Page 117 of Werewolves and Witches AU

Stretched over the countertop to open the window, I pause. I didn’t say all that out loud? I know I didn’t. So then… how? A blush floods my cheeks and I pretend to fumble the handle just to keep facing the yard.

“When ye marked me with yer magic, it seems yer spell cast was spot on. And really, that’s on me for underestimating ye, because I should know better than that. But it’s only right that ye know it means we share a bond now that runs between us like a road. So when ye have a strong thought, emotion, or… wish, I’ll know about it.”

Pushing the window wide open, I inhale the cool evening air. “So… when I was thinking about… you knew?”

The distinctive chock-schlop sound of cutting vegetables is the only sound until he says, “Aye. Yer mind is an interesting place, Pup, I’ll give ye that. Because I don’t know if I’ll look at a neep the same way again after this.”

Welp. But also… new fun fact unlocked.

Sinking back onto the flats of my feet, I stare hard at the grass and visualise Rowan stepping up behind me like he did in the pantry. He lifts up the hem of my large T-shirt, strokes his fingertips up my spine until he reaches that spot between my shoulder blades, where he splays his hand wide and pushes me down flat onto the counter.

I imagine him kicking my feet apart, like he nudged my knees open in bed, his other hand trailing up my leg from the backs of my knee, and then he—

“Ow! Fuck! Goddamnit, Milo.”

I whirl on my heels to find him sucking his thumb into his mouth, and blazing golden eyes pinning me exactly in place.

Oh, oooh. This is going to be so much fun. A creeping smile blooms along my lips.

“Get over here.” He almost growls the command.

Slowly, teasingly, I saunter with my most sexy walk, then bat my lashes at him.

“In the bottom drawer under the stove, ye’ll find the pans. I need two filled with water, each one big enough to boil the neeps and tatties. I’d do it, but…”

My jaw drops open. Did he just…?

“Aye, Pup. I did. And after I’ve fed ye, we’re going back to bed so I can show ye what that little game looks like when yer alpha plays.”

I swallow. Then nod. My alpha. I like that. My smile grows wider and Rowan huffs a laugh.

“Set up the pots while I see to this. And behave yerself,” he warns, landing a stinging slap to my backside when I turn.

Pouting, yet still smiling—but making sure he knows I’m pouting—I retrieve the pans, fill them with water, and set them to boil on the stove. Checking first the countertop where I remember seeing Rowan use it last, I look for the salt shaker, but only the black pepper is there. I check the other side of the stove, but it’s not there either.

“I’m in charge of the salt in this relationship,” Rowan’s Scottish brogue declares. “Unless we need to kill a man by pouring it all over the floor so he slips and cracks his head open like an egg, in which case, it’s all yers.”

He twists a sprinkling into each pot while I decide if I’m offended or not, then he sets it down and picks me up instead.

“Hey!” I protest, but soon stop when he seats me on the countertop and steps between my legs. Okay, you may continue.

Still, I fold my arms across my chest and feign indignance.

“Ye,” he says quietly, then leans closer and brackets me between his arms. “Are…” He comes so close that the tip of his nose almost touches mine. “Absolutely…” He rolls his forehead until his lips are against my ear. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

He places a tender kiss right over my mating bite mark, and my whole body shivers.

Rowan’s dark chuckle makes my toes curl, and I uncross my arms to loop them casually around the back of his neck. Totally cool. Unbothered. Not at all covered in goosebumps.

He keeps his open mouth against that spot on my neck, and suddenly my core body temperature rises so fast I get fever-dizzy. Woah, what is…?

The angry and loud vibrations from an incoming call douse the flames of whatever Rowan just started, and he pulls off my neck with a parting kiss. “Sorry, Pup. We’ll finish this later.”

Fishing the phone from his pants pocket, his brow lowers and a frown creases his forehead. Ah, there’s my grumpy Lieutenant Colonel. Releasing one hand, I stroke the pad of my thumb up the bridge of his nose and smooth out the deep furrows.

He sighs and accepts the call. “Admiral Guerrieri.”

I retract my hand, but Rowan captures it and rubs over my knuckles while the Admiral talks to him.