The Healing Touch

Wes stared at the gift certificate in his hand and refrained from hitting his head against his desk. There was no getting out of this, was there? The note paper-clipped to the certificate mocked him with the details of his appointment.

It was a nice gesture. Really, it was. Anyone else in his office would have jumped at winning a free hour-long massage. HR had even been kind enough to make the appointment for him. He'd tried to protest, tried to say that he could make it himself—then conveniently forget to do so—but they'd insisted. They'd given him the afternoon off as part of the prize as an extra special bonus. How he'd ended up in the year-end raffle, he wasn't sure, but that hadn't stopped his name from being called. The lady sitting next to him, Linda from the purchasing department, had been thrilled for him. She'd leaned over to say, "They always book the best massage therapist in town. You're going to love her."

Wes highly doubted that, but given all his coworkers knew he'd won, it'd be easier just to get it over with so he could tell everybody how wonderful it had been and not draw any more attention to himself. People would have questions if he didn't go.

But how could he explain to them, explain to his human coworkers, that he didn't want some stranger's hands all over him, leaving their scent on him? Humans didn't know about wolf shifters, and they certainly didn't know about his heightened senses. If they did, maybe Linda would stop microwaving fish in the break room.

This whole situation sounded like torture to him. He'd have to go home and scrub himself clean afterward.

A little voice in the back of his head whispered, How long has it been? He tried to push it down, but exactly how long it'd been was carved on his soul. Three years at this job, in this town, and four more on the run before that. Seven years since he'd had someone else's hands on him, someone else's scent. Seven years since he'd lost the warmth of pack and home, since it'd all been taken from him.

Wolves never did well on their own. He knew that. Every wolf knew that. But the idea of finding a new pack, finding a new home, only for it to be ripped away from him again… It was better to stay unattached.

But there was no use dwelling on that. He'd get this damn massage, tell his coworkers how amazing it had been, and then go back to keeping his head down so no one would notice him. That was the easiest thing to do.

He got up from his desk and left the office. Tranquil Pines Massage was a five-minute drive away—given the size of the town, almost everything was a five-minute drive away—but he looped around a few blocks and managed to draw it out to a full eight minutes. Delaying the inevitable, really, yet still he added in another set of four unnecessary right turns.

After parking in the small lot, he walked into the massage parlor, gave his name to the receptionist, and handed over the gift certificate, then took a seat in the little waiting room.

It was supposed to be calming in there. Instrumental music floated through the room, accompanied by the gentle sounds of nature. A diffuser in the corner puffed out steam scented with lavender and eucalyptus, and everything was dipped in neutral tones—soft grays and dusty taupes—bland and inoffensive to the eye.

Tension built in his shoulders, and he inhaled, trying to calm himself. It was just a fucking massage. He could get through this.

But as he sat there, something itched at his nose. When he inhaled again, he stilled, frozen and unable to let out the exhale. His mind raced; his eyes darted to the door. Ten steps. He could run. The receptionist wouldn't be able to stop him. She was only human.

He forced himself to exhale and took in another breath. No, he wasn't mistaken, and it wasn't just the prospect of the massage that was causing his shoulders to creep up toward his ears.

It was so faint he'd almost missed it, but it was there.

Magic. The air crackled with it as it mingled with the lavender and eucalyptus. Not as harsh as he remembered magic being, but still sharp and impossible to ignore now that he'd noticed it. His nose twitched, and for a moment, he thought he might sneeze.

Was there a mage here? When he'd settled in this town, he'd swept through it, ensuring there were no signs of other supernatural creatures. No shifters, no mages, no vampires, no incubi. No one who'd recognize him for what he was. He'd been certain he was alone, but maybe he'd missed someone.

A door opened and closed in the hallway off the lobby, and it was only through sheer force of will that he didn't bolt toward the exit. His heart kicked hard, thundering in his ears and drowning out the supposedly soothing music. His wolf hunkered down, readying itself to run or fight as it assessed the situation.

