Page 87 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Ohfuck. She's been thinking about it, then.
"I meant what I said," I manage to tell her, keeping my voice low enough that the others won't hear from downstairs. “I want you more than anything, Regina. But if it’s all too much right now… well.” I tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear on the scarred side, careful to keep my touch gentle. She actually lets me, even though she subtly tilts her face away. “If you’re going to be our Bonded, we have time.”
I flash her a grin that I hope makes up for me sounding like the words are being dragged out of me with fish hooks.
She hesitates, then nods. “Thank you,” she murmurs. "For the food. For the space. For... understanding."
"Always," I promise, meaning it more deeply than I can express.
She rises on her tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. It's a chaste gesture, almost innocent compared to what she shared with the others earlier. But it melts something inside me, this small, voluntary affection freely given.
"Good night, Rowan," she murmurs, slipping into her room before I can respond.
I stand there a moment longer, my hand rising unconsciously to touch the tingling spot where her lips met my skin.
If I died right now, I’d die the happiest wolf on earth.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
REGINA
Isneeze for what feels like the hundredth time, dust particles dancing in the sunlight like motes shining through the attic's small circular window. The space at the entire top floor of the Victorian monstrosity of a pack house is impressive and packed to the ceiling with what can only be described as a magical hoarder's dream collection.
Bookshelves line the walls, crammed with ancient tomes whose titles are faded beyond recognition. Trunks overflow with mysterious artifacts wrapped in velvet cloth. Glass cases hold crystals that pulse and hum with energy.
If my coven—sorry,formercoven—could see this place, they'd collectively lose their shit.
"Focus, Regina," I mutter to myself, turning another brittle page.
I've been holed up here all morning, hunched over stacks of grimoires from Killian's great-grandmother's collection. The pack has been bizarrely protective since yesterday's... activities, refusing to leave me alone in the house. Which is how I endedup with a babysitter in the form of Killian, the only one without afternoon classes.
It should annoy me more than it does. I'm a grown woman, for fuck's sake. I've been taking care of myself for years, fending off magical threats and navigating supernatural politics. I don't need a six-foot-seven alpha wolf standing guard like I'm some helpless damsel in distress.
But after Rebecca's threatening text and the memory of Kyle's face twisted with rage as he tried to drain me dry, I can't say I mind the company. Not that I'd admit that out loud. The wolves are already insufferable enough in their protectiveness.
Even if I don’t totally hate it.
I lift another ancient tome from the pile, this one bound in leather so dark it's nearly black. The spine creaks as I open it, releasing a scent of age and magic that makes my witchy senses tingle. The pages are filled with handwritten notes in elegant script, diagrams of energy patterns, and what appear to be personal observations on magical bonds. Unlike modern textbooks with their clinical detachment, this feels intimate. It’s a witch's private thoughts on her craft.
So far, my research has been both enlightening and frustrating. There's no shortage of information on standard witch-to-witch bonds, and even a decent amount on witch-to-vampire arrangements.
But witch-to-shifter bonds?
Those sections could fit on a post-it note.
And siphons bonding with shifters?
That’spractically mythological.
The few references I have found are troublingly vague.
The siphon-shifter bond exists in a state of perpetual energy exchange, with the siphon drawing from the shifter's abundant natural vitality while grounding the often chaotic magical frequencies inherent to shapeshifting entities...
Great. Super helpful. Might as well say "something super fucking magical happens, good luck figuring it out."
And that's just the bond itself, not even touching on the mate aspect. The wolves seem so certain, so absolute in their conviction that I'm their destined partner. I'm still wrapping my head around it, around the way my body responds to them without my conscious permission.
