The Wolf Rowan
Rowan finds Gideon in the kitchen, washing dishes in the sink. It smells like an unholy miasma of scents: lasagna, fried rice, and baking spices, and for the first time in his short life, Rowan smells food and wants to hurl.
Even after that epic tequila binge on New Year’s Eve, Rowan had scarfed down a dozen fried eggs and a pound of bacon while his family had looked on, green around the gills.
He’s glad he’d shifted outside, because his wolf-nose would have turned that feeling into a gross reality.
Turns out, avoiding puke and getting a hug from Grayson are excellent points in favor of a pre-house shift.
Not that he’ll tell anyone about how important either is to his equilibrium at the moment.
In what had been an undeniably weird week, Rowan had spent almost the entire time as the Wolf.
Not that he’d planned it that way. Gideon had already put his foot down about eating meals at the table in person form, and the whole pack had unanimously agreed the nest was strictly off-limits to him unless he was bipedal and in his person-form.
Still, somehow, he’d managed to spend most of his days on four paws.
It wasn’t a choice so much as a compulsion—as if he needed to be in his most intimidating form to guard his pregnant mate and their den properly.
Every inch of the compound reeked of his scent, a clear warning to any would-be interlopers about the dire consequences of trespassing should they even think about breaching the perimeter to cause harm, or other nefarious purposes like… uh…delivering the mail.
Even Jay had proven useful in that regard, though the Wolf still despaired over the fact that his alpha couldn’t shift.
At least the pack leader had recognized the new pizza boy for what he truly was: a threat.
How dare he try to feed their mates? The Wolf conveniently ignored the part where Leo had actually ordered the food.
Because providing for his pregnant mate was the Wolf’s job, not something left to random human upstarts.
It’s not just that he prefers the way the Wolf goes through life: on his terms, with his instincts leading the way.
Even though that has certainly been a revelation.
Who could have known that this was why he’d struggled his whole life to hold himself back?
That the things Rowan felt were lacking in himself were because he’d been denying who he was this whole time?
Luca. That’s who. His sweet-cheeked, twitchy little mate with the juiciest butt and the biggest heart had figured out—for himself and Rowan—that letting the Wolf out meant he could give him what they both needed.
Freedom.
It made being a person easier, too. And regardless of all the flak he’d been taking over the past five months—and especially this week—for letting his Wolf run the show (Don’t pee on that, Rowan.
Don’t hump my leg, Rowan. Don’t eat food off the floor, Rowan.
Blah-fucking-blah), Rowan had noticed a surprising side effect: less conflict.
Particularly with his fellow enigmas. He found himself less inclined to annoy Grayson until he snapped, whether literally or figuratively.
And, surprisingly, less interested in reminding Jay that the pack alpha’s authority largely depended on Rowan’s willingness to avoid hard decisions and his general apathy for societal rules.
Just today, Jay had let so much of Rowan’s shit slide.
Rowan knew he’d pushed his alpha to the limit with that laptop stunt.
Their entire production company might as well have been built on whatever was inside that thing, and despite Jay’s usual “people are more important than things” line, everyone knew how carefully he handled it.
So when Rowan had challenged him to a run (okay, a chase), the Wolf had been confident Jay wouldn’t take it as a genuine threat to his position.
Instead, he’d recognize it for what it was: a chance to pit themselves against each other in a new way.
Testing limits, sure, but not in a way that would actually tip the balance of the pack.
And it had been euphoric.
The Wolf found Jay to be a truly exhilarating opponent; his senses and cunning had been put to the test in new ways that they’d been craving.
When his alpha had taken him to his belly and then let him do the same—and Rowan was under no illusion, he knew that Jay had allowed himself to be caught—Rowan had wanted to let Jay fuck him in the forest so he could shout his alpha’s name into the dying sun.
Maybe even let the new moon rise over the trees and show the Goddess what They had made.
And when Rowan thinks about it, he guesses they are about to show Them what They had made, because the Wolf’s pups are about to join their pack.
No sooner does Rowan hear the words in his head than his body breaks out in a cold sweat, and his snack of grubs (we listen and we don’t judge) from the forest makes its way back up.