A woman walked out, her steps swaying with a loose-limbed relaxation that seemed to have liquefied all of her muscles and bones. Traces of magic clung to her like smoke, and Wes held himself perfectly still, not breathing as she exchanged a few words with the receptionist, then glided by him without a second glance.

His exhale came out shakier than he would have liked. She hadn't seen him. Thank god. Most mages could spot a shifter from a mile away. It was something about shifter energy; it called to them, apparently.

He'd never seen her before. He would have noticed the scent of magic if he had. She might be in town visiting a friend? Hopefully their paths would never cross again. If there were supernatural beings here, it might be time for him to move on after all.

The magic faded, carried away by the woman, and little by little, he calmed himself, unclenching his fists from around the chair's arms and relaxing his jaw with a stubborn determination. He didn't have to run. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure his safe, mundane bubble had been popped. And if he wasn't running, he still had an hour of torture to get through.

He scoffed. Maybe he should run.

A few minutes later, the receptionist led him to a small room. When she opened the door, the scent of magic slammed into him, stronger this time, fresh.

Heat flashed across his skin. He braced himself to be hit by the instinct to flee, but it didn't come. His wolf was alert, taking in everything around them, but it wasn't panicking or recoiling, and that had Wes faltering, leaving him stranded in the doorway, confused by this sudden change. He'd thought they'd agreed that they should stay as far from the supernatural as possible, but if anything, his wolf felt curious.

The receptionist raised an eyebrow at him, and he stepped into the room. She instructed him to undress and lie on the table. The massage therapist would be in momentarily. Then she left him alone.

He stood there, just himself and his trepidation, expecting to have the urge to run and not sure what to make of the fact that he didn't feel it.

Maybe now that the woman was gone, his wolf thought any potential threat she posed had passed? Maybe if she'd been a wolf shifter, that would have set off more alarm bells? But even without that deeper instinctual reaction flickering through him, his human half was on edge.

She'd been using magic in here? Why?

He hadn't been around magic much, a fact he had no desire to change. The few times he'd smelled magic in the past, it had reeked. But this magic was different. It was sharp, yes, but not abrasive. Even if it made his nose itch, it didn't make his hackles rise. He had nothing against mages in particular—they weren't the reason he was without a pack—but where there was one mage, there were usually multiple. And where there were mages, other supernatural creatures weren't far behind.

He rolled his shoulders and neck, trying to ease the tension in them as he took in the room.

The lights were dim, with floor-length curtains in a rich chocolate brown covering the lone window. Everything else was soft and muted—more creamy whites and warm beiges with a few hints of sage green. The same scents and sounds from the waiting room permeated the air, now mixed with the subtle fragrance of clean linens and significantly less subtle sandalwood incense. Combined with the fragrant oils, it was a lot in one tiny room.

He took in a lungful of air that hung as heavy with magic as it did with those scents. Part of him wondered whether or not he should get out of there, but if his wolf thought they were fine, he'd trust its judgment. And he still had his coworkers to consider. The town was too small. He'd bet any amount of money that the receptionist was related to someone who went to school with someone who was married to someone he worked with. If he walked out now, they'd all find out.

So he stripped and placed his clothes in the basket the receptionist had indicated, then stood there, eyeing the sturdy massage table with a wariness others might reserve for a coiled snake.

It was just an hour. Sixty minutes and this would be over. Then he'd make damn sure that his name was never included in another work raffle again. And he'd also make damn sure there were no other supernatural types around.

He slid under the sheet on the table. The crisp linen slithered over his bare skin as he settled onto the padded surface, adjusting his position until his face was resting in the cradle at the head of the table.

Then he lay there. Waiting. Hating this position. It felt too exposed, left him too vulnerable. It limited his field of vision too much, anything peripheral completely blocked by the padding.

Oh yeah, this was super relaxing.

A rasp sounded on the door.

"Come in," Wes said. Might as well get this over with.

The massage therapist stepped inside and shut the door, the latch catching on the strike plate with a deafening snick in the quiet room.

And then the massage therapist's scent hit Wes.

