Page 22 of A Wolf of War
The next time Willow woke,it was to the steady thrum of a heartbeat. She was curled against Milo, tucked into the curvature of his body like she had always belonged there. Not quite face-to-face—he was too tall for that—but close enough to hear his soft, rhythmic breathing.
I hate you,she reminded herself bitterly, even as her fingers decided to disobey, rising to trace the edge of his jaw. His was the kind of jawline artists obsessed over—structured, expressive, the type you sketched in charcoal and then blurred at the edges with the tips of your fingers. Under his thick stubble, she could see the lines beneath,sharp and devastating.
The moment her fingertips made contact, Milo’s eyes shot open. At first, there was confusion… then recognition, and then a quiet, soul-deep smile that made her chest ache. His gaze locked with hers, and everything else fell away. Something inside her stirred, reckless and wanting. She needed to lean in and kiss him—to find out what he tasted like.
“Good morning,” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle the crown of her head, his breath warm against her hair.
Willow froze. Her eyes shut tight, as if she could will away the rush of heat blooming low in her belly. Something hard was pressing into her thigh, and just the thought of his cock had her clenching around what was inside her—regrettably, nothing.
“That’s not my dick. It’s my gun.”
“Your fucking what?”
“Ex-military, baby,” he said, like that explained everything.
She didn’t have the energy to ask why a werewolf would even need a gun. Instead, she slowly peeled herself away from him, like prying herself off of something sticky, until she’d made it to the other sideof the bed. Once there, she sat up, trying to gather herself. Trying not to think about how much her body missed him already.
“Are you hungry?”
Willow glanced back at Milo, who was still curled lazily on his side, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just kidnapped her. She didn’t answer. Instead, she slipped off the bed, her bare feet sinking into a plush carpet.
She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings with the caution of someone waking up in a stranger’s skin. The room was large. Luxuriously so. A grand fireplace dominated the wall across from the bed, and to her left, a wide bay window looked out over a landscape cloaked in darkness. It was beautiful in the way old ruins were, silent and unsettling.
What unsettled her more, though, was the absence of personal effects. No books, no art, no signs of the man who lived within these walls. It was sterile, a holding cell. Wrapping her arms around herself, Willow’s eyes swept the space, her heart beating audibly as she began quietly cataloguing possible exits.
If Poppy thought Willow liked things minimal, she’d probably throw a fit after taking a gander at this stark, soulless place.
“My sister will be looking for me,” she announced, squaring her shoulders like she’d just cracked the code to fixing her situation.
Milo didn’t even blink. “Your sister knows where you are,” he said calmly, “and she knows better than to come looking.”
“You don’t know my sister,” she shot back, chin lifting.
“No,” he admitted, his voice like velvet laced with venom, “but I do know how to have footage fabricated, and I know exactly where to cut when I want to get to the heart of something. Or someone.”
Her mouth clamped shut, breath catching in her throat. The chill that swept through her veins wasn’t from the surroundings—it was the slow realization that she was likely in way over her head.
And she didn’t know if, from here, she would sink or swim.
12
MILO
Milo yawned, stretching the stiffness from his limbs with all the lethargy of a lazy lion. He understood her worry—family ties were hard to sever—but damn, if it wasn’t a hassle. If Willow didn’t have a sister, everything would’ve fallen into place with so much less resistance.
Instead, he’d lost a whole man to the Poppy detail, assigning someone full-time to keep eyes on her while Willow acclimated. It wasn’t permanent, just a temporary inconvenience until the bond was sealed. After that, the natural order would return.
The only issue was that Poppy could never be allowed to so much as glimpse the truth of what her sister’s life would eventually become. She would have to be kept at an arm’s distance from now on, and he knew that would prove challenging because of the bond between the sisters.
He watched her with the unblinking focus of a predator tracking prey. Except this wasn’t prey. This was his mate, his destiny, and her silence was suffocating him. The storm swirling in her eyes told him everything he needed to know—she was pissed, and maybe rightfully so. But someday, she’d understand.
“Are you hungry?” he asked again, forcing a calm he didn’t feel, his tone carefully pitched to be gentle,nonthreatening. Milo had captured and contained prisoners before. He wasn’t new to keeping people in captivity. But never like this—never someone meant to rule beside him.
This was her queendom, whether she knew it yet or not. While he may have dragged her thrashing to the throne, he would never presume to command a queen in her own court.
If she didn’t want to eat, he couldn’t make her.
“No,” she whimpered, voice cracking as she turned away from him. The sound of her crying tore through him. It was worse than any wound he’d taken in combat. It sounded so much like a symphony of suffering, and every note drove into him like shrapnel. Milo wanted to go to her, wanted to hold her. Comfort her. Love her.
