Chapter
Nine
REGINA
Nearly a week in this place and I still get turned around looking for the kitchen.
Villeneuve’s house operates on some kind of architectural logic that doesn’t exist in normal buildings. Hallways curve where they shouldn’t. Staircases lead to floors I’m pretty sure don’t exist from the outside.
And occasionally, when I make a wrong turn down a corridor I’ve never seen before, Margot is there to silently point me in the right direction.
Because that’s not creepy at all.
Right now, I’m looking for Sean, who’s probably even more lost than I am. Which means he could be anywhere, so I’m letting the pull in my chest lead me.
He wandered off after dinner, muttering something about needing to “handle some shit,” and that was forty minutes ago.
In my now constant paranoia about keeping Villeneuve out of my head, I’ve learned how to tap into the bond with each of my wolves individually. Right now, Sean’s energy is calm and contemplative, which is weird for him. His foremost emotionsare usually hungry and horny, which I wouldn’t have even considered emotions until I met him.
The bond leads me to literally the last place I’d ever think to look for him, which is Villeneuve’s study.
The door is cracked open slightly. Maybe he really did get lost.
I push it wider, expecting to find him raiding Villeneuve’s liquor cabinet or playing with some probably cursed artifact he definitely shouldn’t be touching. Instead, I find him standing in front of a tall mirror in the corner, completely still.
No eyepatch.
He’s got one dangling from each hand, but his face is bare. The wound has healed well since he’s an alpha, but the scarring is still extensive. A jagged line runs from his brow through where his eye used to be, down to his cheekbone. The socket itself is closed now, sealed over with pink scar tissue that’s still shiny and new.
He’s just staring at himself in absolute silence and the sight knocks the wind out of me.
I know this. I’vedonethis. Stood in front of mirrors more times than I can count, just taking in the damage, trying to reconcile the face staring back at me with the one I remember having. Wondering if anyone will ever look at me the same way again.
My glamour is down right now. It has been for most of the day. I’ve been trying to wear it less ever since Sean got hurt. It feels hypocritical to hide my own scars while he’s walking around with fresh ones. Like I’m sending a message I don’t intend.
I touch his shoulder gently. “Hey. You okay?”
He blinks, like he’s coming back from somewhere far away. “Hey, Storm.” His voice is rough. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
I pause, considering my words carefully.
“Look, I understand what you’re going through,” I start. “If you want to tell me what you’re thinking about, I’m here.”
He blinks again, looking confused this time. Then he sighs.
“It’s just hard, you know?” He gestures vaguely at his reflection. “Especially with that big presentation coming up for my econ class.”
I wince. “I understand. Getting up in front of people and talking is hard enough, let alone when you’re trying to get used to looking?—”
“So fuckingsick,” he finishes in a thoughtful whisper.
I stop. “Huh?”
He holds one of the eyepatches up to the mirror, positioning it over the scarred socket. Then switches to the other one, comparing. “I don’t know which one looks more awesome. The one with the metal studs, or the one with the flames.”
I stare at him.
So he isn’t having an existential crisis about his disfigurement.