He pulled in a jagged breath and jolted upright, pushing himself off the far side of the table as the sheet fell away. His nostrils flared. Muscles tensed throughout his body, ready to spring. A low growl rose in his throat.

That woman… Obviously she hadn't been a mage. Magic had been on her, hanging off her. The massage therapist, on the other hand… Magic was in him. It was unmistakable. And suddenly, the safe little world Wes had created for himself away from all things supernatural didn't feel so insulated from his past anymore.

Wes squared off with the mage, keeping the table between them and staring him down. His wolf prowled just below the surface, studying the mage with a silent, intense focus, but once again, there was no instinctual need to run. Not yet. It was waiting, evaluating the mage; it wanted to see what he would do.

The man's eyes were wide, clearly as shocked as Wes. He raised a hand in a placating gesture, a motion more unsettling than soothing when it came from a mage.

He was fairly young, probably mid-twenties. His dark hair was pulled back, his eyes an amber brown. The light tan of his skin suggested plenty of time spent outdoors. Attractive, some reckless part of Wes's mind supplied, but he shoved that down.

"You look about ready to sprint out of here," the mage said. "And you can absolutely leave if you want to, but maybe put your clothes on first? Clara just finished Mildred's massage in the next room over, and that woman's ninety-one-year-old heart wouldn't survive seeing you naked."

His gaze flickered down Wes's body, but he quickly jerked it back up.

"You're a mage," Wes said, then felt like an idiot. Of course he was a mage.

"And you're a shifter. Wolf?"

Wes gave a curt nod.

"I didn't think there were any packs around here."

"There aren't." That hadn't come out sounding bitter. Not at all.

The mage's eyes widened again; he understood the subtext. That Wes had no pack. That he was alone.

Wes forced himself not to snarl. Admitting that was a stupid mistake. His stomach twisted, hollow and tight, but still his wolf wasn't panicking.

He eyed his clothes. He should leave. Maybe find a new town. Somewhere else he could be by himself.

"There aren't any other mages around either." The mage's voice was hushed, and Wes's gaze darted to him. "It was part of the appeal."

Wes could recognize that for the odd sort of peace offering it was. They were both alone. Neither of them had someone to watch their back.

"I never thought a wolf shifter would want a massage."

"I don't," Wes said gruffly.

The mage blinked at him. "Do you… frequently come to massage parlors to… get massages you don't want?"

"It was a prize from work." Prize somehow came out sounding a lot like punishment.

The mage snorted. "Ah. Human coworkers, huh? So sweet, and yet so clueless."

Wes's shoulders eased a fraction. "They aren't that bad." When they weren't subjecting him to their version of relaxation.

"I suppose if you run out of here, clothes or no clothes, our receptionist will tell her second cousin who works at the gas station with the ex-girlfriend of your coworker's elementary school best friend that you didn't stay for your full appointment?"

The corner of Wes's lips twitched. "Something like that."

"So shall we just continue to stand here awkwardly and stare at each other for the next hour to avoid the inevitable rumors that would cause, or what?" There was amusement gleaming in his eyes, too genuine to be fake.

Honestly, that might be better than fielding any questions his coworkers would have about his hasty departure.

The mage waved a hand at the massage table. "At least sit down."

Wes perched on the edge of the table and drew the sheet across his lap. He watched with a mix of wariness and curiosity as the mage worked his way slowly around the room to the corner where another diffuser was tucked, switching it off. He then ducked behind the brown curtains. The movement caused light to spill into the dim room, followed by the sound of a window opening. Wes inhaled, relieved at the sudden gust of fresh air that dispelled some of the oppressive scent of incense and oil and magic.

The mage reappeared and leaned against the wall, facing the table. His eyes started to trail down Wes's body again, but he seemed to catch himself.

The curtains fluttered open and closed with the breeze, letting flashes of daylight into the room, fleeting glimpses of the outside world before the curtains fell back into place, only to be repeated in an almost hypnotic play of light and shadow.

A delicate piano melody threaded into the babbling flow of water that drifted through the room.

Wes stared at the mage. The mage stared back.

