I'm out of the kitchen before I've consciously decided to move, bare feet slapping against the hardwood. Sean's right behind me, his earlier playfulness evaporated into something tense and alert.
The woman standing in the doorway looks like she was assembled from a corporate compliance manual. Pale hair pulled back in a severe bun, skin with a faint greenish tint that marks her as something other than human, horn-rimmed glasses perched on a nose that's currently wrinkled in distaste. Her pantsuit is the color of dry cement, and she's holding a clipboard like it's a weapon.
"Ms. Morgan," Micah says, his voice strained. "What a surprise."
"I preferefficiencytosurprise." Her gaze slides past him to land on me. Those sharp eyes observe everything. My wet hair,my borrowed clothes, the fresh mating marks visible above my collar.
Her eyes linger for an uncomfortably long time on my scars and I turn my face away slightly, my own eyes still locked on her.
"Andyoumust be the Bonded."
She sounds kind of doubtful about that.
I feel Micah's anxiety spike through our connection, but I smooth my expression into something pleasant and step forward. First impressions matter, especially with bureaucrats.
"Regina Cook." I extend my hand. "Please, come in. Can I offer you some coffee?"
Surprise flickers across her face. Maybe because of my relative composure, considering my fearless mates who stared down an entire coven of angry witches without blinking now look terrified. She takes my hand in a brief, firm shake.
"Ms. Morgan. And no, thank you. This shouldn't take long."
She steps inside without waiting for further invitation, her heels ticking sharply against the floor as she surveys the living room. Her nostrils flare slightly, and I wonder what a nymph's senses pick up. Probably everything we got up to last night.
Professional. Be professional. Don't say fuck.
"We apologize for any confusion with the paperwork," I say, gesturing toward the couch. "Please, have a seat. The circumstances of our bonding were somewhat... um. Accelerated."
Ms. Morgan perches on the edge of an armchair, clipboard balanced on her knee. "Accelerated. That's one word for it."She flips through several pages. "The Dean's office received word yesterday that Lupe Tau had acquired a Bonded without submitting proper documentation. No advance notice, no background verification, no magical compatibility assessment. And not even a student."
"She is a student," Sean protests. "She's practically taken out a PhD these past few weeks in getting?—"
Rowan elbows him in the gut hard enough to knock the wind out of him before he can finish that sentence.
"To be fair," Micah starts, "we didn't exactly plan?—"
"We've been preparing the application," I interrupt smoothly, shooting him and Sean a look that I hope conveysplease stop talking. "Given the unusual nature of the situation, we wanted to ensure all the information was accurate before submitting. I can have everything finalized and on your desk by end of week."
Ms. Morgan's pen taps against her clipboard. "You seem remarkably well-informed about our procedures, Ms. Cook."
"I believe in being prepared."
And lying through my teeth when the situation calls for it.
Something shifts in her expression. It's not quite approval, but perhaps a slight reduction of suspicion. She makes a note on her clipboard, then looks up at me with renewed interest.
"And your magical classification?"
"Siphon."
The pen stops moving. Ms. Morgan's eyebrows rise fractionally, the first genuine reaction I've seen from her. "A siphon? Bonded to a wolf pack?"
"Yes."
"That's... highly irregular."
"So I've been told."
She studies me for a long moment, and I hold her gaze without flinching. Whatever she's looking for, I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. Years of navigating Kyle's political games taught me exactly how to keep my expression neutral under scrutiny.
