Page 54 of Werewolves and Witches AU

I hum in response to everything he’s told me, but dreams and their meanings aren’t really my forte.

By now, we’ve reached the street our safe house is on, and I slow our speed as we approach the Nest. Scanning the other houses, all sat in darkness, I let my wolf forward to find any threat my human senses might have missed. Because this is my strength. This, I can do.

“So, yeah. I’m fine, I guess. And I’ll figure out what it means… eventually.”

Milo turns his head to stare out the window as I pull the truck up onto the drive, where the porch, lit up by a security light, welcomes us safely home.

21

Summoning Pigeons

Rowan

When the first few notes of my morning alarm sound, my hand shoots out from the warmth of the covers and into the crisp morning air to shut it off. Zero six hundred. A little under two hours sleep is pretty standard during an active mission.

Without opening my eyes, I roll onto my back and stretch long in the bed. Ordinarily, I bunk with Bear, because he’s a highly volatile creature with an unusual wolf—for an omega. The only alpha he’ll submit to is mine, likely because respect for the chain of command has been drilled into him since birth, and even then it’s touch and go. But this morning, Bear’s waking up in Rome, and I’m waking up alone.

Then I remember that I’m not alone—Milo’s here, sleeping in the adjoining room. My wolf comes forward to check on him after last night, and when he detects the steady breathing of a peaceful sleep, he eases back.

Exhaling, I push down the covers to alleviate their weight from my morning wood. It doesn’t help.

Dipping my hand under the elastic of my underwear, I grip firmly around the base of my shaft and that full feeling intensifies for a beat, but it also morphs into something else. Something deeper and more… pleasurable.

I give my aching length a few lazy pumps, but instead of taking the edge off, like it normally does, it grows hotter and more demanding.

Grinding my hips down into the mattress, I squeeze and roll my balls. Tingles build through the nerves in my pelvis, zinging down my legs and up my torso. Clenching, I arch my back and return the focus to my insistent dick. Its pronounced ridges attract my fingertips as I strum up and down my length a few more times, but when I drop my head back, lips parted, and Milo’s name loaded on the tip of my tongue, I stop dead.

Nae. No. Nope.

Groaning, I slide my hands out of my underwear. Pulling the pillow over my head blocks out the view of the room, but my mind is filled with images of platinum-blond hair, crystal-grey eyes, bitten lips, and ripped jeans.

I roll sideways, leave the bed, and pad to the en suite for a purposefully ice-cold shower.

My situation improved, I drag my case out from under the bed and select a pair of black combat trousers and a form-fitting black T-shirt to wear. While I dress, I think over the plan for the day.

Milo wants us to visit his Ethel. I’m not wholly clear on the relationship between them, given his use of her name in place of something more familial, like Nan, but she’s important to him.

Shrugging on my jacket, that still smells faintly of apples, I comb my blunt nails through my short beard and damp hair. It’s not a requirement that branches of the werewolf military are clean-shaven, something Guardian found entertaining when he transferred in from the Celestial Army—where it is mandatory—but all facial hair must be kept neatly groomed. Luckily, I maintain mine at length that affords me a week between trims, so when I meet Milo’s Ethel, I’ll be presentable.

Satisfied, I leave my bedroom and close the door with a soft click. Turning right, I cross the short distance to Milo’s room and raise my fist to knock on the door.

Before I make contact, it swings open, and me and my poised hand halt abruptly. Clear grey eyes, that feel like they see too much, cause me to lower mine.

It’s impossible not to take in those same artfully ripped jeans that he had on yesterday, but as if my restraint hasn’t already been tested enough today, he’s paired them with a cropped hoodie. There’s a comical image of a raccoon on the front holding an iced coffee, the words, “first of all, I’m a delight,” scrawled around it. But the cartoon animal holds zero appeal when it hangs tantalisingly above Milo’s lean and fair obliques.

I almost swallow my own tongue.

“Good.” Clearing my throat, gaze fixed firmly on the beige carpet, I offer up a strained, “Yer awake.” Turning then, I retreat down the hallway, and over my shoulder I toss out, “We don’t have time for breakfast if ye wanna be there before oh seven thirty, but we can stop at a drive-thru on the way. There’s one not too far along our route. Do ye like pastries, Magpie?”

I take the stairs two at a time, my wolf picking up the sound of Milo’s long legs as he keeps pace behind me. Pausing briefly to shove my feet in my boots, I then pocket my phone and reset the house alarm. Holding the door open for him, I make sure it’s locked before clicking the fob to deactivate the alarm on the truck.

Milo heads for the rear passenger door, and I falter in my steps. Even dressed like temptation incarnate, the idea of him being anywhere other than right beside me is intolerable. It’s not his fault that I’m apparently not as professional as I thought I was.

Wondering if I’m due for a rut, and if I brought any suppressants with me, I open my mouth to command that he sits upfront again, but Milo instantly diverts—as if he sensed my preference before I voiced it.

He’s unusually quiet as I back the truck off the drive and set it in gear. His elbow, propped up on the door beside him, holds the weight of his head and all the thoughts he seems lost to. My wolf, keen to know if he’s okay, comes forward.

As I steer us through the quiet neighbourhoods, I tap my fingers on the wheel. If Magpie were a member of my unit, then I’d call out this level of distractibility while on a mission, but as much as he fits in and even has a codename, he isn’t a Dog. He’s a human who’s found his world turned upside down. It would also make me a hypocrite, given my inappropriate actions earlier, so I let it slide.