There was no clock that Wes could see. His fingers itched to check the time on his phone, but it was in the pocket of his pants, which were neatly folded in the basket. It had to have been at least thirty minutes though, maybe even forty. This would be over soon.

The airy sound of a flute and the tinkling of wind chimes joined the piano.

The mage rotated his wrist and glanced at his watch, and Wes caught the time.

Five after. It'd been all of five minutes. He bit back a curse.

The gentle plucking of a harp seemed to emphasize each second as it ticked by.

He cleared his throat. "So, you're, uh, new?"

"Yeah. Moved here last month. You?"

"Three years."

"Oh."

Their eyes locked for another beat.

The hum of a meditation bowl resonated in the room, vibrating with a low, steady tone. Each note lingered, drawn out to an impossible length before fading to a ghostly echo.

The mage checked his watch again, then chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, this is the weirdest massage I've ever done. Or not done, I guess. I'm Rowan, by the way. I will be your… non-massage therapist this afternoon."

Wes huffed. "Wes," he said, though Rowan had probably already known that from the appointment information.

He breathed in, his senses flooded with the presence of magic. That was still throwing him.

"You use magic? During the massages?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Yeah. My magic is good for healing. Not for big things, but enough to help the body's natural recovery along."

Wes's brow furrowed. "People don't notice that?"

"They can't notice something they don't think is real. Besides, massage is supposed to have healing, therapeutic benefits," he said wryly.

Wes supposed that was true. "But doesn't it… tingle, or something?"

Rowan shrugged. "A little, but I wait until at least halfway through the massage to use it, if I even do. By then, I can tell if anything is wrong or in need of a boost, and people are so relaxed, it doesn't register."

That made Wes's frown deepen. He knew humans couldn't smell magic. They weren't aware of its existence, but surely they'd notice?

"I can show you, if you don't believe me." Rowan pushed off the wall, a quiet grace to the movement. "Here. Give me your hand."

Wes studied him. It wouldn't hurt, right? He could give Rowan his hand for a minute, and then he wouldn't even have to lie to his coworkers when he said he'd gotten a massage. They didn't need to know it was substantially shorter than had been originally paid for, or how little of him had actually been touched.

Not quite believing he was doing this, he held his hand out tentatively, and Rowan cradled it in his own. His hands were warm and smooth, and the moment they touched, magic buzzed against Wes's skin. His energy shifted under the mage's fingers.

Humans might not have energy like he did, but how could they not feel this? Feel magic licking at their skin. He fought back a shiver.

Rowan inhaled sharply, blinking at their hands and appearing dazed. He shook his head again, this time like he was trying to clear it, then pressed his thumbs into the heel of Wes's palm, rolling over the muscle there, working it in a slow, circular motion as he kneaded with rhythmic, even pressure. Each movement caused magic to shimmer across Wes's skin and his shifter energy to stir in response.

"There's no way humans don't notice that." The words came out half-breathless.

Rowan looked up, a crease between his brows. "I'm not using magic yet."

He wasn't lying; Wes would have smelled a spike of magic if he'd been actively channeling it. There was no trace of a magical glow in his amber eyes. But if that wasn't the case, why did it feel like magic was seeping into him? Why was his energy reacting to Rowan like this? Curling under his fingers, swirling with each touch.

One of Rowan's thumbs dug into the area on the back of Wes's hand between his thumb and index finger. Wes suppressed a groan.

"You're holding so much tension in your shoulders," Rowan said, glancing up at him.

Wes couldn't deny that. Even on good days, he was wound tight. The last time he'd relaxed had been a lifetime ago.

"Let me…" Rowan trailed off, and magic kindled to life in his eyes—the softest of blue glows. The scent of it pierced the air.

Wes sucked in a breath as it swept up his arm and settled into his shoulders. It was the oddest sensation, but far from unpleasant. A sort of deep warmth that sank into his muscles, a languid ease that reminded him of days spent lounging by the river near his pack house, the summer sun beating down, melting away every worry and care in the world.

"That's too obvious not to notice." How could anyone, human or otherwise, not feel that?

