Chapter Text
In Steve’s defense…it was a windy night.
And the spell may have gone catastrophically wrong, but who’s keeping track?
The point is, he flew into the sky on his mother’s broom—Bloom-Ridge Optimum Occult Mechanics—and the witching hour fog only grew thicker. The world beneath him shimmered ever so slightly, the blanket of fog reflecting the moonlight the same way snow does. He flew lower than he should have, tripped over the top of a tree, and the next he knew, the universe threw him a bone by somersaulting his landing in a lush, untrimmed field.
Gotta love Hawkins. All wide open fields and watering holes.
Except a wolf caught the bone. Steve didn’t realize he was on a pack’s running grounds until he groaned in the equally sharp and soft wheat field. Groaning and talking to himself as he climbed to his feet, he meant to brush gold and green pieces off his jeans—but was promptly knocked right back onto his ass.
“Agh-oh!” he coughed, officially hard on breathing…as a large paw stepped onto his sternum. He tried and failed to put words together; he could only grab at the fur-covered leg that was wet with dew and mud. He croaked, “I…crashed. That’s—all!”
The wolf wasn’t growling. Compared to the night around them, the wolf’s only sounds were breathing and the rustle of fur. Which could be the only reason why Steve did not melt into the earth or explode in violent sparks of magic when the wolf dragged a warm and soft tongue all the way up his neck, from clavicle to jaw.
Steve had never seen a normal wolf, but Weres were large. All long legs and strong bodies. Meant for running and charging down prey. The tongue felt like it covered the whole front of his throat as it laved up his windpipe, the cold and wet nose contrasting hot breath as it pushed his jaw up.
And it was a Were, because the eyes were blue. Steve couldn’t be sure when he picked up on that detail. Somewhere between his watery eyes, magically boosted night vision, and adrenaline-fueled panic, but gods, he needed to breathe—
Much like Steve had been knocked off his feet, something collided with the wolf. Steve sucked in air, as much as he could while rolling over to lunge for his broom. Whatever had run into the wolf, Steve only saw the tumbling bodies in his periphery. Grabbing the broom, he swung it in between his legs with intimate familiarity while simultaneously stepping onto the foot peg at the broom’s base.
His mother would screech at seeing him soar perpendicularly to the earth, but he wanted to get the hell out of here. So up he went, clutching the broom handle close to his body until he felt safe enough to angle himself, and eventually level out. He only glanced back at the field once, but the fog already separated him from the—he assumed—multiple wolves.
Steve shook his head, or as much as he could from where his cheek pressed against the lacquered wood. “Not my problem. Fuck, it’s cold up here.”
In Billy’s defense, anything falling from the sky would be a shock.
Especially a wolf’s mate.
He would’ve been inclined to laugh his head off at the idiot landing ungracefully in the field with tree branches in tow—if it weren’t for his heart feeling like a stone turning to flesh. Like the blood in his veins had never moved, and now the ice was cracking into slush, sharply pushing through his limbs.
First impressions…after the initial landing…were dark hair and lean limbs. Moon and stars knew, his heart would move for his mate regardless of body type. But the movement of wide shoulders as he got up from the wheat… Billy had moved before he meant to. His default setting tended to be aggressive, and he outright knocked the poor man onto his back where Billy could really look at him.
And he just couldn’t help himself. Dark hair both wind blown and wet; a little bit stringy from the clouds. Cheeks red from the cold. Large eyes blown wide at the pupil like a cat. Billy didn’t have a lot of time to scrutinize his features because in the very center was a glorious column of shiny, sweaty neck. For whatever reason, the sweater his mate—mate! Mine mine…—wore stretched around the collar to allow him to see the polo underneath. The collar points were pulled wide, the button within having come undone or never been buttoned in the first place…
Billy licked the open space there, all the way up to the underside of his jaw. He tasted his mate’s sweat and skin…neutral sweet and sour salt. Delicious and his. All his—
The unique agony of having the wind knocked out of the lungs crashed into him. A mixture of needs flashed through his mind—air, mate, defend, mate, attack, air—but overall self-preservation won out. All of the other needs were unattainable if he couldn’t stand on his own paws, so that is where he focused—
Only for his alpha to charge again, barreling into him. He used her momentum to go down and roll, kicking her off and rising to his feet this time.
MOVE!
His eyes found his mate in a similar state, forcing air into his lungs while managing the flying thing—
Teeth closed around his rear leg. Billy whirled around, snarling louder than he ever intended against his alpha. Like he was ready to fight her. And win.
The sound tore out of him as well as smacked him right in the face. Thoughts warred inside him as his wolf’s voice whined aloud.
Mom, I’m sorry… Let go!
And she replied, You have to let him go, baby.
No—I can’t—I won’t, he growled again. Softer, this time, but his eyes were blue flames.
His alpha did not relent. Soon she would pierce through his fur and skin, if he let her. You have his scent. Maybe next time try for an introduction instead of eating him.
Next time, next time, next time, next time…echoed through his brain.
Next time he would certainly devour him.
Although, for some reason, it was not until the following day that it occurred to Billy that his mate was a witch.