Officially A Felon
Milo
Rowan is… constrained.
His stride beside me matches my gait exactly, but there’s this compressed quality radiating from him.
His energy feels too large, as if he’s forcing himself to be small when he needs to be big.
Is this a werewolf thing? Does he need to shift forms and go run in the woods and chase rabbits?
Or whatever werewolves do to decompress.
I risk peeking over at him, and… yup. His neck is thicker—that vein up the side prominent—and his eyes still have that golden-almond quality of his wolf’s, but at least his fangs and that wider, more canine structure of the bridge of his nose have retracted.
Not that it wasn’t hot as fuck when I could see his wolf so clearly, because it was, but it’s the kind of thing that would definitely get us noticed. And right now, I’m pretty certain that’s the last thing Rowan wants… or needs.
He’s a man on a mission. Well, actually, yes, he is. But I don’t mean a mission mission, I mean it more like, if he were a phone, he’d be in do-not-disturb mode. And that’s really hard for me, because right now, I’m wired like I’m in public-broadcast mode.
I just broke into someone’s home to steal something—I’m officially a felon—and that’s so… exciting.
A tiny little bunny hop sneaks into my feet, and my wrists flap my hands about like they’re wings, but it’s the equivalent of blowing on a ghost pepper before you eat it to cool it down.
Pointless. My thoughts are too loud, the feelings too fizzy, and both of them are mixing inside me about as well as that donut burger I ate at the State Witchcraft and Wonder Fayre.
It’s probably for the best, then, that Rowan isn’t wanting to talk. Because if I open my mouth right now, I’m not sure what might come out. I sneak another glance at the brooding alpha next to me. Probably, it’d be something related to that kiss we almost definitely shared.
Ugh. I suck my lip between my teeth because that moment…
The way his capable and clawed hand cradled the side of my head… more, please. And with the claws, because who knew that was a thing a person could be into. But it is. I’m person.
I chew on my bottom lip. Had his phone not rung when it did, I’d have absolutely kissed the stoic and intimidating Lieutenant Colonel Rowan Rangecroft. My knees give a little wobble mid-step, and I cover it by swiping at the grass and mud stains on my jeans.
The mountain of a man is handsome, kind, patient, and loyal—all the exact qualities I’d have written in a Love List to manifest him into existence.
Rowan’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and for a minute back there, I could have sworn I saw that same inclination reflected back in his wolfish features. But it couldn’t be… could it?
He has a high-ranking job and comes from a prestigious family. He could have anyone he wanted, most probably. Besides, he’s a werewolf—an alpha one—and wolves have mates. Someone perfectly compatible for both the human and the wolf, decided by… Who does decide on werewolf pairings?
I shrug the thought. It’s irrelevant. It’s not just that Rowan’s a werewolf, it’s also that I’m not—neither wolf nor omega.
Likely, he’s waiting until one of his missions brings him across his omega mate so they can settle down, have lots of wolf pups together, and live on that big Scottish Estate he told me about.
And as a human, I don’t have the required anatomy for that role.
I can’t produce wolf pups, or any pups, or witchy babies, or babies of any kind.
Not that I would complain if Rowan were to try and impregnate me… for science. I mean, we should probably make sure that it’s definitely not possible before we rule it out, because who knows, what if…
The loud bleep of the truck’s alarm disabling flushes my mind from the gutter.
When I look up, Rowan’s already holding the rear passenger door open, and I climb in without hesitation. I assume he’ll follow me, like he did when we left the Nest together earlier, but instead he closes my door and climbs into the driver’s seat.
Avoiding making eye contact with me in the mirror, he says, “I thought ye might want to change.”
The blood that rushes to heat my cheeks also makes my head heavier, and I drop my gaze to take in all the dirt and snags in the T-shirt he kindly loaned me for this mission.
It’s ruined. Even if I got it laundered, there’d still be those few tiny holes poked into the fabric from the branches.
Was it expensive? Probably. It’d felt so luxurious when I’d put it on—not like any of the cheap stuff I own.
Rowan pokes my phone through the gap between the front seats of the truck, and I accept it without raising my head.
He starts the engine and the massive vehicle rumbles to life around us, its gentle vibrations passing through the leather of the seats.
While he presses buttons to set up the navigation for the journey back to the city, I yank the stolen hairbrush out from where I wedged it down the waistband at the back of my jeans and buckle in.
Luckily, I hadn’t landed directly on it when I dove headfirst out of the window.
I drag the pad of my thumb over the stiff bristles, and wince at the thought of the damage they could have done if I had.
Still, I have the hairbrush we drove all the way out here for safely in my hand—the one Sarah invested so much energy into communicating about.
It’s not a fancy hairbrush in any way, just the regular kind that you can buy at any drugstore, but coiled around the base of the bristles are tens of strands of dark hair. Hairs that hold over five hundred years of ancestry. Ancestry that links this woman to a person who simply vanished one day.
When it happened, when Time Guy came for the residents of Roanoke Island, this lady’s ancestor must have been somewhere else, and were spared from being folded away in time because of it. But where was she?
Had she been travelling to a neighbouring township to trade wares or skills, like Sarah? Or was she visiting a secret lover?
My eyes flick up to find Rowan’s hazel ones in the truck’s mirror. His brow is set low, as if it struggles under the weight of his thoughts. When our gazes lock, I drop my head.
Once more, I pass my thumb over the bristles, but this time, the sensation comes with the memory of how his thumb had felt when it stroked over my cheek.