Rowan was frowning again. "This isn't how it works on humans. I've never done this to a shifter before. I think your energy is amplifying my magic, which is making it more noticeable. It should be subtle. Maybe if I use less…"

Another wave of healing magic spilled into Wes. His eyelids threatened to flutter shut, and he pressed his lips together to stifle a groan. Less magic didn't mean less noticeable. If anything, it was more so. A teasing brush instead of a firm touch.

And fuck, that felt good. It coaxed his muscles into relaxing, the tension in his shoulders draining away.

"It's better if I have direct contact with the area that needs healing," Rowan said.

Wes didn't know if he wanted it to feel better.

Rowan glanced at him again through dark lashes. "Can I?"

Wes found himself swallowing hard and nodding his agreement before he could think it through, the response more his wolf's than his own. He opened his mouth to speak, though no words came, and he wasn't even sure if he wanted to withdraw that consent.

Rowan hadn't moved away from him. "You'll smell like magic." He looked pointedly at their hands, then back up. "More like magic."

It was an out, an offer that would let Wes end this right there. What wolf shifter would want to smell like magic?

Except Rowan's scent wasn't repulsive, not in the slightest. As close as he was standing, it was impossible not to smell him—his scent, not just the scent of magic. Under the dominant top notes of magic, there was something delicate about it, like wildflowers blooming in late evening sunlight. It was almost calming, and Wes couldn't understand how that could be. How his wolf could want him to lean in a little more, to breathe in a little deeper, to discover how that scent would mingle with his own of wet stone and wild sage. How his wolf might want a lot more than that.

"It's fine," he said, though his doubts crept into his voice and were reflected in the narrowing of Rowan's eyes and the furrow that formed between his brows.

Rowan stayed where he was, his hands still curled around Wes's, his magic still sparkling against Wes's skin.

"Okay," he said, studying Wes's face. "We usually start the way you were when I walked in."

There was a question hidden in that statement, another chance to end this.

Wes's heart tripped over itself. He was torn between his wolf's desire to have this and his own discomfort at the thought of someone supernatural standing over him like that, of being face down and blinded, vulnerable to whatever Rowan might do to him. His shoulders stiffened, involuntarily inching up toward his ears.

The expression that crossed Rowan's face was so gentle, it had Wes yanking his hand away from him. He scooted back on the table, his movements jerky as he lay down and arranged himself, the sheet haphazardly draped over his lower half. Anything to keep from confronting the compassion and understanding in that look.

Oh, yeah. This was a wonderful idea, he thought as he placed his face in the padded cradle, acutely aware of Rowan hovering beside him. Magic clung to the air that whispered over his exposed back.

Wes's nerves jangled. Rowan didn't say a word, but Wes was attuned to every step and noise he made as he opened a cabinet and prepared the oil he'd use. Whatever it was, there was no scent to it, and Wes was grateful for that favor.

It was easier to focus on the sound of a cap being popped open and a bottle being squeezed than the pleasant ghost of magic lingering in his hand and shoulders.

The cradle's padding pressed against his cheekbones, and he shifted his weight on the table. He was an idiot for doing this, but his wolf was still fine with it and it'd been forever since he'd relaxed. Not that he was convinced this was going to relax him.

Rowan stepped beside him, and then warm hands settled at the base of Wes's neck.

He flinched, his breath catching in his throat.

Rowan paused but didn't pull away, simply left his hands there, a steady weight, until Wes forced out an exhale. When he finally moved them, it was with slow, deliberate strokes. His slick fingers circled, pressing into the tight bands of Wes's muscles with practiced pressure that caused Wes's energy to ripple in their wake, leaving almost imperceptible eddies, subtle swirls that glittered under his skin and caught his breath for different reasons.

As Rowan's hands traveled along the curve of Wes's shoulders, they coaxed the stiffness out of him with a rhythmic pull and release. Years of stress slowly unraveled with each pass, ebbing away, and his muscles gradually unclenched. Wes felt himself relaxing, truly relaxing, in a way he hadn't allowed himself in ages. His shoulders dropped, his eyes slid shut, and his wolf was lulled into a contented stillness.

