Page 51 of Werewolves and Witches AU

Milo snorts. “Did you just… make a joke?”

I check the rearview mirror, my lip tugging upward at the corner. “I’m a funny guy.”

Those vibrant grey eyes stare at the side of my head. “What’s the real reason?”

“The Yukon XL’s the only truck that comes with a trailer hitch that could tow a boat as standard. Never know what a mission might require, and I like to be prepared. But also…” I glance his way. “Leg room. So we can all travel together.”

He nods as if that all makes perfect sense, then says, “Because pack.”

And maybe it does. “Aye. Pack.”

Milo retrieves his drink, giving the chocolate syrup that coats the inside a poke with his straw, and as he moves it to his mouth, his gaze darts forward and he lets out a squeak.

I see the pothole too late to swerve around it, and peripherally I notice how Milo tries to arrange himself in some protective yet equally avoidant shape around his iced drink. The driver’s side tire hits it at sixty miles per hour.

Nothing happens. The truck’s adaptive suspension transfers the impact through the shock absorbers and away from the cabin. But I can tell from the way he braced that Milo expected he was about to get drenched in cold coffee.

We travel along a bit further in silence, then he releases a surprised bark of laughter. “I thought for sure I was a goner.”

His excited relief travels through him as a full-body shudder that culminates with the rapid tapping of his boots on the mat, then he takes a long slurp of his drink. Happy feet, I chuckle to myself.

“I promise yer safe with me, Magpie…” I almost do what Thriller suggested and let him know that he’s not just a Package, but pack. I cut myself off by finishing my own coffee before it goes cold.

Dropping the empty cup back in the holder, our fingertips brush when he sets his down at the same time. He smiles up at me; I smile back.

“So.” I clear my throat and remind myself that Milo is work. “Ye missed the mission orders last night, but the rest of the Dogs are now on Operation Tempo, and will touch down in Rome at approximately fifteen hundred hours, local time.”

Milo stares at me with blank eyes.

“Oh nine hundred, for us.” I translate, and Milo nods. “While they’re there—getting an ID for Time Guy—we’re still working on locating and retrieving the Luna del Lupo for Operation Magpie.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he says, then sits up in his seat. “Time Guy flipped my room looking for it, and I’m pretty sure he knows what it looks like, so I think we’re safe to assume it’s not there. But when we were at the coffee shop… Where were you, by the way?”

“On the phone with my superior.” I check the rearview mirror again, and Milo’s pierced eyebrow arches. “Outside. Across the carpark, under a tree.”

“And you could hear me from there?”

“Wolf hearing.” I tap my ear, then focus back on the drive. The roads are dark, and even with the truck’s assistive technology, an accident could still happen.

“Unfair,” Milo scoffs. “What was I saying?”

He snatches up what’s left of his drink, melting ice cubes colliding noisily against one another, and sucks aggressively through his straw. I open my mouth to remind him, when his whole body stiffens and he smacks his palm against his forehead.

“Owww,” he whines. “Brain freeze.” He dumps the cup back in the holder. “But I remembered!”

Once again, I find myself wondering if I’ve ever met anyone quite like Milo.

“Time Guy was adamant that I had the Luna del Lupo on me, but I’m pretty sure I don’t. Because… he crashed into my room in his purple cloak with his crazy magic hands at the ass-crack of dawn, right? And I’d just showered—luckily I’d had time to put pants on—but like, that’s my point. I ran out of there in what I was wearing. So unless the Luna del Lupo is inside my boot, I don’t think I have it on me.”

He crosses one foot over his knee at the ankle, as if he’s actually considering his boots might contain a several-millennia-old magical artefact, and chews on his bottom lip.

“Except…” he continues. “When he did that purple crackly hand thing—”

I crack out laughing, interrupting him. “The purple crackly hand thing? Yer a witch, Milo. Does that not have a proper name?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, and his foot slips back onto the floor with a thump, but a small smile creeps over his plump red lips.

I refocus on the mirrors and the road.