Page 21 of A Wolf of War
“He’s trying to help,Milo.”
“Yeah? He can help himself to shutting the fuck up, Arlo.”
A laugh burst from her chest, light and breathy. It tumbled from her lips, the sound unfiltered and free. When her eyes finally peeled open, the first thing she saw was him—Milo, crouched beside her.
She smiled.
And then she remembered.
Willow’s face crumpled, the fragile threads holding her together snapping. Her heart plummeted, free-falling past her ribs, out of her back, and straight through the earth beneath her. Panic clawed like a wild animal up her throat, and her breathing turned jagged.
When Milo reached for her, she flinched, arms shooting out in a frantic attempt to shove him away. Her eyes brimmed with tears, which spilled over hotly as she fought against his touch—and against herself. Because despite everything, despite the fear of what he was capable of doing, all she wanted was to collapse into him.
To be held.
To be safe.
To behis.
The thought made bile rise in her throat, coating her mouth with an acrid tang.
“Willow, it’s okay, my love,” Milo murmured, his voice soft, hands open like he was praying for her forgiveness, or begging for her surrender.
“Stay… stay the f-fuck away from me,” she slurred, whatever drug they gave her still tangling up her tongue. It was also fogging her mind, but not enough to forget who he was.
Or more importantly, what he was.
Her first thought—ridiculously, irrationally—was, Where’s my bag? Then, regret hit like a hammer. The Taser. The mace. She hadn’t even tried to use them. Not that she thought that they would’ve made a difference against giant wolf monsters masquerading as men, but still. Maybe it could’ve bought her a few more seconds. Now, she’d never know.
“Poppy. Oh my God. Poppy,” she gasped, the name tumbling out in a panicked exhale as she jolted upright.
The world immediately splintered into a kaleidoscope of pain and shooting stars. Hands caught her, bringing her back to balance. One pressed firmly between her shoulder blades, the other wrapped gently around her arm.
“Easy, baby. Lay back. You need to rest. Yoursister’s safe. She knows where you are.”
“Get off,” Willow whimpered, the fight in her voice weakened, but still there. She gave a feeble shake of her head, heart splintering all over again. She didn’t understand why it hurt so much. There had been little to nothing between them—just fleeting touches, a handful of flirtatious texts, and that unspoken pull that had tethered them from the start.
It shouldn’t have felt like betrayal.
But it did.
“I trusted you, and you lied to me,” she breathed, her voice thin and breaking, head bowed as tears slipped down and dripped silently off the bridge of her nose.
“I didn’t lie, Willow,” Milo said softly, eyes tracking every tremble of her body. “I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“Same fucking thing,” she snapped, her words raw with pain.
Willow’s thoughts were clearing, but her body remained weighed down by exhaustion. Despite herself, she relaxed against him, her temple pressing to his chest, as if her body hadn’t been able to keep pace with her mind’s rage.
“There you go, baby,” he whispered, easing herdown with careful hands, voice warm and slow like a lullaby, “Just rest.”
As his hand started to slip away from hers, she reached out for him, fingertips grazing his skin.
“Don’t go,” she murmured, already sinking into unconsciousness.
And then she was gone—drifting in the dark, wrapped in the arms of the man who had shattered what she knew of reality.
***
