Chapter 27 - Melvin
Melvin was the one who noticed the note.
It sat on the small writing desk near the lamp, a single folded sheet placed squarely in the center as if it had always been meant to be found. There was no envelope, no seal. Just heavy cream-colored paper that looked older than anything else in the room.
He crossed the carpet slowly and picked it up. The paper felt ordinary between his fingers.
Mac came up beside him without speaking.
Melvin unfolded the page.
The handwriting was neat and deliberate, ink dark and clean against the paper.
Traveler,
You stand in a place that exists between worlds.
This space holds only what is brought into it.
Nothing living resides here, and nothing will interfere with you while you remain.
Time moves differently beyond these walls.
When the door closes, the world you left will wait for you.
This room will remain open for two hours.
When the time ends, the door will return you to where you entered.
Because the working that sustains this place is costly, access is limited.
This space may be used once in each cycle of seven days.
Time unused is lost. It does not carry forward.
Each threshold is bound to its destination.
One path does not substitute for another.
A traveler who enters here may not claim the forest hall in its place.
Respect the balance, and the way will remain open to you.
Melvin read it twice before lowering the page.
Mac let out a quiet breath. “Two hours.”
Melvin nodded. “That’s precise.”
Mac glanced toward the door. “Once a week.”
“And if we miss it,” Melvin said, “we miss it.”
Mac gave a faint nod. “Doesn’t roll over.”
Melvin turned the paper slightly, checking for anything else. There was nothing on the back.
“No swapping either,” he said. “One place or the other.”
Mac leaned a hand against the desk, studying the room in a different way now.
“Fair usage,” he said quietly. “Like somebody thought this through.”
Melvin folded the paper carefully and set it back where it had been. “Means we’re not the only ones.”
Mac’s eyes shifted to him. “You think other supernaturals use these?”
Melvin nodded faintly. “Something built like this wouldn’t be for just us.”
The thought circled back to Baxter. The captain had suggested the shed too easily, as if he already knew what they might find here. A human officer wouldn’t have pointed them toward something like this.
The realization didn’t feel threatening. It just felt larger.
Mac huffed a quiet breath. “Almost the best two-hour pass I’ve ever seen.”
That almost pulled a smile out of Melvin. Almost.
He turned back toward the room instead, taking it in with new understanding. Neutral ground. No interruptions. No chain of command. No soldiers passing outside thin walls. Just time. Exactly two hours of it.
The quiet was physical. Not just an absence of sound, but a presence, thick and soft, settling over his skin. Melvin let his gaze drift from the desk to the bed, then to Mac, who was standing close enough that the warmth of him was a steady point in the cool air.
Mac’s eyes were on him, a quiet, assessing look that held no urgency. Just presence. Melvin felt the last of the wire’s tension bleed from his muscles.
He didn’t have to be a Lieutenant here.
He didn’t have to listen for the radio or watch the door.
Melvin reached out, his hand finding Mac’s wrist. His fingers slid under the cuff of Mac’s uniform, his thumb pressing against the steady beat of Mac’s pulse. The skin was warm and real.
Mac’s breath hitched, just once, a soft sound in the profound quiet.
Melvin didn’t pull. He just held on. Mac turned his hand, his palm meeting Melvin’s, their fingers threading together in a grip that was familiar and fierce.
No words passed between them. The door was closed, and for the moment the world could wait.
And for these two stolen hours, they were the only thing in it.
Melvin leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t a question. It was a claiming.
His free hand came up to cradle the side of Mac’s face, his thumb brushing the rough stubble along his jaw. Mac’s lips parted on a soft, surprised breath, and then he was kissing back, a low sound building in his chest as the quiet of the room folded around them.
This was different. There was no distant footfall to listen for, no part of their attention held in reserve. The kiss deepened slowly, a gradual sinking. Mac’s hands came up to Melvin’s hips, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform shirt, holding him there as if he might drift away.
They broke apart only when they needed air. Mac’s eyes were closed, his breathing uneven. Melvin kept his hand on Mac’s face, feeling the heat there, the rapid flutter of a pulse at his temple.
“Two hours,” Mac murmured, voice rough.
“I know,” Melvin said. He didn’t move away. His thumb traced the line of Mac’s eyebrow, slow and deliberate. “Let’s not waste a second of it.”
Mac’s hands slid from his hips to the small of his back, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned from chest to thigh.