He barely makes it to the powder room in time, collapsing over the pristine toilet just as the contents of his stomach revolt.
Thank the Goddess it’s Leo’s week to clean the shared space and not his.
When he’s finally done heaving, he flushes and drops to his knees, resting his forehead against the cool edge of the seat, trying to pull himself together.
“You okay there, Ro?” Gideon asks, offering him a glass of water and a warm, wet cloth for his face. Tsuki drags a pair of Grayson’s sweats to the doorway and then lies outside with a huff.
Is he okay? Not really.
And now that the Wolf isn’t running the show and he can’t hide behind the luxury of not having the vocal cords that don’t allow language, Rowan has to confess his weakness to Gideon.
So he says, “Not really.”
Gideon nods, nudging the sweats with his bare toes. “Cover your cold ass.”
Rowan climbs to his feet to put his pants on and then rinses his mouth out again in the sink.
Gideon’s sitting on the end of the couch, and Rowan notices he’s wearing the new apron he’d received from Leo as a New Year’s gift: I Make Gordon Ramsay Look Like An Angel.
It’s an artist’s rendering of a naked cherubic angel with Gordon Ramsay’s face.
It’s hilarious for several reasons, but mostly because it’s ironic in every way but one.
Gideon is kind and loving.
Rowan has said (and done) a lot of nice things to Gideon over the past two-plus years, but neither of them wants to deal with him acknowledging them out loud.
Instead, he pushes Gideon backward off the arm of the couch onto the cushions so he can lie on top of him, with his head on his chest and his feet hanging awkwardly off the side.
Without a second of hesitation, Gideon hugs him tight and runs a hand through his hair. He should probably be upstairs with Nix, but he needs Gideon to help him first. Help him be calm, and remind him that he can do this thing.
The front door beeps, and Grayson’s perfumey fragrance fills the space, followed by Jay’s smoky pine.
Rowan would normally try to avoid the teasing he knows is coming and dry hump Gideon for comedic impact (and pleasure) before sliding away, but instead, he just lies there while Gideon hums an old Frank Sinatra song in his ear.
“You okay, Ro?” Jay asks.
“Why is everyone asking me that?” he gripes, even though he knows why. He feels a surge of love when not one of them comments about his position or his whiny tone.
“How is he?” Grayson asks Gideon.
He means his soulmate, but Rowan isn’t surprised when Gideon says, “Rowan is fine.”
Jay snorts, and Rowan climbs off Gideon to pull him into a sitting position. “Why are you down here, Gideon?”
Gideon runs a hand over his face. “He only wants Luca and Finn right now.”
His Wolf doesn’t like the idea one bit, so Rowan stands up so he can lean into Jay, and maybe convince him to give up his t-shirt. The Wolf thinks they need to see Nix covered in their alpha’s scent…for, you know…reasons. Not at all to do with reassurance. No, siree.
“Why wouldn’t he want to see us? Gimme your shirt.”
Jay doesn’t hesitate to give Rowan his shirt, pulling it up over his head with one hand. “I don’t know, baby. But surely he doesn’t mean the two of you.” Jay nods to Grayson and Rowan.
Gideon disappears down the hall and returns with a replacement t-shirt for Jay. It’s white, and not at all what Jay was expecting, given his penchant for fifty shades of black. “All I know is what Luca said. Where is Leo?”
Sitting heavily on the couch, Grayson pulls his shoulder-length hair up into a knot on the top of his head. “On his way. I…uh…got a bit ahead of him and then hitched that ride with Artem. He had to get an Uber.”
That makes no sense to Rowan, given they went together to the Guild, but he’s distracted when a sharp pain stabs through his belly and he doubles over to puke on Gideon’s very nice rug. Yes, it’s Gideon’s rug. Everything in this house is Gideon’s, including them.
Grayson moans and curls into a ball on his side on the couch. “Ow. Fuck.” He raises his hand to cover his face, stopping just in time, considering there are sparks flickering at the end of his fingertips. “Shit.”
He hadn’t noticed, but Gideon was forcing Jay into the room’s only chair and his head between his knees. Even Gideon looks a bit pale, but he manages to keep his feet.