The techniques Rowan used were clinical, nothing more than the glide of fingers over taut muscles. However once he began to use his magic, it was anything but.

Rowan's scent wrapped around Wes, heady and sweet, just as magic curled inside him, deeper with every touch. It threaded down his spine and teased his nerve endings. It worked through him, warming him to his core. His energy sparked, responding to the sensation that was foreign and unfamiliar, yet somehow soothing.

Nothing in the world could convince him that humans didn't notice this, but he also couldn't bring himself to care, not when a pleasant heat was spreading throughout his body, comforting and electrifying at the same time.

Rowan's fingers found a ball of tightness between Wes's neck and shoulder, and he dragged his thumb over it with small, circular movements and a firm, unrelenting pressure that had dull pain flaring until it released. The ache melted away, and Wes's breath slipped out of him in a soft groan. He sank heavier into the table as Rowan moved on to another spot of coiled tension.

He hummed quietly as his fingers eased in deeper on the inside of Wes's shoulder blade, his magic a distractingly pleasurable buzz.

"You've got the biggest knot I've ever felt right here," he said, and then his hands froze. After a second, he huffed out a laugh that was more a puff of air against Wes's back than a sound.

Wes lifted his head enough that he could turn and see Rowan out of the corner of his eye. The blue glow was back in his irises, now set off by a pink tint that stained his cheeks.

Rowan caught his gaze and winced. "Sorry. That doesn't have a double meaning with most of my clients."

Wes supposed it didn't. He settled back onto the table, and Rowan returned to working on the trigger point, applying relentless pressure with his thumbs, stroking along the muscle with gently increasing force. Pain radiated outward, its sharp bite causing Wes's jaw to clench. But then the knot loosened, dissolving into a wave of relief. The healing balm of Rowan's magic washed away the final remnants of discomfort.

He groaned again, louder this time, unable to stop himself. The contrast between the two sensations was close to euphoric. His muscles felt warm and light, his body pliant. He shouldn't like this; he shouldn't enjoy it. But he did. The low pulse of his energy thrummed beneath his skin, mingling with Rowan's magic, and he let himself revel in that feeling, let his eyes shut and the world fall away under Rowan's ministrations.

Magic worked its way through his body, unraveling knots, unwinding him.

It'd been so long since anyone had touched him, so long since he'd had hands on him, and when his mind strayed too close to that thought, his eyes prickled. He shied away from the emotion and focused instead on how good it all felt.

And god, as much as he hated the admission, it felt good. So good. Better than anything ever should.

Pleasure bloomed through Wes as Rowan worked down his back. Rowan's hands drifted lower, and he alternated between gliding his palms over Wes's muscles and kneading into areas of tension before easing off again.

It was sensual, even if Rowan wasn't making it sexual. He kept it as professional as Wes would have expected, but that didn't stop Wes's skin from tingling, his body alive with the sensation. It didn't stop him from wondering how it would feel to have that touch on other parts of him, though he shut down that train of thought before it could go too far.

Rowan skimmed his hands along Wes's sides before efficiently readjusting the sheet to expose his left leg. His strokes were long and broad as he warmed up the muscles, firm pressure from ankle to thigh, then lighter back down. Each time he neared the top of Wes's thigh, Wes felt his breath hitch. But it wasn't until Rowan concentrated on each muscle, traveling up his leg, that Wes realized exactly how much trouble he'd gotten himself into.

It really had been too long since someone else's hands had been on him.

He shifted his hips and tried to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach, tried to ignore the utterly different kind of tension building in him as Rowan's fingers kneaded up his calf, as they moved past his knee and targeted tight spots on his hamstring. The entire time, Rowan's magic wound through Wes.

For one moment, Rowan's hands seemed to linger right below Wes's ass, but then they were gone and he was readjusting the sheet and moving around the table to repeat the process on the other side.