And exactly like before, Rowan’s phone rings out, disturbing even my private reminiscence of it.
He clears his throat to answer. “Guardian…”
It’s a silly thing for me to be thinking about anyway. Even if Rowan and I went somewhere once, that’s all it would ever be. Ranger belongs to the Dogs, and when he’s completed this mission—found a way to save his Bloodline—he’ll move on and leave.
Guardian’s rich Amharic accent fills the truck’s cabin. “That’s the first time you’ve ever declined my call.”
I suck my lower lip over my teeth, guilt driving the force I bite down with. Ranger only cancelled that call because of me. Because we… back there… behind the Target… and I… Yeah, my fault.
Rowan shuffles in his seat, uncharacteristically awkward, before he answers matter-of-factly. “Magpie took his first flight from the Nest. I was…”
“Torn. Distracted. I understand, Ranger.”
“We’re en route back to the Nest now. What do ye need?”
“It’s a personal matter.”
Guardian’s words aren’t blunt, not exactly.
They’re more… instructive. As if that one phrase opens up a whole new line of communication between the two.
And somehow that’s worse than if he were just pissed off that Ranger had sent him to voicemail when, arguably, he didn’t have to.
They’ve been friends—family—for a long time.
I’ve only known them for a couple of days.
It’s not right that I was the reason Ranger wasn’t there for him.
“I’ve put in a request with the General’s Office, but I wanted to tell you myself.”
I find Rowan’s eyes in the mirror; I shouldn’t be listening to this, but there’s nowhere else I can go.
As if we shared that thought, he informs, “Magpie can hear ye.”
Abandoning the hairbrush in favour of my phone, I scroll my chat history with Ray, trying desperately to vanish in place.
“That’s okay, this will affect him too. I got a death notification about my parents… suspected homicide.”
Instantly, it’s as if the truck exists in a vacuum and someone just opened a window and sucked out all the air. I bite my lip harder.
It’s been almost ten years since I lost my parents, yet Guardian’s words throw me back so far in time it’s like my body is experiencing it all over again.
I’d been in class at the Academy—Guardian’s on a mission for the Dogs.
They took me to the principal’s office to tell me that my parents had been in a terrible accident. The walls of that room had closed in so hard and fast it was like being sucker punched.
Until later that day, Great Aunt Anabelle had been just a name.
But then she’d dropped everything and driven across three states to accept immediate guardianship of me.
She’d smelled like home, had greeted me with a soft blanket and open arms, and even though nothing was okay…
inside that blanket, it felt like maybe it could be okay.
I swipe aggressively at my eyes with the back of my free hand.
Guardian had needed his friend—his person with a blanket—and I took that from him.
“Guardian…” Rowan’s knuckles turn white where they hold the wheel as he struggles with words of comfort. “I’m… so sorry. Jesus.”
Determined not to take more from him, to not make this about me, I squash all those really big feelings that threaten to spill out back inside that box in my mind.
I had an Anabelle, and with her came an Ethel, and between them they helped me find my feet again—helped me learn which way was up.
Because of them, I’m no longer that scared fourteen-year-old boy who’d been angry at a world that had taken so much.
Now, I’m an adult. One with a purpose… with a mission.
“What do ye need from me? I can call the General’s Office as yer CO, tell them I’m placing ye on emergency leave?”
“No. I don’t need that. I’ve… Ranger, I’ve asked for a team of my own to go and investigate.”
Rowan exhales, and the silence in the truck makes it hard to breathe.
Trying my best to focus on what I’m doing here—what I’m really doing here—I send a text to Ray.
I’m going to try astral travel again. On purpose. There’s someone I want to talk to.
“I see,” is Rowan’s considered response to Guardian’s information.
“You understand why it can’t be the Dogs, Ranger? Not in the current… climate.”
“Yeah.” But his short and blunt answer tells me that while Rowan understands, he’s not happy. “I need a full SitRep on Tempo.”
Ray’s response flashes on my screen, drawing my attention.
Ray:
On the assumption that I can’t talk you out of this, then please make sure you have an anchor this time.
“Tempo is underway and will deliver within five hours. I will remain CO for that.”
“Mhm, and after?”
I don’t speak military. Well, not much, but I’m pretty sure that Guardian just said they’ll have identifications for every head of department within the Office of Time by tonight. Nodding to myself as I mentally file away that information, I message Ray back.
Like a familiar? You know I don’t have one of those.
“I’m recommending Bear,” Guardian continues.
Rowan clicks his tongue loudly. “He has this, Ranger. The next phase is already planned, and he is the assigned lead for that. It makes the most sense—he’s overlooked in a crowd, he speaks native Italian, and he has familial credentials that might explain his presence if questioned. ”
Rowan’s fingers tap on the wheel. Agitation, I’ve learned. His wolf is already under stress at being parted from his unit, and now this on top of everything. A self-deprecating laugh escapes my sore lips. Of course Ranger doesn’t need the extra hassle I represent.
And I don’t need to be dragged off course by pack politics that might stop me from helping free Sarah and the Lost Colony—and then from hopefully securing Sarah’s help in properly preserving the time I have left with Ethel.
Ray:
Doesn’t have to be a familiar. Anyone with strong ties to you will work. They’ll act as a tether, and if the cast goes wrong, you’ll be able to use them to find your way back.
K, I’ll figure something out.
At the same time, Ranger says, “I’ll think on it.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror.
Wordlessly and in synchronicity, we each close our screens.