Page 59 of Werewolves and Witches AU

Immediately, my leg starts bouncing. To rid myself of the nervous association, I rub my hands together. “Yup. Okay.”

It’s no longer me, alone in a house filled with strangers—military wolf strangers. It’s just me and Rowan now. I blow out a long breath. “So, it started with Ethel.”

He cocks an auburn eyebrow that frames an intense hazel eye. It encourages a small smile to creep along my mouth, because I know that look now. When I first met Rowan, I remember mistaking that same intensity for “serial killer,” but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

How many times do people do that, though? Take nothing more than a cursory glance at the complex expression on his face, pair it with his size and build, add in the fact that he’s an alpha werewolf, then determine him to be some kind of cold and savage brute?

My smile widens further, because behind that intimidating exterior is a heart that’s size appropriate for his almost seven-foot-tall body. And with that sharp gaze that’s hidden under a low brow, it works to keep his friends and family safe. Then there’s Rowan’s softer look, one I haven’t seen him give any of the other Dogs…

“Milo?” Rowan gently brings me back on task. “What does Ethel have to do with this?”

Shaking my head helps me focus, and I brush my hand over my messy hair to tame it into submission. “I’d been to see her… earlier that day, and well, you’ve met her… She’s a national treasure. At least, she should be. She is to me. Anyway, she’d stolen an almond croissant and a pretzel for me from these little baskets they keep out in the café.”

Rowan’s laugh is throaty and full. “Of course she did.”

The sound raises the hairs on my arms, and my grin widens to its fullest extent. “They’re free for the residents because they know old people don’t eat much, but they charge visitors twice as much as anywhere else. And I don’t exactly have the money to buy overpriced pastries.”

His smile drops then, along with his brow, and it unnerves me on some deep level.

Wanting to bring it back, I hurry to add, “So, anyway, Ethel took them, but she also ordered me a breakfast that she pretended was for her. To distract the staff from her hustle—and to get ahead at poker—she faked a dizzy spell.”

The huffed laugh that blows up my cheeks as it passes my lips is wry. I’d meant to bring back Rowan’s smile, and not only did I fail in that, I killed my own mood while I was at it. Dropping my head, I pick at ripped threads while I continue the explanation that frays my heart strings until they’re messier than my torn jeans.

“And it—the visual of her being crowded as they called out for a medic… When a member of staff held her wrist to find a pulse, it just…” I inhale, and my bottom lip wobbles. “The whole scenario just went down a pathway in my mind that rang every alarm bell and raised every red flag along the way, you know?”

I risk a glance over to Rowan, but there’s something in that steady and sincere gaze that has me looking away again just as quickly. I clear my throat to rid it of the awkward lump of emotion that’s balled up there.

“Ethel smokes and drinks like she’s still in her twenties, and while I love that for her… she’s all I have left.”

Unable to bear the quiet intimacy of the setting, I stand and snatch up the discarded Sharpie from the table. I’ve no real idea what I’m going to do with it as I step over Rowan’s outstretched legs, but just moving around is helping. I think.

Under the heading “Lost Colony” I write, “spell to slow time left with Ethel.”

Something about placing that period at the end feels so final, and my hand lingers. Now that I’ve said it aloud, written the words on the page, their full weight settles over me like a heavy and depressive blanket.

Rowan hums, the sound deep and contemplative, but also reassuring. It’s deep enough to feel like it’s underneath this… fear with me. I’m not alone. The hope is enough for me to find the words to move the story on.

“I don’t know how much you know about magic, but there’s spell craft and then there’s spell casting.” I pop the cap back on the pen with a snap. “And my problem has always been the crafting part. Even as a kid in school, the teachers would always write on my report card that I, ‘lacked concentration and was easily distracted.’”

Doing my best to push all uncomfortable thoughts aside, I aim a wicked grin at Rowan. “I haven’t changed.”

Rowan laughs, then scratches his fingers through his short beard. Does that feel soft, or bristly, I wonder?

What is actually going on in my brain right now?

“So, that night, I erm… winged it.” I shrug, mildly embarrassed because Rowan is such a competent and organised person. “I took elements from three different spells, and I made do with the ingredients I had available because I hadn’t known I was going to do this until I did it. I used the croissant Ethel had stolen for me as the link for my intention.”

“That explains the salt all over the floor,” Rowan muses.

I nod, my cheeks heating. “Anyway, as you can imagine, a lot of my casts have unintended side effects because of how… chaotic, my crafting can be.”

Rowan suddenly sits up, eyes round and alert. “Yer telling me that ye uncovered a corrupt official from the Office of Time, the Lost Colony of Roanoke, and a plan to eliminate the entire Romulan Bloodline by accident? Fuckin’ hell, Milo.”

I lower my head further and poke the toe of my boot into the carpet. My hair falls around my face like a curtain, just one that’s a little too short to fully hide me from view.

Then he adds, “Just how powerful a witch are ye?”

My breath lodges in my throat. What?