Wes attempted to think of anything else, but those oiled fingers inching up his leg, up his thigh, demanded every single scrap of his attention. And for all he hadn't liked lying prone, he was increasingly grateful for the position, even as he resisted the urge to rut against the table.

Just when he was thinking he might be losing his ability to breathe, Rowan reached the top of his right thigh before sliding his hands to Wes's foot.

Wes wasn't disappointed by that. Not even a little bit. He shuddered out an exhale he was going to pretend was shaky from relief and relaxation, and Rowan began to work on his feet. And while that still felt good, it gave Wes time to collect himself. Time to cool down.

But it wasn't for long enough.

"If you're ready, you can turn over," Rowan said in a hushed tone.

Wes's body tried to tense up, though it was having a difficult time, given all his muscles were too relaxed to work properly.

"Um," he said eloquently. He was very much not ready. The way his dick was digging into the table was proof of that. His wolf, however, thought it was an excellent idea.

Maybe if he started cubing numbers in his head, it'd help?

Rowan was standing at the foot of the table, one hand resting on Wes's right ankle to let him know where he was. Like Wes needed that when his senses were trained on Rowan, like he wouldn't have been able to point to his exact location even if the room were pitch black and there was no contact between them.

The cube of one was one. The cube of two was eight. Three, twenty-seven. Four, sixty-four. Five, one hundred and—

"Don't worry about it," Rowan said, his voice reassuring and entirely too knowing.

Okay then. If he was sure. Wes rolled over onto his back.

Rowan adjusted the sheet, though there was no chance it was going to lie flat anymore.

Wes winced. "Sorry."

"Totally normal reaction. But if you're uncomfortable, we can stop here."

Wes paused, only to realize he wasn't uncomfortable. "No, I'm okay."

He was surprised at how true that statement was. He was comfortable. Not just his wolf. Him. Naked in this room with a mage he'd known for less than an hour, magic permeating the air, but still comfortable. His wolf and his dick both had suggestions for ways they could be more comfortable, but he was ignoring those.

Rowan started on Wes's legs again, and if Wes thought it'd been torture before, it didn't compare to Rowan working his thighs in this position. The heavy strokes he used on the top of Wes's right thigh became lighter as he moved on to the inside, rolling and squeezing the muscle there. And while his hands never strayed under the drape of the sheet, they still had Wes's toes curling. Wes fought the urge to spread his legs wider, to give Rowan more access, to encourage his hands to wander farther up.

Rowan's fingers skated up his thigh, and Wes's dick jerked under the sheet. Rowan swallowed audibly before promptly moving on to his other leg.

"So," Rowan said, sounding rougher than before. "What do you do?"

Wes latched on to that. Talking. Talking was good. Talking was a distraction from the magic that brushed over him like downy feathers.

"Accounting." Wes stared up at the ceiling and tried to keep his voice steady as Rowan released another knot from his calf. It was disconcerting how easily Rowan could read his body, pinpointing each area of tension with unnerving accuracy.

"Huh. I never imagined a wolf shifter accountant before. How did you get into that?"

Wes paused, not sure what to say. It'd been something he'd learned for his pack. They'd been terrible with numbers, and someone had needed to figure out how to deal with the finances. Not that it mattered now.

"I wanted to be a doctor," Rowan continued, as if there hadn't just been half a minute of awkward silence between them. "It seemed a natural fit."

"I assume it wasn't?" Wes asked, relieved he was no longer the subject of their conversation.

"Nope. I need prolonged skin contact to heal people, and even humans are going to eventually wonder why their doctor wants to sit and hold their hands while his eyes glow blue and they're feeling weirdly tingly."

Wes snorted. "Yeah. That might bring up a question or two."

"Massage therapy has been perfect though."

Rowan's hand slid up to his inner thigh, driving any reply Wes had to that out of his head. He cast about for something to say. Anything to say.

"Nice weather we've been having lately." He didn't wince, but it was a close thing. Did he have to choose the lamest possible topic of small talk?

"Yeah," Rowan replied as his thumb circled, edging closer to the sheet. "I've been… Um. I've been going hiking. In the mountains north of here. I couldn't ask for better… weather." He sounded winded, like he was hiking at that very moment.

