Page 90 of Werewolves and Witches AU

“For yer wolf to have chosen him, it means he’s yer equal… And if he’s yer equal, then he’s just like ye. So, if it were ye who’d been lost, what would ye be doing?”

“I’d be finishing the mission.”

“What’s the mission, Ro?”

“Shit.” I rush out of the house and slam the door. “I really have to go now, Lee.”

“Yer going to go reclaim yer Package?”

My wolf answers in a growl.

“Great. I’m going to sleep, then. Don’t disturb me.”

“Thanks, Lee.” The line is already dead—Riley didn’t wait, and I climb into the truck.

While I drive, I go over the facts.

Milo did his last spell cast in the hope of finding out more about the Luna del Lupo, and how to use the enchantment to protect the Romulan Bloodline. His strongest emotion when he finished was elation and happiness, which means it was a success. He must have learned how to stop Janus.

And my reckless, brilliant, stupid, beautiful… mate is going to try and fix it all by himself.

32

I Hope You Can Hear Me

Milo

Downtown’s Colonial National Bank was once Roanoke’s tallest building. Its striking façade, even in the middle of the night, screams wealth and prestige, but its neoclassical architecture is not the reason I selected it as the site for this spell. The building is twelve stories tall, making its roof the thirteenth floor.

I tilt my head back to appreciate the monumental size of the task ahead of me. From my current vantage point, leaning against the stoplights on the opposite corner of Campbell and Jefferson, I’ve been watching the bank’s security team through its impressively large windows that make up the first two floors for the last several minutes.

Ranger’s recent lesson in how to conduct a successful recce has taught me that the only way I’m getting onto the roof of the bank is by walking through the front door. Of course, there’s the small inconvenience of the fact that the doors are locked, and even if I somehow get through them, I’d then have to get past the two security guards who are bathed in the blue light from the collection of monitors on the lobby desk.

And I haven’t seen them yet, but I’d bet an iced coffee that there’s at least two more guards patrolling the upper floors—Ranger also taught me that any organised team worth their salt always moves in pairs.

Straining, I narrow my eyes to read the time on the ornate stained-glass clock affixed to the corner of the building. Just past midnight. The two-faced timepiece is the other reason this building has to be the one I cast the spell from.

The low rumble of an approaching truck causes me to tug the bill of my borrowed ball cap lower. The white SUV slows as it meets the junction, then rides the curb outside the bank, and parks up on the widened sidewalk directly in front of it. The logo on the side reads Jackal Security Services.

From across the street I straighten, watching as a team of four men, who are all laughing and joking with each other, climb out and strap on utility belts, bulletproof vests, and other uniform items like peaked caps. This is the only chance I’m likely to get.

Inhaling, I ask myself, “What would the Dogs of War do?”

With nothing to lose, I right the straps of my backpack, and jog across the intersection toward the men. “Hey, guys, wait up.”

Two of the men look over their shoulders as I close the distance between them, continuing to holster their weapons and check their flashlights. The other two stop and turn bodily to face me.

“What’re you doing here, kid?” asks one of the men. He has a ruggedness about him that I think he’s trying to hide under a goatee, but he shares a certain something with Ranger.

When I’m only a few feet away, I stand to attention. “Pete told me to report here for the shift change at quarter past. Specifically, he told me that you hate it when trainees are late, so I made sure to get here early.”

Their rugged commanding officer narrows his eyes. “Who’s Pete?”

“He’s my…” I maintain my salute and somehow manage to shrug at the same time. “Case worker, I think he’s called. Officially. He’s responsible for trying to get me into full time employment.”

This isn’t entirely untrue, either. Pete is someone who works with me occasionally to see about more stable and long-term employment, because apparently selling shampoo isn’t that. It’s just that Pete didn’t send me here.

“Jesus, Matt. They’re sending us kids.” I let the insult slide because now I know the CO is called Matt.