Stupid Giant Ginger Wolf
Milo
His large, safe hands are on my thighs, and his werewolf heat warms my core.
Tall and strong, his body shields me. Constant and present, his familiarity anchors me.
A lifeline.
We did it, Sarah and me, we crafted the solution to both our problems!
As that knowledge blooms in my mind, the edges of my lips curl slowly upward before parting into a wide and triumphant grin.
All the ingredients for this ambitious spell hover at the very front of my awareness, scrolling by like a living list so that I don’t forget—a technique my new Coven Leader taught me.
And there behind them, holding me up physically, supporting me emotionally, and grounding me spiritually, is the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met.
Rowan blows out a long breath. “God. Milo, yer back! I was getting—”
Fit to bursting with all the bubbling and fizzing feelings that fill my body, I launch myself at him before he’s even finished speaking, and kiss him with everything I have.
Soft. Rowan’s short beard hairs are soft.
His lips are warm, like the rest of him. Werewolf warm, heart and soul warm.
Capable hands smooth up the plane of my back, and my whole body responds with a shudder that rolls up my spine from my toes.
I press myself closer. The Cairngorm Quartz digs into my sternum, but I ignore her sharp edges in favour of chasing more of Rowan.
His hands continue their exploration over my shoulder blades before switching position to cup the tops of my arms.
He kisses me back—brief and hesitant—and I almost die.
Yesss, this. This is what I’ve wanted.
Roughened palms glide along my arms, until he finds where my wrists are locked tight behind his neck.
“Milo…” he grunts, breathless.
Incrementally, he increases the pressure at his fingertips until he works his way between my hands. Threading his fingers through mine, he powers up through muscled thighs, and with me still seated almost in his lap, he stands.
I swoon. So strong!
Gravity assists my legs with their rediscovery of the floor, and the abrupt change in position—not to mention one foot being on the sofa seat cushion and the other not—causes me to sway in place. All the while, Rowan holds me firmly.
When I find my balance, I rise on my tiptoes and lean in for another kiss. I need more. So much more. All the more.
But my arms are held in place by my sides.
“I…” Rowan stutters. “Ye…”
He takes a large step back.
Cold air rushes over me like I feared that iced coffee would when we hit the pothole in the truck the other day.
Hazel eyes, almost golden, sear through me, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so exposed.
Rowan takes another step back, then another, until—wordlessly—he retreats to the safety of the kitchen, and closes the door behind him.
Left alone, I suck my bottom lip between my teeth.
I hadn’t meant to… Okay, well, that’s not true. I had meant to, but I didn’t think that would be the reaction. The way he touches me, looks at me, speaks to me… I’d thought…
But then, I’d also thought Rowan was different. He isn’t.
What would he have said if he’d finished that sentence he started?
“Sorry, Milo, but yer too much.”
“It’s not ye, Milo, it’s me.”
“Yer not a Dog, Milo. Nor a wolf. We could never work.”
“Only for tonight, Milo.”
The last one gives me the full-body ick, and I stagger off the sofa cushion. Kissing Rowan was a mistake.
It’s like travelling back in time, but in a whole different way than the spell I just cast to talk with Sarah. The sting of this rejection reminds me of exactly how I felt when I discovered my scumbag ex cheating on me with Ray—cheating on Ray with me.
My fists clench by my sides, nails digging little crescents into my palms. I’d promised myself then, that never again would I prioritise someone who doesn’t also value me. I’m worth more than that.
I’m worthy of being someone’s equal—their partner—and one day, someone will see that value, and they will choose me.
They’ll stand up in front of the whole world and, with a proud smile, point right at me and say, “That one. I choose him. I want him. I love him.”
I cut my eyes to the closed kitchen door and narrow them. I refuse to settle for less than being someone’s first choice.
Fists still clenched, I take a deep breath in and hold it for a three-count.
Until then, I have a mission to complete. A really important one. One only a powerful warlock can achieve. A mission that I just travelled through the folds of time to craft. A spell so powerful it will spare the Romulan Bloodline and free the Lost Colony.
I stick out my tongue at the white-painted door and the stupid, giant, ginger wolf on the other side.
Determined, I nod to myself, then step out from among the artfully wonky cushions, the toppled crystal, and the disturbed salt and thyme, to snatch up the small shaving mirror.
My first order of business is to replace Mr Hairy’s precious mirror and get a shower. Showers are great for thinking. But also, I’m still wearing the alpha’s T-shirt, and he has no right to claim me in that way, when he won’t claim all of me in the way I deserve to be claimed.
Besides, I have perfectly fine T-shirts of my own.
Leaving everything where it is, I stomp up the stairs, and slam the bathroom door shut behind me for good measure.
Mirror in hand, I approach the holes in the wall from where I removed it earlier, but then realise that I left the screwdriver downstairs. I scrunch my eyes shut and lift my face to the ceiling. Idiot, Milo.
But I can’t exactly go back downstairs for it, not after my purposefully loud and dramatic exit which was in no way done with Ol’ Wolf Ears in mind.
