Page 103 of Werewolves and Witches AU

His question—that was a question, right?—causes everything within me to instantly go to war with itself. Stunned, my mouth hangs open, and I scan his face for anything to help me unknot the giant ball of yarn that my racing thoughts are tying my brain into.

All at once, I imagine a life where Rowan and I are together, another where we co-exist in the world and check in twice a year over secure emails, a third where Rowan resets his timeline and we never meet, and another still where I reset my timeline, and when we do eventually meet I’m in my eighties, like Ethel.

Nausea fuelled by tequila riots in my stomach, and a sudden bone-deep exhaustion has me lowering my head until it meets the fancy white tablecloth.

A few seconds of further mental torment pass, in which I’m acutely aware of the opening verse of “Something,” by The Beatles. Rowan’s hand, ever so gently, rubs up and down my spine. It helps—a little.

When he next speaks, it sounds like he’s right by my ear, and that Scottish brogue, delivered in a calm and dulcet tone, travels straight to my heart. “I’m sorry, Milo. I shouldn’t have put that pressure on ye. Ye have the right to choose as ye wish, and I’ll do my best to support whatever that might be. But there’s something I need to tell ye, and if I don’t, I’ll regret forever.”

He pauses, and I can hear the size of the inhale he needs to fuel his words. I scrunch my eyes shut to guard myself against their impact.

“Yesterday, I made the biggest mistake of my life.” His breathy laugh is sardonic.

“See, ever since I was a wee lad, I’ve known how my life was going to turn out. I knew what school I was going to go to, which military academy, which training regiment I’d get drafted to even. When my wolf presented as a pack leader, it mapped my future as a CO, and I rose through the ranks—and I rose fast. I’m bloody good at what I do.”

With every word, my heart sinks further through my soul. How can I compete with thirty years of such certainty?

Yet… while his words punch metaphorical holes in me, his hand doesn’t stop massaging reassurance and comfort into my core. And right now, his touch is the only thing preventing me from drowning in sadness.

“And then I got recalled from leave on Readiness Level Two. Do ye know what that is, Milo?”

My forehead still firmly pressed on the table, I roll it side to side—no.

“It means be ready, because within five days shit’s going to get real.”

I can’t help it, I giggle-snort. “No it doesn’t.”

“Okay, that’s not the textbook definition, but it is the real-world definition. The thing is, I’d assumed—when I got recalled—that it would be the Operation that risked turning my life upside down, but it wasn’t.”

Curious, I allow my head to loll to the side so I can see Rowan’s face.

“It was the mission objective himself—the Magpie—who flew onto my porch one morning and changed my life forever.”

I close my eyes again, not sure I can watch his mouth shape the words that will finally break my heart.

“You’re too much, Milo.”

“We haven’t been together all that long, why would you think we’d get married?”

“This dinner is really important to my career, if you could just be less… you.”

“Ye tore up my playbook, Milo.”

And there it is. My stomach flips over.

“From the moment ye walked through the door, ye were different. And I tried to force ye into the structure I was used to… That was my first mistake.”

My heart stutters, and I crack open an eye. Rowan’s expression is serious, yet gentle.

“Ye needed yer own structure, it just took me a while to realise. I thought treating ye like all the other Dogs was the right thing, so every time something would happen that showed me I needed to treat ye different… I thought it was a bad thing.”

He hesitates for a second, then switches from stroking the length of my spine to firmly holding the back of my neck. Something in the grip is so possessive, so total, that I can’t help but yield to it. I exhale softly.

“But yer the very opposite of a bad thing, Milo. I don’t know if ye heard Señora Tiempo allude to me having something of value? Something precious.”

When I nod—because I did and it confused me, so I’d really like an answer—Rowan smiles. It’s a beautiful sight. He’s so gorgeous… the way those little lines crinkle the edges of his eyes.

“Werewolves usually mate with their own. I’m sure ye know that?”