"To convince a faculty member to take responsibility for the pack that's known for property damage and chaos?"
"When you put it like that..."
"We're not asking Villeneuve," Rowan says firmly. "Killian would never agree. And honestly, neither would I. We don't know enough about him. We don't know what he really wants."
"He helped us," I remind him.
"He helpedhimself," Rowan counters. "Everything Villeneuve does serves his own agenda. We're just not sure what that agenda is yet."
I want to argue, but I can feel his certainty through the bond. All three of them are united on this. United in their distrust of the mysterious professor who knows things he shouldn't and wields magic no normal creature should be able to use. Not even an alleged hybrid.
And Killian would certainly agree.
"Fine," I concede. "You have until Killian gets back from class to come up with an alternative. But if you can't find someone else..."
"We will," Micah promises.
"We'll make it work," Sean adds.
"Somehow," Rowan finishes.
I watch them scatter. Sean to his phone, presumably to start making calls, Rowan to his laptop, Micah heading upstairs with the promise he's going to try calling in a favor from his coach.
Valiant but certainly doomed efforts. There's no one on this campus crazy enough to take on my wolves.
No one except someone they want nothing to do with.
Chapter 14
REGINA
Two days later,I'm starting to wonder if the wolves actually want to save their pack or if they're just allergic to reasonable solutions.
I'm curled up on the couch with Eliza Underwood's journal when the front door slams open hard enough to rattle the windows. Killian stalks in first, his expression thunderous, followed by Sean, Micah, and Rowan in various states of dejection.
"Let me guess," I say, not bothering to look up from the faded handwriting. "Another faculty member told you to go fuck yourselves?"
"Professor Johnson said she'd rather swallow hot coals," Rowan reports, dropping onto the armchair like his strings have been cut. "Her exact words."
"Dr. Montclief pretended to have a stroke when I walked into his office," Sean adds, settling on the floor near my feet. He shoves his head into my hand like a damn dog until I pet him, whichis more endearing than it has any right to be. "I stayed to make sure he was okay, just in case he wasn't faking. He was."
"Coach said he'd sponsor us if we could guarantee zero property damage for the rest of the semester." Micah flops dramatically across the remaining couch space, his head landing in my lap.
"So a no, then," I say flatly.
Micah groans. "He knew what he was doing."
Killian remains standing, arms crossed. "Professor Styles literally ran away from me. Just turned and sprinted down the hallway. She's seventy-three years old. I didn't even know she could move that fast."
"Those new hips are putting in overtime!" Sean says with an enthusiastic clap, earning a glare from Killian.
I close the journal and set it aside, giving them my full attention. "So what you're telling me is that every single faculty member you approached has refused."
"Not refused, exactly," Sean says, staring up at me with puppy-dog eyes. "More like rejected with extreme prejudice."
"My history prof threw a textbook at me," Micah offers. "A hardcover. First edition. That thing was expensive."
"The point is," Killian growls, "we're running out of options. There's got to be someone on this faculty who doesn't actively despise us."