With nowhere else to put the small mirror for now, I set it on the window ledge and strip. My shirt and jeans are gross, all of me feels gross, so I fight and tug and kick and pull until everything is inside out in a heaped pile on the floor.
Delving under the instantly hot stream of water, I stand still while my heaving chest calms and my tense muscles ease.
The pressure here is great, and the jets pound onto my skin. I roll my neck, captivated by the paths the rivulets carve as they pass down my body. A body I almost let Rowan trail his tongue—nope. No. Not happening.
Turning, I direct the stream onto the very top of my skull, hoping that as well as the dirt and debris from my headfirst tumble through a hedge, it might wash out those lingering wishes for what Rowan and I could be.
For every minute that passes, I feel a little better, and stand a little taller.
Wiping the water from my eyes, I pop my head out from the spray and search for a bottle of shampoo.
Maybe “hunt” would be a more accurate word, though, because the single shelf is filled with different products, all with very specific jobs: hair wash, body wash, beard wash, face scrub, hair conditioner, and a separate beard conditioner. Wow.
Why does the hair on the head and the hair on the face need a different soap?
Shrugging, I take a healthy squirt of shampoo and lather it in. After all, I did risk severe injury with a hedge earlier for the sake of our mission while Ranger just stood there. So really, loaning me the obviously expensive shower products is the least he can do.
Curious, I use the face scrub next. I’ve used face scrubs before, of course. The aloe vera products I sell have one in their range and they sent me a sample when I joined, but I hadn’t been so amazed that I’d felt the need to replace it when it was finished.
I wince, my fingers stalling when I rub the tiny fragments of whatever over the forgotten scratch on my cheek.
Lowering my fingers, I check for blood, but also…
I hope those aren’t micro plastics. My company uses ground apricot pits, one of many environmentally friendly substitutes.
Unconvinced, I give the tiny beads my best side-eye and make a mental note to check the ingredients.
Next, I pick up Rowan’s body wash and apply liberally.
This is a mistake. This is the product that smells most like him—earthy with a subtle spice. Homely. Boyfriendly. That werewolf is not my boyfriend.
Scowling, I step back under the hot stream of water and vigorously rinse everything. Wash, wash, wash.
Using his expensive-looking products was all fun, until it wasn’t.
When I’m convinced all his fragrance is gone from my body, I forgo any more experimentation, and step forward to reach the fluffy towel from the rail.
Looking down to mind my footing, I catch sight of my torso in the narrowed field of focus of the shaving mirror and come to a dead stop. It’s my body—I know that—except…
I tilt my chin, fingers cautiously touching the skin of my left hip. Then I glance back in the mirror, then down at my body again.
My birthmark, once a slightly dark shade of pink, is now two-tone dark reddish-brown and purple—but the obvious colour change isn’t what has my heart pounding, nor is it the reason my breaths are lodged in my throat.
I’ve never seen the reflection of it in the mirror before, or if I have, the mark’s colour was too pale to really notice, but… I look back to the mirror to be sure. Yes. Very sure.
The birthmark I’ve had all my life is shaped to resemble the head and neck of a russet wolf howling in front of a large violet moon.
That’s no ordinary birthmark. That’s a heritage mark. And not just any heritage mark, either, but the Luna del Lupo enchantment!
Tentatively, I run my finger over it, but there’s no crackle or itch. It feels just like the rest of my skin.
With a shaky exhale, I step out of the shower and grab the towel.
Janus was right—I do have it on me. Which means that I must also be a descendant of the original witch who cast it. But that also means that like her, I can choose to share this enchantment with a loved one.
Immediately, Ethel comes to mind.
The enchantment defends against the kind of temporal magic Janus favours, but if I shared it with her, would it also protect her from other effects of time? Like the inevitable passage of it?
In a distracted daze, I dry myself, but I forget to shut off the shower. Stepping over my pile of clothes, I leave the bathroom and close myself quietly inside the room I woke up in this morning.
Dressing on autopilot, I don’t see which underwear or T-shirt I pull out from my bag. Hair still damp, I squeeze it once more with the towel, then drop it to sit on the edge of the still plastic-covered bed.
Now that I’ve discovered what kind of enchantment the Luna del Lupo is, and I know for certain that I’m fully protected against any of Janus’s magical tricks, a creeping smile spreads across my face.
Thanks to Ranger, I also know that without his magic, Janus is susceptible to the jaws of an alpha wolf… which might make him susceptible to other forms of attack too.
My smile widens further still. Puny god.
Galvanised by this sudden reduction in the threat my nemesis poses, I hurry to check my bag. The candles are still in there, but the crystals are downstairs, so I’ll need to be super quiet when I fetch those.
Sarah was very adamant that I use feathers in this spell, however.
I look around the room… and my gaze lands on the pillow and sheets still folded neatly at the foot of my bed.
A pillow, that like everything else in this house will be decent quality.
Let’s hope it doesn’t make too much difference to the spell if it’s duck or goose down.
One thing I do know for sure, though, is that the next five minutes need to be the quietest of my life—the whole of the Romulan Bloodline, Sarah and the Colonists, and Ethel, depend on it.