When I don’t protest, Ollie follows Mylo’s instructions, pulling to a stop in front of the hotel.
“Goodnight,” Mylo says, tone brisk. He unclicks his seatbelt, shoulders his backpack, opens the door, and hesitates.
“Goodnight,” I say lightly, suppressing a growing grin.
He takes a shallow breath, jaw tensing.
“Go on. You got what you wanted. You can sleep in your hotel room, just like you asked.”
As the open door brings in fresh air and dilutes my scent, Mylo’s resolve wavers.
“Fuck,” Mylo hisses. He pulls the door shut and leans his head against the window, shaking with pain.
My voice gentles. “Mylo, come here.”
His muscles tense.
“You’ve got two options. You can come over here because you chose to, or…” I let the threat of a bark hang, careful of the words I use in front of Ollie.
Mylo turns to me with a look of sheer loathing—and I suppress a laugh, since it’s about as intimidating as a wet cat glowering because they don’t want a bath.
He finally caves, sliding into the middle seat and resting his forehead against my arm, touching me as little as possible while he waits for my scent to relieve the pain.
It doesn’t take long.
I nod to Ollie, and he pulls back onto the road. If he has questions about what just happened, he keeps them to himself.
My head nearly brushes the roof of the compact car, so I still have a clear view out the front window, even from the backseat. The dark, twisting trees slide by the headlights’ beam, otherworldly and foreboding.
A few turns later, we’re in the suburbs, as if we’d passed through some portal.
Mylo shifts next to me and nuzzles against my arm.
He’s just getting comfortable, I’m sure; it doesn’t mean anything. Even so, warmth spreads through my chest.
I stare out the window and refuse to think about what that means.
The car stopsin the hotel’s porte-cochère, awash in bright lights that banish the memory of the dark forest.
I swing my door open. “Thanks for the ride, Ollie.”
“All good,” he chimes. “You two kiddos take care.”
I help Mylo out of the car despite his grumbles, then sling his backpack and my crossbody bag over my shoulder.
He takes a step away from me, then shivers violently, curling back toward my warmth as I close the door.
Ollie gives a friendly nod and drives off, heading home for the night.
I reach down to pick Mylo up, but he grabs my wrist with surprising strength and pushes it away. “I can walk.” The words are sharp enough that if he were an alpha, they would have come out as a bark.
“Suit yourself.”
I take a natural stride toward the hotel’s door, and Mylo scurries awkwardly after me. I stop, and he jostles into my side, then leans heavily against my arm.
My brows rise. “You look like you’re drunk.”
“Shut up.”
