Page 4 of Werewolves and Witches AU

I get out of my seat and crouch low beside her. “Ethel, it’s Milo. You need to wake up.”

Changing my grip on her wrist, I feel for her pulse. Why, I have no idea, because it’s not like I know what anything means beyond “alive,” and when I can’t find one—probably just because she’s old—I have to sit and force myself to watch her breathe to stop from having a panic attack.

“Ethel,” I call her name louder now, uncaring of who hears. In part, because that’s how this charade goes, but also because I’m freaking out and public embarrassment is no longer enough of a prohibitive factor.

“Are people starting to look?” Ethel whispers.

“What?” I whisper yell.

She remains perfectly still, as if asleep. “The staff will be coming any minute. Wish me luck in the poker game this afternoon.”

I fall back on the bones of my ass and stare at her as the on-duty staff come to take over checking her pulse. She’s fine. I repeat it over and over like a mantra. She’s fine—but I’m not.

Ethel’s all I have left, and one day this won’t be a ruse to fleece some old people out of a packet of cigarettes or a quart of rum. One day, we’ll be sitting here at this table, having breakfast, and she won’t wake up again. The eggs threaten to repeat.

I scoot back to the sanctuary of my chair and scoop up the leather jacket that hides my stolen pastries. Ethel’s jacket. Ethel’s pastries.

“Milo, are you okay? You look pale.” It’s Lucy. I recognise her voice before I turn to find her dark red hair and brown eyes full of concern.

I can’t find words, so I nod, and she offers me her hand so she can help me up.

“Likely it’ll be her blood pressure, but the nurse will see her to her room and we’ll call you later, okay? Have you got your phone?”

I check my pocket. “No, I…”

“Here, it was on the table.” It’s cold and hard when she presses it into my palm. “Give her time.”

I don’t hear the piano music I know is playing when Lucy escorts me out through the reception, don’t notice when she takes back the visitor’s pass, nor do I answer when she yells goodbye as I step through the automatic glass doors.

When Ethel… When she’s out of time, I’ll be alone. I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be…

I don’t know how.

2

The Dogs of War

Rowan

The erratic thumping of suitcases being loaded onto the carousel by airport staff easily filters through the heavy vinyl strips that slap and scrape over one another as the conveyer turns. Overexcitable children test the patience of overtired parents, young professionals publicly broadcast their meetings despite the in-ear headphones they wear, and perched on a rack of luggage trolleys as he pretends to fiddle with his watch while he waits for his case, is Tuesday.

Lieutenant Jack Carter—to our superiors—has travelled further than all of us, and his cases are already stacked beneath his dirt-caked boots. Despite his preoccupation with it, the watch is a ruse. His flight time from Melbourne meant that he landed in Virginia three-and-a-half hours ahead of those of us travelling in from Europe, more than enough time for him to have rigged this whole hall with covert tech. Likely, he watched me step off my plane through it. Most definitely, he’s currently tracking Bear as he navigates to baggage claim.

I uncross my arms and shove my hands in my pockets in an attempt to blend in—to look more civilian. At six feet five inches with a regulation crew cut, that’s a challenge in most environments, but airports are like human aquariums, and in a place where everyone’s watching everyone else, it’s nigh on impossible to avoid unwanted attention. Like from that TSA agent who thinks he’s been covertly stalking me since the flight attendant flagged me as suspicious. She should travel to Scotland someday; grumpy redheads are ten a penny there.

But it’s not unusual that I draw this kind of attention, and they’ve no idea why my expression is so grave—nor why I’m so far from home. They don’t know that my entire unit is at readiness level two, or that if there was a genuine threat to airport security, they’d be damn lucky to have us.

Turning bodily to look behind me, I give the covert agent a little smile. My leave might have been cancelled for an emergency recall of personnel, but I’m not an animal. Well… mostly.

My wolf flashes Tuesday a look—game time’s over, and he needs to reclaim his gadgets. Grabbing my cases, I extend their handles, and without any further acknowledgment that we know each other, I stride towards the exit. If he’s got eyes on Bear, and I already clocked Thriller and Delilah at security, then there’s only one other member of the Dogs of War unaccounted for.

Pack. Find. Assemble.

Major Ghalen Selassie—Guardian to my unit—was already Stateside when we were issued our destination, so it was his job to secure and prep the safehouse and our vehicle, as well as sort our armoury.

I check my watch as I exit Richmond airport, seven minutes early. Still, Guardian’s efficient, and if I know my second-in-command like I think I do, then…

There, pulled up in the taxicab bay, pissing everyone off while not giving a single fuck, is Guardian. Despite being the only non-wolf in my pack, he’s built like a brick shithouse.