The pressure was solid, real. Mac dipped his head, his nose brushing the side of Melvin’s neck, inhaling deeply.
The scent there was clearer now, without the overlay of diesel and sweat.
Just him.
A shiver worked its way down Melvin’s spine. He turned his head, his lips finding Mac’s again. This kiss was softer, slow. Mac’s hands began to move, mapping the planes of his back through the uniform, learning the shape of him all over again.
Melvin’s fingers found the buttons of Mac’s shirt. He worked the first one free, then the second, unhurried. The backs of his knuckles brushed against the hot skin of Mac’s chest.
Mac shuddered.
“Let me,” Melvin said, voice low between them.
Mac nodded, his hands stilling. He let Melvin undress him, standing patient as the shirt was pushed from his shoulders. The cool, still air touched his skin, raising goosebumps. Melvin’s gaze traveled over him, taking in the familiar landscape of muscle and scar.
He placed a hand flat on Mac’s chest, right over his heart. The beat was strong and fast under his palm.
“My turn,” Mac said, voice thick.
Melvin didn’t protest. He stood still as Mac’s capable hands made quick work of his own uniform buttons. The fabric parted, and Mac pushed the shirt off, letting it fall to the carpet with a soft sound. His hands settled on Melvin’s bare waist, thumbs stroking the defined ridges of his hip bones.
For a long moment, they just looked.
The lamplight painted their skin in warm gold. Mac’s broader shoulders, Melvin’s leaner lines. The silence was a blanket, a permission.
Mac leaned forward and pressed his lips to the hollow of Melvin’s throat. Then lower, to the center of his chest. He breathed in, deep, as if he could pull the scent into his lungs and keep it there.
“I missed this,” he said, the words muffled against Melvin’s skin.
“I know.” Melvin’s hands came up to thread through Mac’s short hair, holding him close. “Me too.”
They moved toward the bed without breaking contact.
The mattress was firm, the sheets cool and crisp under Melvin’s back as Mac followed him down.
The weight of him was a comfort, an anchor in the strange, quiet room.
Mac braced himself on his forearms, caging Melvin in, his face hovering inches above.
“No one can hear us,” Melvin said, the realization settling over him.
“No one,” Mac echoed, and kissed him again, deeper this time.
Melvin got up and grabbed a bottle of lube from his cargo pocket. He shuffled back to the bed.
“Guess I may have some foreshadowing powers,” he said.
He handed the bottle to Mac, climbing up on the bed and straddling Mac’s hips. He could feel him, hot and thick beneath him, already imagining the weight of him filling him completely. Melvin leaned in, kissing Mac’s temple and pressing his mouth close to his ear.
“Now be a good alpha and breed your mate.”
The words landed in the quiet room like a struck bell.
Melvin heard Mac’s breath rush out, his hands coming up to grip Melvin’s thighs, fingers digging into the muscle there. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. He didn’t speak. He just looked up at Melvin, chest rising and falling, the bottle of lube cool and solid in his hand.
Melvin held his gaze. He shifted his hips, a slow grind that dragged Mac against him. The friction was electric.
A low groan rose out of Mac, raw and unfiltered in the silent space.
Then Mac’s hands were on him, one curling around the base of him, the other smoothing up the back of his thigh. His thumb found the cleft of his ass, a slow press.
Melvin’s head dropped forward, a shudder working through him. “Yeah,” he breathed.
Mac popped the cap on the lube. He poured a generous amount into his palm, warmed it for a second, then his slick fingers returned. The first touch was a cool shock that quickly melted into heat. Mac’s finger circled, slow and thorough, coating him before pressing inside.
Melvin gasped. The stretch was immediate, a blunt, welcome pressure. He pushed back against it, taking him deeper.
“More,” he said, voice rough.
Mac added a second finger, working him open with a patience that felt like reverence.
His other hand stayed on Melvin’s hip, steadying him.
Melvin rocked into the touch, his own need leaking onto Mac’s stomach, leaving a wet, hot trail.
The panther in him purred, a deep, contented rumble he felt in his bones.
“You’re so ready,” Mac murmured, voice thick with want.
He crooked his fingers, searching, and found the spot that made Melvin’s whole body jerk. A sharp sound tore from Melvin’s throat.
“There. Right there.”
Melvin’s hands braced on Mac’s shoulders, his nails biting in. Mac worked that same place, again and again, until Melvin was trembling, sweat beading along his spine.
Mac withdrew his fingers. Melvin whimpered at the loss.