Page 120 of Werewolves and Witches AU

There are so many wild statements about this one simple action that, despite having been a guest here for a week, I’m still struggling to fit it all inside my brain box.

This house, which I’ve been told several times now, is not a house but a home—my home—is so beautiful that the idea of leaving tomorrow for Italy actually makes my tummy hurt. It’s why I came in here to be by the fire for a little bit. Silly, I guess, but I thought maybe I could absorb its heat, not just from the hearth and home, but of the family who live here, so that I can trap it and take it with me.

Rowan feels it too, and I don’t even have to cheat and use our bond to tell. Being here, being with family, he’s at ease. He doesn’t check the mirrors when we drive the country lanes in his Jeep. I know it’s not called a Jeep because it’s Scotland and they have a different brand here, but I can’t remember the name of it, and so, Jeep.

Neither does he emit that constrained energy, which I’ve learned comes from not being able to allow his wolf time and space to roam free.

That’s where he is now. His wolf has joined his dad, his brother, Ben, and his brother-in-law, Troy, on a run through the Estate’s grounds. I was invited to join, they have these little golf buggy things, or Rowan said his wolf would allow me to ride him—which was met with much laughter and a couple of howls—but I wanted to stay here. At home.

Besides, Ethel had taken herself to bed a couple of hours ago claiming that she felt a bit lightheaded and would be better after a nap, so I want to stay close. In case.

“Miles?” Ray’s voice is quiet. Pensive. I’d forgotten he was here, reading his book quietly in the corner with a glass of Shiraz. This room suits him.

I poke the fire again. “Mhm”

“What’s it like?”

Curious, I scoot around to face him. His usually green eyes look darker, despite the bright light from the lamp behind the leather chair he sits in—or maybe because of it. He’s set his book down on his lap, keeping his page by draping it over his crossed knee, but the glass of wine is firmly in hand.

I arch a brow in silent question.

His cheeks form a soft blush that really accentuates his greying temples, and his gaze drifts anywhere around the room but at me.

Then in the softest voice I’ve ever known him to use, he asks, “What’s it like? Being with a werewolf.”

I giggle-snort, and raise my arm in a fist between us.

“Oh, for Hecate’s sake, Miles. I didn’t mean that.” He shuffles in his chair and takes a long sip of his wine. “I meant in general. Are they attentive? Kind? Rowan seems lovely, and what I’ve seen of Troy with Raina, and Dad with Mum.”

“Ah…” I dip my head, suddenly very fascinated with the deerskin rug I’m sitting on. A lovely spotty pattern in the fur.

I was hoping to avoid this question. The day we arrived, Ben told Rowan, who then told me, that Ben and his wolf are quite smitten with my best friend. Ben had wanted to know everything about him right away, has barely been in a different room than Ray all week, and it seems Ray’s softening.

“Are we talking about a specific werewolf?”

And as if our conversation summoned him, Ben knocks lightly on the door, then enters the room.

He’s fair-skinned and red-headed, like all the Rangecroft’s are, but where Rowan is built like a tank, Ben is more slender. He’s also freshly showered and is wearing a shirt in the exact same shade of forest green as Ray’s eyes. Barely sparing me a glance, all his focus immediately on his mate-to-be, he advances into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I found a bottle of vintage Bordeaux and thought, as it’s yer last night, we could share it?” He holds the wine bottle in front of him like a shield.

Given Ray’s tragic dating history, I did provide Ben with one piece of advice, and it seems he’s taking it to heart.

“A vintage Bordeaux?” Ray immediately sets his book on the side table and shuffles forward in his seat. “Which one?”

Ah, they’ll be fine. I’m sure Ben is already working out how to transfer from the Edinburgh Philharmonic to one in Virginia.

I drop back on my elbows to peer round him and through the open doorway. As lovely as my new brother is, he’s not my favourite Rangecroft sibling.

Rowan’s not far behind, carrying two large platters piled with snacks.

We’d spent the afternoon together preparing the langoustines that we caught from the stream that cuts through the land here. And although I’ve still not been able to wash that sea-creature smell from my fingers, I’m excited to try wholetail scampi. The other tray contains Aberdeen Angus beefsteak strips—and that’s what Ben went to the cellar for.

“Ye okay, Pup?” Rowan leans in for a kiss before he’s even set the platters down.

He smells like fresh air and home. I reach up and stroke my fingers through the short hairs of his beard. “Mhm, was just thinking to go check on Ethel, though.”

“Och, nae bother, wee bird,” Riley says, bursting into the room with all the subtlety of a hurricane. She also—not one time—has called me by my name. Either of them. I am wee bird because she says I am. And there’s no changing her mind when it’s set on something. “Ettie’ll be with us in a minute. She doesn’t want to lose her last night, and told me to go on ahead and set up for a gentle game of cards.”