, my muscles turn to jelly. The pressure of his thumbs along my lower back sends waves of relief through my cramping abdomen.
I'm vaguely aware of Killian and Micah watching, their expressions a mixture of jealousy and fascination. Neither complains, though, as Sean continues working his miracles on my aching muscles.
They’re acting like I’m not having to keep my head down so my hair covers the ruined side of my face. The weight of their stares tempts me to slam the glamour back into place, but as long as they’re not trying to crane their necks to see that side, I can put up with this. They need to know what they’re getting into, anyway. I’ve had enough of guys who wince at the sight of me for one lifetime.
These ones… don’t.
They may not be werewolves, but they areweirdwolves.
