The mood leaves playful for calm after that. We stay in his study in the dead of the night, Milo working and I still pretending to study. He got up to get his desk cleaned up, collected the parts of the broken pen, tried to wipe the stacks of papers clean. We're basked in the light from his desk he turned on when the sun left us.
My mind has been wondering about, think of home, of Milo and family. He stays collected behind his desk, relaxed shoulders and plain expression. It only changes when he goes over the end of certain pages or when he scrolls on his computer. I still haven't told him about the stain on his cheek, have to keep my eyes away so that I don't end up laughing again.
When my eyes settle to the window behind him, to the dark forest and even darker sky, I somehow think of loneliness. I wonder who else might be awake at this time of the night, if he talks to anyone aside from Lise and the alpha to be. Maybe because it's a moonless night, I feel more secluded than before, yet somehow more at ease.
I wonder if Milo would rather be alone than hurt. But it hasn't always been the case, couldn't have been. But the fact that I haven't seen his family or that he never mentioned them, drags my question under. I feel my fingertips dig into the cover the slightest bit and Milo raises his head.
I can't bring myself to ask the question under his calm gaze, can't bear to imagine crushing him today again, crushing him once more. I shut the book to scratch my forehead, wipe my eyes under his questioning one. He frowns when I move my lips but no word comes out.
I pinch my lips when he gently shuts his laptop, clears the desk so he can lay his forearms onto the wood. Milo leans in, posture still relaxed but I don't miss the tension in jaw. I don't miss the slight jump of his fingers, even thought he tries to appear calm he is anything but.
Yet he doesn't push, he doesn't ask when I have to bit the inside of my cheek. I don't think it was his vocabulary that held him back from answering. Maybe it was the situation, maybe because he felt I betrayed him. This time I'm afraid to ask because he might get hurt, because I might fear him more than I already do.
But he extends a hand over the wood, palm up and calm, because he's Milo. And it feels more alright than seconds before and this time I lay my hand on his, not for him but for me. I feel his warm and rugged fingers under my colder ones, then his rough palm before I let the weight of my hand fall onto his.
His expression doesn't change this time, no he stays collected and focused. I hear his chair creak when he leans even more, chin placed on his other forearm and eyes on our hands. It feels even more alright than before, maybe because his face is bellow mine for once, maybe because he's relaxed yet attentive.
His hand doesn't move under mine, my fingertips barely reaching the sweater he still hasn't taken off, though it had been his first. So I clutch the red cover to my stomach, fingers going over the soft edge in an effort to calm my nerves. I don't think it works a lot because my tongue feels like it weight a ton.
« What is a night wolf? » the words come out of my mouth too quick and too strangled. I have to swallow back the acidic spit that gathered in my mouth right after, think I might throw up if I don't. I'm too scared to look at his face, forget to listen in for his answer when a cold sweat creeps up my back.
But Milo brings me back to reality with a gentle stroke of his thumb over my hand. His frown has left for something more gentle, for something soothing and even tough I see the apprehension in his eyes, Milo continues to smooth away my panic. There's a strange relief coming over me, not only having asked the question but for the first time without hoping it would gave me a reason to hate him.
I can breathe again when he does, loud inhale that sounds like relief. I wonder what he thought I would ask, what his fears were. Milo raises his head to grab his chin, massages his jaw before he scratches at his own forehead. He wondering wether to answer or what to ? He casts a quick glance at the light on desk, turns his neck just enough to gaze over the dark night outside.
« Not pack. Land wolf. » He answer with his neck strained, slowly coming back to gauge my reaction. I already understood that he wasn't part of the pack, but it doesn't really answer my question, feel like he isn't telling me the whole truth. But it soothes me, that he's willing to try anyway.
« You don't belong to the pack, but to the land ? » I let myself question him further, feels like it alright, even more so when he answer with a nod, gaze back on our hands. So does the pack let him stay or does he let them ? It feels too praying to ask, too aggressive so I keep my lips shut.
