"Another month for Kyle and the coven to regroup and try to claim me."
All four alphas snarl and bristle at the words. It's an instinctive reaction that would normally have me running for the nearest sign of civilization, but coming from them, I actually kind of like it.
"Like hell we'd ever let that happen," Killian growls, his voice more monster than human. "That over-gelled asshole steps one foot on this campus and his remaining arm is gonna be the only thing that's left."
I sigh, reaching up to touch his cheek. Instantly, all the coiled tension and rage bleeds out of him and I feel his chaotic energy settle. This giant alpha stares down at me like I'm the center of the known universe.
"I know you four would protect me from Kyle and the coven," I say softly. "But I also know the chaos that could come from that.The kind that could not only get the pack disbanded, but make it impossible for us to form a Bond."
Killian clenches his jaw, and I can feel him warring with himself. "I don't trust him. Not with anything, but especially not you."
"I know," I murmur, stroking my thumb along his jaw. "And I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to trustme."
The fire in his eyes dies down to discontented embers and he breathes a long-suffering sigh. "I do," he says in a voice that's still gravelly. "And if this is what you need to feel safe bonding with us… fine. Villeneuve can babysit the ritual. But if he does anything suspicious, it's G.I. Fucking Joe."
My mouth twists into a smile despite my best attempts not to encourage his murderous rivalry with the professor. "That's all I'm asking."
Hopefully, neither of us will regret it.
Chapter 6
KILLIAN
I can't stop fuckingpacing.
My wolf is losing his shit under my skin, clawing at my insides like he's trying to dig his way out through my ribcage.
I check my phone. 7:44 PM. Sixteen minutes before the bastard professor shows up, and every passing second of waiting makes me want to put my fist through drywall.
"Killian, ease up on the parquet," Rowan says. There's an edge to his voice I don't hear often.
I don't answer. Can't. Tonight we bond our mate, and we need that untrustworthy son of a bitch to make it happen.
My wolf fuckinghatesthat. Hates the vulnerability of letting Villeneuve into our territory, our home, our ritual.
Aroundourmate.
I'd rather let Sean cook again after the "Dorito Ramen Incident" that had us all puking our guts up. Four vomiting wolves and three bathrooms.
We didn't use the kitchen sink for a month.
Regina stands by the stairs, her glamour up even though I'd rather she didn't. None of us want that. But none of us are going to give her a hard time about it either. If it makes her more comfortable, we'll deal.
She's clearly on edge tonight, her fingers absently tracing the pendant around her neck like a nervous tic. She hasn't taken off Micah's gift since he gave it to her.
Good. Let her be covered in our tokens, our scents, our claim. She's wearing the green dress Sean picked out from her things and begged her to put on, too.
Honestly shocked the idiot has any fashion sense at all when his idea of black tie is a T-shirt with a bowtie printed on it. But Regina likes the dress, and the way it hugs her curves makes my wolf want to howl like a horny fucking cartoon character.
It should make me feel better. All these little signs she's chosen us.
But all I can think about is what's coming.
Sadie sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a circle of weird-ass ritual shit. Dried herbs tied with silver thread, glass vials of shimmering liquid, crystal bowls… it's like she brought everything she had, just in case.
The lunar venom, whatever the fuck that actually is, sits in a central phial—pretty sure that's just witch speak for beer bottle, because they have to make everything sound fancy and important—glowing faintly silver-blue.
"Is everything arranged correctly?" Regina asks.