Grayson sits up again as the wave passes. “Nix has been holding down the bonds all day. And The Plain, too. Whatever that was, it feels like shit. Holy fuck.”
Rowan grimaces, letting a whine escape him because he knows what that is. Knows it in his bones and muscles and every cell of his body. That is labor. “He’s trying to hold back the bonds because he doesn’t want to hurt us.”
There are unanimous expressions of shock and then horror.
Because they know they’re not getting a fraction of what Nix is going through on his own, and that he’s still worried about hurting them makes Rowan sick.
Literally. He doesn’t even try to get over the old mess before he adds to it.
It’s instantaneous, and matches Jay’s groan and Grayson’s gasp.
The Wolf tries to get him to shift, to dull their “human” emotions so it doesn’t hurt so much, but Rowan thinks this is something he should feel in its purest, most “human” form. Nix is, after all.
The security door beeps, and it’s followed by the sound of Leo speaking in low tones on the phone.
“I don’t have any control over it hurting him, Mom.
” He pauses and comes around the corner, gets a whiff of Rowan’s puke, which no one (not going to be him, if he can help it) has begun to clean up, and he wrinkles his handsome nose.
“Shit–er–sorry, Mom. I gotta go. I’m home.
No, just—no, don’t come over he—yeah, okay, love you too, bye. ”
He scans the room. Rowan tries to see what’s put that alarmed look on his face.
He clocks Jay looking gray, pale, sweaty, and clutching his chest, Gideon’s wild hair and fangs poking into his lower lip, and Grayson glowing with a subtle pink light, hair slipped free of his top-knot to swirl in a non-existent breeze.
It seems wise to avoid acknowledging his own stinky mess entirely.
Yeah, okay, so they all look a little worse for wear.
Leo Costas has always been the smartest one in the room. He moves slowly and puts his hands out in a gentling manner. And for the third time in thirty minutes, Rowan is being asked, “Are you okay? What the fuck happened?”
Gideon shakes it off and rolls his eyes. “Of course we’re fine. Help me move this couch, Leo. We’ll send the rug out to be cleaned next week. Are any of you hungry?”
There’s a collective groan, and only Leo says, “Yes.”
They bring Leo up to speed while he and Gideon move the couch so they can roll up the rug. He takes his food into Finn’s library to eat it so as not to set Rowan off again, returning in sweats thirty minutes later.
Rowan could hardly wait to get Gideon on his back again once he’d wrangled him away from the stinky food smells in the kitchen into the living room. Jay is alternating between pacing like the expectant father he is and clutching his chest like the old man he also is.
Grayson has taken himself outside to blow off some literal steam. Swimming in the pool, he’s leaving a subtle trail of vapor in his wake. As if he’s heating the pool, rather than the pool cooling him down.
Where the pain in Rowan’s belly has been getting more frequent and intense, it’s the Wolf’s anxiety that is making Rowan twitchy. He’s trying to let Gideon’s back rubs and head kisses soothe him as they usually do.
It goes on like that for what seems like hours. The pacing, swimming, and soothing.
And there’s Leo—calm, steady, either washing dishes in the kitchen or standing sentinel in the hall.
The moment he’d heard Nix wanted to labor on his own, Leo had made it his mission to keep the rest of them out.
His disapproving stare did more to stop them in their tracks than the hand he’d once placed firmly in the center of Jay’s chest.
It’s late, after 11:00 PM, and no one has turned the lights on; the new moon is shining through the tall windows.
Rowan squeezes his eyes closed, and he presses his nose into Leo’s neck, letting the spicy cinnamon ease some of the pain that’s near-constant under his belly button.
Wave upon wave washes over him, making him sweat and moan.
He’s happy to bear it because he knows his mate is doing more upstairs to bring their babies into the world.
He blames a particularly bad wave for not hearing Gideon’s phone buzz with a text. The alpha had been sitting on the floor against the wall nearest the right-wing doorway with Grayson’s hair in his hand, alternating between a grounding pull and scratching his nails along the enigma’s scalp.
They all freeze when Gideon eases Grayson up, so he can stand up, too.
He glances at Jay, his expression unreadable for a moment before he announces, “Nix wants us.”