Page 78 of Werewolves and Witches AU

“Which one of us is the witch, hmm?” I cock my brow and take the mirror.

“That’s not even the same mirror,” he says, pointing to the one that I’m now wiping dry on my shirt—well, Rowan’s shirt.

I shrug. “They’re all connected.”

Gathering the mirror, salt, and thyme in my arms, I head back to the living room.

“But you could help make it safer, if you wanted?” I toss over my shoulder as he follows.

I take a moment to position the mirror so the hairbrush is in the centre of its focus, and then turn the salt shaker this way and that way looking for how it unscrews.

Once again, Rowan takes it from me, removes the lid, and hands it back. “How do I do that?”

A little at a time, I pour what’s probably the thinnest pentagram ever so that the tiny amount of salt in the shaker spreads far enough to complete—I won’t be making that mistake again. “According to Ray…”

Another low growl from the werewolf cuts me off. Surely he’s not jealous? Of Ray? Because if he was, that would mean that underneath it all, Rowan cares. I suck the inside of my bottom lip between my teeth.

No, it’s not that. More likely it’s because I’m pouring his cooking salt all over the floor.

“According to Ray…” I try again. “I need an anchor. Someone I have a strong connection with to help me find my way back.”

When the pentagram completes, I hand the mostly empty shaker back to Rowan, who dips his head to catch my eye. “I mean, what do I need to do? If it helps keep ye safe, Milo, I don’t care what it’s called—I’ll do it.”

I pause, unable to fight the blush that heats my cheeks. With my head still lowered, I nod, and point to the seat cushions on the floor. “You’ll sit on that one, and I’ll sit on this one.”

Rowan sets aside the shaker and dutifully folds his large body onto the cushion without disturbing the balanced Cairngorm Quartz.

With much mental effort to keep my intentions focused on the spell cast, I tear off the thyme leaves and sprinkle them over the salt lines. Then I take my seat opposite Rowan.

Except… “Oh.”

“What?”

“We need to touch somehow, but that crystal has to stay between us, and I might need my hands—”

“Pass me yer legs.”

“Huh?”

“Yer legs, Milo. Put one here.” He pats his right thigh, up by his groin. “And the other here.” He pats his left thigh.

Oh. Yeah. Sure. I can totally do that. It’s not at all like if I was to just scoot forward a little bit that I’d be sitting directly in Rowan’s lap.

Awkwardly, and almost knocking over the quartz—twice—I manage to get my feet to cradle his hips.

“Thank god for long legs,” I mumble.

“What did ye say?” He brings his large, warm hands to rest on my shins.

“I need to clear my head.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve got ye, Pup.”

With more focus than I’ve ever given anything in my entire life, I try my best to centre my breathing, but his proximity is throwing me off.

I close my eyes and repeat a simple mantra in my mind. “I am breathing in. I am breathing out.”

Gradually, I stop noticing the hands on my legs, and instead become aware of the cool sea breeze on my skin.