"I'm sure," she says, and I can feel her certainty through the bond, bright and clear as a bell.
"Good," I say, the word coming out like a growl. "Because we're going crazy with the need to taste you, little witch."
"Actually," Rowan interrupts, standing up from the table, "I believe I'm first."
We all turn to look at him, surprised by the declaration. Rowan is usually the most restrained of us, the least likely to stake a claim or assert dominance without a damn good reason. It's not that hecan't, he's as dominant as the rest of us when push comes to shove, but he needs a damn good reason.
And he's found one.
There's nothing restrained about him now. His eyes are dark with need, his usual composed demeanor replaced by something almost feral.
"I've been waiting the longest," he continues, his gaze fixed on Regina. "I'm the only one who hasn't had a taste of her yet."
I want to argue, my wolf bristling at being told to wait, but he's right. Being pack leader isn't about just shoving your way to the front of the line, it's about fairness and keeping order. Making sure we don't overwhelm our mate by jockeying to push each other out of the way to get to her.
Sean, Micah, and I have all had our moments with Regina, and they need to bond. We need all our scents marking her, inside her. Claiming her.
Regina's eyes widen slightly, but I can feel her response through the bond—curiosity, arousal. She wants it too, which is the only thing that really matters.
"Seems fair," she says, her voice carrying notes of amusement and arousal.
Rowan extends his hand to her. "Shall we?"
She places her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. The motion brings her body flush against his, and the contact sends a jolt through our bond that we all feel. Four sharp inhales, four racing hearts.
Time to solidify our bond and let the whole damn world know this witch belongs to us.
Chapter 11
REGINA
Rowan's handis warm and steady as he leads me away from the table. His fingers wrap around mine with a gentleness that belies the hunger radiating through our newly formed bond. The energy between us flows from his body to mine and back again in an endless loop.
Behind us, I can sense the others watching. Three sets of eyes tracking our every movement with hungry possessiveness. They're giving Rowan his moment, his turn, but their presence remains a constant awareness at the edges of my consciousness.
"Where are we going?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Rowan's lips curve into a smile that transforms his usually serious face. "Somewhere comfortable."
He guides me toward the sunken conversation pit in the living room—the nest they built for me earlier. It looks different now, arranged with fresh blankets and pillows in a circular patternthat seems almost ceremonial. The sight of it sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.
"You planned this."
"We hoped," he corrects, his accent a little more pronounced with emotion. "There's a difference."
He steps down into the pit first, then turns to offer his hand again, helping me down. The gesture is… unnecessary, but touching. Another reminder of how these wolves see me. Not as a tool or a battery, but as a mate to be cherished.
It's still disorienting, this reverence. I don't know what to do with it, how to process being wanted so completely, so unabashedly. All the little gestures and ways they make it known.
Once we're standing in the center of the nest, Rowan reaches up to cup my face, his thumb tracing the edge of my glamour where it meets real skin.
"May I see you?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. "The real you?"
My heart stutters in my chest. The others hover at the edge of the pit, waiting and watching. I can feel their hope through the bond.
"Yes," I whisper, the word barely audible.
I close my eyes and reach for my magic, finding it responsive and eager in a way it never was with the coven bond. With a simple, hesitant thought, I release the glamour, swallowing hard as I feel it dissolving away from my scars.