"That's where I go. On full moons." Wes's mouth somehow managed to get the words out even though every ounce of his attention was zeroed in on how Rowan's hands were bumping against the sheet.

His fingertips slipped underneath, and Wes inhaled sharply, picking up the scent of arousal, subtle under the magic and everything else in the room, but unquestionably there.

Wes's gaze swung down from the ceiling to Rowan, and he found himself blinking at what he saw. Rowan's eyes were glowing a bright blue, far brighter than they had been before, and the magical tattoos that swirled around his forearms were also alight, their patterns standing out against his tan skin.

Rowan snatched his hands back, looking almost guilty, then hastily glanced away as he rearranged the sheet with fluttery motions.

His watch vibrated, and he let out a breath that might have been a sigh of relief.

Rowan cleared his throat and stepped away from the table, then walked around to where he'd left out the oil. As he busied himself with wiping off his hands on a towel, his tattoos faded back to invisible.

Wes languorously sat up on the table and watched him.

"Sorry." That hint of roughness remained in Rowan's voice. "Normally we do arms, then finish with shoulders, neck, and scalp, but since we started late, I didn't have time."

It took Wes's mind longer than it should have to wrap around the fact that it'd been an hour. That the session was over. That he didn't want it to be.

That he was seriously considering whether he should make another appointment. For whenever Rowan was available next. Preferably that afternoon. Ideally now.

Rowan paused, facing away from Wes. When he turned around, his eyes were back to their regular color.

"I can't do another session with you," he said, as if he were reading Wes's thoughts.

Wes flinched, but Rowan shook his head.

"There are lines I can't cross with clients."

The possibilities hovering in the silence between them made it anything but awkward this time. Wes nodded slightly, and a small smile turned up the corner of Rowan's lips.

"I go hiking a lot in the mountains." The silent invitation in that statement was impossible to miss.

He nodded again. "I go up there for full moons, but it'd be nice to get to know it better."

Rowan's grin grew bigger. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, writing down something Wes would bet was a number.

When he was done, he pulled a box of tissues out of the cabinet and set it beside the bottle of oil, then he swung open another door lower on the shelf unit, revealing a waste basket.

"The next massage in this room isn't scheduled for another hour. So there's no rush if you need some time to get dressed." He glanced over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He tapped the notepad, shot Wes one last look, then slipped out of the room.

Wes stared at the door, his body humming, Rowan's scent all over his skin, starting to combine with his own. Wildflowers mixing with sage. It was surface level, but he wanted more of it. His wolf wanted more of it too and was perfectly happy to supply a lengthy list of ways that might happen.

He shivered, and his eyes landed on the bottle of oil and box of tissues. His dick throbbed, reminding him of how long it'd been hard.

Five was one hundred and twenty-five. Six, two hundred and sixteen. Seven…

Yeah, that wasn't going to help.

Groaning to himself, he reached over and grabbed the oil.

It didn't take much. Not when he was imagining what it'd feel like if Rowan were doing it. His strong, skilled hands wrapped around Wes's dick, massaging his balls, working him over as expertly as he had the rest of his body. The thought alone had Wes coming in no time, moaning softly as he spilled over his fingers.

As his breathing slowed, the door creaked ever so faintly, like there had been a weight against it that had shifted away. Nearly inaudible steps whispered swiftly down the hall, and Wes shivered again at the idea of Rowan listening in.

He cleaned himself up and got dressed, then tore the top sheet off the notepad and stared at the number written there.

He'd always been prepared to run if anyone recognized him for what he was. If other supernaturals ever settled in this town. But maybe he didn't need to do that. Maybe there was room for more than just him. Maybe having a connection with someone wouldn't be so bad. As long as he didn't get too attached.

Tucking the paper into his pocket, he exited the room and stepped into the hallway, catching the scent of magic and arousal waiting for him right outside the door.

He inhaled deeply, feeling lighter than he had in years.

Maybe the human idea of relaxation wasn't the worst after all.

* * *