I think of the lake and the other wolves' scared figures, of their pity. Think of the alpha and Lise, respectful yet teasing. Wonder if he considers them friends like I do, to Lise anyway. What is the use of a wolf to guard the land when there is a pack then? Why haven't we hear of them in our decades of war?
Milo pinches one of my fingers and I look back at him, his face is tense like maybe it took him as much strength to answer as it did for me to ask. I don't miss the fear in his eyes, even when only half his face is lit, even when his soothing caresses haven't stopped. So I swallow the little spit I have.
« Why don't you look like them? » my voice is shaking, if he wasn't a wolf he probably wouldn't have heard it, but I know he did. I know because his face becomes blank. Too plain for him to feel nothing. His thumb stops and I don't believe for once second his fabricated calm.
He doesn't hide it for long because I soon feel the sweat building up under my hand, see his collected gaze crumble for fear. For terror. Milo retracts his hand I feel dizzy from the loss of his heat. I'm tempted to rush to him when tears gather in his eyes but the cover feels like it weights too much on my legs.
So I extend my hand instead, lean onto the wood as he did earlier, like he did for me. This time however I don't do it for my comfort but for his. I do it because I miss his heat, because maybe he misses mine too. But Milo doesn't reach for me, he raises his upper lip at the sight of my hand, let out a growl that shakes the wall.
It shakes the stack of papers on the desk and I hear the lightbulb creak under the assault. My eyes widen at the attack, my body freezes on the chair because this has never happened before, never like this. What did I do wrong? When did I overstep? My stomach clenches and my body constricts under the rays of power his exudes.
My body only allows me to move when I fight to scratch at my neck where the familiar soft warmth has turned to a scolding heat. I can't help but to cough when the little air I had in my lungs exhausts. My vision turns white when the heat overtakes the rest of my body and I feel myself fall down.
I hear the lightbulb shatter when my head bounces off the floor. Feel the familiar liquid gushing down, staining my pants and it feels like we're back a hundred steps when I curl on the floor. Yet all I think about despite the white hot heat, despite the spasms, is how to mend this. I don't want to start again, don't have the energy to, nor the courage.
But Milo does it for me when he settles on the floor with me, when he presses a hand to my neck that soothes the scorching. When he lifts my head just enough to lay his other hand under it, shielding it from the wood planks. Even with the poor vision I have I see it, see his lips move in a thousand apologizes.
I can breathe again when he brushes the hair on my forehead away and even in the darkened room, I see him. Terror has left his face for consolation and apology. I don't think he did it on purpose, if so then what happened? Did he get too scared to answer? I blink a few times to settle my vision. Let out a final cough before I fully fill my lungs again.
« Sorry. Not intention. » My eyes snap to his when he apologizes again. So he did get scared. I never thought I could be scared of him unintentionally doing things. I let out a quick breath, a small laugh because I think somehow I've gotten over some of my fear of him. But I still need him to answer, even if I can't take much more of him today.
Even if it scares him. So I blindly reach for his arm, settle my hand in the curve of his forearm in controlled breaths. Milo still strokes my neck and the feeling alleviates for his usual warmth. My head doesn't hurt from the fall but his thumb caresses my scalps anyway. Milo moves me closer with a hand on my hip that brings my face to his chest.
Like maybe he's still sacred, like he still wants to hide. I bask in the comfort he offers anyway, in all that is him. But I feel his heartbeat, strong and full against my forehead when he brings his arms around me. I don't comment on his hand still on my hip, don't have strength to. I'll tease him tomorrow, because now that the blinding heat is gone all I feel is exhaustion.
" Not made to hunt prey. Made to hunt wolf. " And it somehow makes sense. Their behavior around him and now even wolves have monsters, have predators of their own. That's why the alpha to be treats him more like friend, with more respect. Even with my eyes shutting close, I find the courage to hug him back. So he lets them stay on the land, on his land.
Now I understand why the wolves managed to sign a treaty with humans if they could manage one with their own predator. I understand why he was scared to tell me that he was worse than the monsters I was trained to fight, the ones I grew up to fear. Yet it's relieving that he isn't part of them, that instead he was made to hunt down the monsters.
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