Villeneuve’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see the stiffness in his shoulders. His hands are still in his lap.
“And what if I choose dare instead?”
Everyone looks at me. Because apparently, I’m the authority on house rules now.
“You have to spin the bottle and kiss whoever it lands on,” I say, because those are the rules and I’m not about to change them just because things got weird. “But we could just go back to the old-fashioned version.”
Villeneuve’s gaze shifts to the bottle. Then to Regina. Then back to the bottle.
He reaches out and spins it.
Motherfucker.
The bottle rotates. Slow. Like it knows exactly what it’s doing. Then again, this asshole has telefrenetic powers or whatever it’s called.
Villeneuve doesn’t watch the bottle. He watches Regina. His dark eyes never leave her face as the bottle spins and spins and finally stops.
Pointing directly at her.
Of course it does.
This son of a bitch.
Regina’s frozen. I feel her through the bond. Not scared, which is the only reason I don’t smash the damn bottle over Villeneuve’s head.
She’s…curious. Her eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted, and she’s not moving. Not breathing.
Villeneuve rises to his feet like a fucking shadow. He crosses the space between them like he’s gliding instead of walking. He stops in front of where Regina’s still sitting in Micah’s lap, looking down at her with a blank expression that might as well be a mask.
Killian snarls.
The sound is low and vicious, not totally human. His eyes have gone fully yellow now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He’s moving before I can think to stop him.
Villeneuve steps back.
Just one step. Smooth and calm. Like he planned this to get a reaction out of Killian all along.
“I think that’s enough play for tonight.” His voice is perfectly calm. Like nothing just happened. Like he didn’t just almost kiss our mate in front of all of us while our alpha was seconds away from ripping his throat out.
He straightens his cuffs and adjusts his collar.
“Ms. Cook.” His gaze flicks to Regina, who still hasn’t moved. “We have an early day tomorrow. I suggest you don’t stay up too late either.”
And then he’s gone. Walking out of the drawing room like he owns the place, which he does. He leaves the rest of us sitting on his expensive rug surrounded by empty glasses and a bottle that might actually be cursed.
Or at least rigged somehow.
Regina’s still frozen. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven. Through the bond, I feel her trying to process what just happened.
Whatalmosthappened.
And I think a part of her hoped it would happen.
“Bros,” I say, because someone has to break the tension. “I think Regina was actually gonna kiss Professor Stick.”
“No shit,” Rowan mutters.
“I was not.” Regina’s words come out too fast. “I was just… it was the rules. He spun the bottle. I was following the rules.”
