Page 43 of A Wolf of War
But she wasn’t ready for that.
Not yet.
21
WILLOW
She curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around the pillow that had come to stand in for everything she’d lost. Fat, silent tears slipped down her pink cheeks, soaking into the fabric without ceremony. It wasn’t late, but her body had surrendered to the bone-deep exhaustion of repeated heartbreak. Every limb felt weighted. Every breath was a quiet surrender.
Sleep took her again, as it had so often lately. There was nothing else to do. No job to tend to. No emails to check. No life to return to.
Maybe he did me a favor by deciding to keep me here,she thought bitterly.
She let go, falling fast and hard into the quiet chasm of sleep.
***
Willow woke with a start,disoriented and too warm, her cheek sticking uncomfortably to the pillow where a line of drool had dried. Her limbs felt heavy, her body sluggish, like she’d been pulled from the wreckage of a bad dream. The sheets were tangled around her legs, and her skin was damp with sweat.
She stretched gingerly, letting each group ofmuscles loosen their knots, joints popping in protest. As her arms reached overhead, her wrists brushed against the headboard—no restraints, not this time, but her body remembered. She’d dreamed that he had been here. Between her legs. Moaning. Tongue twisting inside her like he had all the time in the world and a calling to answer.
She clenched her thighs reflexively, heat blooming in her core and rising to her cheeks.
And then the guilt crept in.
The reminder that she was still a prisoner here. Still in his territory, under his roof, surrounded by men who could tear her apart without breaking a sweat. Her breath caught in her chest. She needed to stay sharp. She couldn’t afford to forget what this was.
Even if her body did.
She willed away the imagery, the desire, the feelings associated with them.
Willow finally slipped out of bed, desperate for distraction, the cool air brushing her bare legs and arms as she padded toward the door. The floor was cold under her feet. She opened the door slowly, half-expecting someone to be standing on the other side. No one was.
The hallway beyond was dim, moonlight filteringthrough narrow windows and catching on the sheen of polished floors. As she walked, she admired the ornate tapestries that hung from the walls.
Until she remembered the wolves.
Willow shuddered.
She walked softly, her fingertips trailing along the carved wood of the banister as she descended the grand staircase. The space opened wide below her, the silence of the manor somehow louder at night, every creak and shift in the house echoing like a threat. The scent of the kitchen called to her—coffee grounds, and something meaty.
At the bottom of the stairs, she turned left, passing through the archway and into the kitchen.
It was still stunning, in that cold, magazine-spread kind of way. High ceilings, marble countertops, stainless steel appliances polished to a mirror shine. Willow glanced around cautiously. No signs of life. No Milo. Just the low hum of the fridge and the tick of an antique clock mounted above the doorframe.
For a moment, she simply stood there, letting the quiet settle around her. The freedom to move—even just through this house—felt like a fragile gift. She stepped farther in, eyeing the cabinets, unsure of where to go toget what she needed. All she wanted was a cup of coffee.
“Hey there, Willow.”
She startled, hand flying to her chest as her heart jerked painfully. Lachlan stood just a few feet away, leaning casually against the doorframe like he’d been there all along. He was dressed in scrubs again—this pair light blue, patterned with little teddy bears clutching stethoscopes. His smile was warm, easy, the kind that made you feel like you weren’t intruding. But the circles under his eyes told a different story. They were as dark as she’d ever seen on a person.
“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “Comes with the territory, the wolf thing and all that. It freaks the nurses out, too.”
There was a softness in his tone, a gentle kindness that contrasted sharply with everything else in this house. He didn’t look at her like she was prey. Just like she was in need of a cup of tea and some good conversation.
“You’re fine. I startle easily,” she murmured, arms folding across her chest. Her voice was nearly inaudible—but of course, that didn’t matter here.
Stupid fucking wolf powers, she grumbled internally, jaw tightening.
