Argent's Wolf [NaNoWriMo 2020]

Chapter 6

Milo trembled under the heavy duvet covers as his body curled with heat, ice and whatever else the drugs he'd been pumped with did his body. They didn't expect people to live long after sale. Or rather, they didn't expect their products to return to being human. Ross' scent smothered him, wearing the hunter's clothes and resting in the same bed. Hints of Roddy's scent peppered the flavour but in the way that family members shared hints of each other. Roddy didn't have the stench of blood on him, but they shared an underlying smell. 

Sleep pulled him under quickly, but the dreams left him confused and struggling back to reality again, exhausted. If it wasn't strange dreams, it was his body tossing through the withdrawal and pain when his muscles cramped. 

Ross didn't leave his side, which was silly. Logically the man had to be leaving, or else he had an unlimited supply of freshwater and easy-to-eat food stored in the bedroom. Not impossible for someone like Ross, but Milo doubted it. There was some reassurance in having any other presence nearby, the sound of Ross' steady breathing calming as the images of ghosts and ghouls climbing up from the ground refused to move from his mind eye.

The man stayed close, not making any moves to stake advantage. Sometimes Ross sat at a desk in the corner of the room, laptop open and eyes moving back to Milo if he shifted more than an inch. Intense, burning eyes made Milo doubt if the hunter meant that he had no intention of hurting him. It didn't sing right with everything that he knew about Ross and how he operated—waiting until Milo had a fighting chance made far more sense.

Other times, Ross sat on the bed next to him, hushing cries of pain and screams of fear. Ross scratched his hair and let Milo cling to his jeans without complaint. In those moments, the idea that Ross wanted to kill him disappeared into an impossibility. All that surrounded Milo was safety.

Milo's memories were hazy and twisted together in a kaleidoscope of colour and sensation. Ross acted like Leonard, how his Dad would drop everything to care for Milo when he fell sick/ how Pierce would make his favourite foods to cheer him up. Leonard would sit by his side and read books outside, making funny voices. Ross didn't do that, but the steady tapping of a laptop keyboard and the gentle petting helped pull Milo through the worse of the storm. 

He wanted his Dad. Asking to phone Leonard wouldn't go well. If Ross let him, his Dad would be overprotective and concerned. Milo couldn't cope with that. He wanted to stay in a gentle bubble of peace/ Ross didn't want anything from him, and that's how Milo wanted it to stay.

The haze lifted with an ache behind his eyes and his muscles sore, but his wolf hummed in the background. Black filled his vision, and no light peeked around the edges of the curtain. Body heat singed his back. If he closed his eyes and ignored the smells around him, he could imagine he'd curled up next to Leonard after nightmares. He could imagine being safe. 

Ignoring smells didn't work for long. Reality returned with his chest numb and his eyes watering. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and the outlines of the room's furniture became clearer. Ross slept next to him, his back facing Milo. He snorted, the rumble similar to Ross' growl. Milo curled his fingers into his shirt as fear spiked. 

The reassurance that someone was near, watching over him, protecting him drained away with the memory of what Ross was - father but not his father. Ross knew how to take care of someone in more ways than one. 

Another snore rocked through his body. 

He needed to get out of there before the man's inclination not to hurt him faded. The room wasn't spinning anymore. His head throbbed, but he'd worked through worse. The ache in his muscles annoyed him more than hurt him. It was better than before. He could do this.