Page 84 of Werewolves and Witches AU

Sarah was very adamant that I use feathers in this spell, however. I look around the room… and my gaze lands on the pillow and sheets still folded neatly at the foot of my bed. A pillow, that like everything else in this house will be decent quality. Let’s hope it doesn’t make too much difference to the spell if it’s duck or goose down.

One thing I do know for sure, though, is that the next five minutes need to be the quietest of my life—the whole of the Romulan Bloodline, Sarah and the Colonists, and Ethel, depend on it.

30

Tactical Retreat

Rowan

I lick my lips, pausing with the bag of sugar suspended just above the bowl of flour. Apples—and the faint tingle from our kiss.

The speed with which Milo came around from his spell cast was startling, and it’d caught me off guard.

He’d been in it for hours. Hours. Each one of them painfully slow. I’d counted every breath, my wolf vigilantly tracked each heartbeat, and my hands never once loosened their hold on his legs.

When I told Milo I’d do anything to increase the chances that he stayed safe during a cast, I meant it, but I didn’t know what to expect. Not really. Our proximity had been… intimate, and yet my wolf had demanded we get closer still, that the space between us was too great.

Milo had been specific about the crystal remaining upright between us, however, so I’d fought my wolf on this point every minute of all three of those long hours.

By the time Milo ended the cast, when he returned, I was exhausted in a way I don’t remember ever having been before. One of the things that makes werewolves such great military personnel is that our two forms can share energy between them. While the human sleeps, the wolf remains alert, and vice versa, meaning we appear to never rest, and can often achieve twice as much as non-werewolf soldiers. But never has a mission taxed both me and my wolf as much as this one does, and technically, I’m responsible for just one witch.

One specific witch.

I pour the sugar for the dough by eye. Mostly because I’m not yet sure that I know what it is I’m baking.

Our kiss did cement one thing in my mind, though—I’ve fallen for Milo. Somewhere between discovering the waifish man sitting on my doorstep a couple of days ago and that kiss, I’ve caught feelings. And that couldn’t be more of a disaster.

Which is why I’d tactically retreated to the sanctuary of my kitchen when I came, quite literally, face to face with the overwhelming odds that were stacked against me.

With the dry ingredients now mounded high, I add a splash of vanilla to a couple of beaten eggs, then into a copper pan, I drop half a stick of butter. While I watch the yellow puddle expand, I contemplate what these feelings mean—for me, for Milo, and for my missions.

The agitation I’d experienced when Milo had joked that if the spell went awry he could become stuck in a fold in the fabric of time isn’t an experience I want to repeat. Ever.

This is why I’d always sworn off having a significant other—a partner. Every Dog in this pack takes risks with their lives every day. Even right now, as I pour melted butter into what I recognise to be cookie dough, Bear and Delilah are risking theirs for the sake of Operation Tempo.

Magpie shouldn’t be any different—but he is. Absolutely he is.

I’d had to bite my tongue at one point to stop from pleading with him not to cast his spell. From arguing that we’d find another way, or suggesting that he wait for the outcome of Bear’s mission, to demanding—forbidding him, even—from doing something that would put him at risk. And none of these things are good things.

Slowly, I fold the flour and sugar into the eggs and butter until they bind together.

What’s always made me good at what I do, what makes me perfect to lead the Dogs, is that I’m trusted to utilise each member’s unique abilities without personal affections clouding the vision of the mission.

When Milo had kissed me, when he’d pressed himself flush against me, every single one of those defining traits and features flew out of the window. I’d been so flooded with relief that it was over and he was back safely, that I’d reflexively pulled him closer. My only thoughts had been about him, but the Dogs depend on me to be there for them. When I’m with Milo, my loyalties are divided.

Even now, as I rifle through the pantry for chocolate chips—white and dark—my wolf is listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom directly above us.

Milo probably hates me after how I left him standing there. He’d be justified, and I hate myself for doing that.

I pause, the two bags of chocolate on the counter in front of me… Is this why I’m baking cookies that follow the taste profile of his favourite iced coffee?

I huff out a sardonic chuckle. Even subconsciously, my actions are guided by my need to appease Milo. Still, I upend the packets because Milo has an incurable sweet tooth. Then, I turn the dough out onto the countertop and divide it into individual cookies that I space out on a baking sheet, before sliding them into the oven.

23:37. I set the timer, and clear away the mixing bowls and spoons into the dishwasher.

Bear and Alfie should be wrapping up.

Impatient, I place a call to Guardian, and while it connects, I cycle through the cameras that govern the perimeter of the Nest.