Page 19 of A Wolf of War
He was running.
Straight for her.
Willow turned and ran again, lungs burning, legs twitching, unprotected feet screaming in pain. She pushed even harder, even with branches biting at her skin as she went, scratching her cheeks and hands. She just knew she had to keep moving away from them. From him. From this nightmare she had been lured so easily into.
Whatever they wanted from her, it couldn’t be good.
10
MILO
Everything had spiraled out of his control.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Willow was supposed to look at him with trust and understanding in her eyes, not tear-streaked panic as she fled through the forest like prey.
Now he was chasing the woman he was fated to love, crashing through the underbrush as the animal inside him snarled for release.
Milo’s breath came in ragged bursts, eyes flashing gold as he struggled to keep himself contained. He was barely holding on to the human. Part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms, soothe the terror from her until she melted into his chest.
But the other?
The other wanted to drag her down into the dirt, tear the fabric from her trembling body, and bury himself inside that dripping heat of hers until the bond sealed and nothing else mattered.
He barely noticed the branches lashing at his face—he was far too focused on the rhythm of Willow’s footsteps, the way her scent flooded the air around him, fearful and delicious. He kept his distance, not too far, not too close. Just enough to eventually drive her to exhaustion. It was a hunting tradition passed down sincethe beginning of time. Shewouldtire eventually.
And when she did, that’s when he’d have his chance to talk with her. Make her see reason.
Maybe it was easier for him to swallow the impossible. Being what he was had taught him that reality was elastic; the rules most humans lived by were more like guidelines. Add a stint in the most elite units in the world on top of that, and Milo had learned long ago how to survive the surreal.
It was just under half a mile before she started to slow. Her pace faltered, steps uneven as she tripped over twisted roots and slick leaves. He adjusted his speed, careful not to spook her by closing the distance too quickly.
“Willow,” he called out gently, halting as she crumpled, hands braced on her knees, lungs dragging wheezing lungfuls into her heaving chest. “Let’s talk, please.”
“Get—get away from… me,” she gasped, each word strained and shrill with panic.
“I can’t do that,” he said quietly, the words gentle but firm. “You saw what you saw. There’s no going back now.”
“Don’t say my fucking name,” she snapped, bentover the forest floor, hands fisted in the damp leaves. Milo stepped closer, brushing a low-hanging branch aside. She didn’t move away from him, but he felt the tension ripple through her like a live wire. Their connection was at its strongest.
Above them, the moon had crowned the sky, full and blinding in her brilliance. He could feel the power only a wolf knew surging through him, panting just beneath his skin. He didn’t need a mirror to know what nightmare she was witnessing. His eyes would be glowing now, molten gold in the dark. Milo’s frame would loom too large, jaw clenched tight in what could be misconstrued as anger.
Even by daylight, he was something to fear due to his size and presence. God only knew what he looked like bathed in shadows at his primal peak.
“What the fuck are you?” Willow whispered, eyes wide and locked on him, caught between awe and terror. Milo’s mouth went dry at the backlit line of her neck—bare, exposed, vulnerable. Her fear was vivid and tangible. And, fuck, it was intoxicating.
“I’m guessing you’ve heard of werewolves,” he said, trying to ignore the scent of her core permeating the air.
She nodded, slow and mechanical, like her brain was still processing, trying to piece together reality from the nonsense he kept piling on. Milo gave her a moment to breathe before he continued, words deliberate and careful.
“That’s the human word for us. We just call ourselves wolves. Same concept, minus the campfire horror story bullshit. Well—” he exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair, control hanging on by a thread “—some of it, anyway.” This wasn’t how he meant for it to go. Not even close.
Milo had heard the horror stories, humans who unraveled the second they realized monsters were real. It shattered their worldview, split their minds wide open. If werewolves existed, what else might be lurking in the dark? It was one thing to observe them in books and movies. It was quite another to stare one down in the flesh. In the real world, people didn’t respond with curiosity or fascination; they responded with panic and fear.
But Milo wasn’t giving her the luxury of denial. She belonged to him, fated by a force far older and wiser than either of them could comprehend. In time, she’d understand. In time, she’d thank him. Until then, he’d dowhat was necessary to protect her and to protect the pack.
“Willow, we need to go. It’s late, and Poppy’s probably losing it.” He hoped the mention of her sister would snap her out of it.
“Keep my sister’s name out of your fucking mouth. You stay away from her.”
