Page 97 of Werewolves and Witches AU

Janus stalks into my line of sight, arm held out stiffly in front of him, and with a gun pointed right at Milo’s face.

I growl in warning, and pull as hard as I can.

Janus fires.

The shot echoes from the building and out across the silent downtown landscape.

Milo scrunches his eyes shut, braced for the impact.

My heart stops beating.

34

Señora Tiempo

Rowan

There’s a sudden drop in atmospheric pressure, like when the cabin of a plane changes on take-off, and I swallow to equalise it. A faint ringing floods my ears, nausea flips my stomach, and the space between my heartbeats stretches through time while I fixate on that silver bullet that hurtles toward Milo’s skull as if in slow motion.

Every cell in my body tenses, and I tighten my grip on his wrist. If I will it hard enough, maybe I can throw that projectile off course, because it can’t connect. It can’t reach its target. I won’t allow it.

I just found him, my mate, and the threat that I might not…

Memories of each interaction since we met race through my mind.

Him looking up at me with those impossible rainbow-grey eyes and silver-blond hair that shimmers in the sunlight. How his whip-sharp intellect is cleverly disguised under a layer of chaos and iced coffee. How Milo might not be a werewolf, yet he loves—and fights for that love—just as hard as any wolf would. The smell of crisp apples. How I never stood a chance, because there’s no one else in the world like him; Milo is my perfect match.

But what crowds out those warming images and chills the blood in my veins, is the petrifying knowledge that I’m not enough. He ran off to do this alone because of me, because I rejected the mate my wolf chose for us, and if I hadn’t… If I’d just drawn Milo closer last night, instead of pushing him away, if I’d laid him out on those cushions and claimed him, then our biggest problem right now would be training him to take my knot, rather than the spinning silver bullet suspended three inches from his beautiful face.

Milo opens his eyes.

My heart finally resumes its beat.

“Está bien, Rowan of the Rangecroft Clan, you can lift Milo, last descendant of the Fidelis Family Line, to safety now.” The soft voice is accented—Spanish, or Mexican maybe—but I refuse to take my eyes from Milo to discover who’s speaking.

Milo’s gaze is equally stuck on the bullet that should have ended his life. It’s burning the air around it, as if it’s still moving—but it isn’t. It’s perfectly still.

“Rowan…” His voice is barely audible, even to my wolf.

Kicking myself into gear, I waste no further time hauling Milo up and onto the roof. Still lying down, I draw Milo in close, pressing him tight along the full length of my body. I tangle our ankles, wrap both arms around him, and tuck his head into my chest. Both our hearts are pounding.

“I’ve got ye, Pup.” I dip my chin and kiss the crown of his head.

Milo’s whole body trembles with cold, shock, maybe both, and I inhale his fresh apple scent to help soothe my wolf. “God, have I got ye.”

I squeeze him closer still, then roll us to put Milo flat on the ground. With my bigger frame covering his, I’m better able to guard him, to block any and all threats.

Neither of us move. My wolf and I need Milo close to know that he’s safe. Each exhale he offers forms my next inhale, and for a minute, we breathe each other’s air.

When my heart’s calmed enough, I nudge his cheek to the side with my nose, and rest my open mouth right over where the scent gland on his neck would be if he were a wolf. I flatten my tongue over his sweat-slicked skin, delighting in the hammering of his carotid artery against it. He’s here. He’s alive.

His fingers have made tight fists in the fabric of my T-shirt where he can reach between the straps of my bulletproof vest, and he twists and tugs at it as if trying to climb inside me. I lick and kiss his hot skin, then gently press my fanged teeth into his supple flesh.

“You should discuss the impact of a claiming bite before you let your wolf follow through with that impulse, Lieutenant Colonel.”

In an instant, my wolf surges forward, forcing a further shift. My claws fully extend and dig into the shingle either side of Milo’s head. I untangle our ankles and set my legs either side of his hips, allowing my heels to lift off the floor and my feet to adopt a digitigrade posture. A full set of lupine teeth fill my mouth, and when I growl, the vibration carries on the still night air.

Underneath me, Milo tilts his head back, resting the top of his head on the sharp ground and elongating his neck so he can see who’s speaking.