Page 46 of A Wolf of War
The sharp crack of gunfire rang through the private shooting range, echoing off concrete and steel, although he barely heard it through his ear protection. Milo adjusted his grip on the Glock and squeezed the trigger again. Headshot. Center mass. Headshot.
He didn’t miss. He never did.
An acrid scent clung to the air, sharp and comforting. It reminded him of long nights in hostile territory, fingers wrapped around steel, blood in his mouth, and a mission clock ticking down like a bomb.
Delta doesn’t feel, he reminded himself.
But he wasn’t Delta anymore.
Milo holstered the weapon, breathing out slowly and steadily, watching the target sway at the end of the lane. He didn’t want to think about those days. Not the sounds. Not the faces.
Not the goddamnchildren.
Instead, he thought of Willow.
That defiant little chin tilted up at him. Her eyes, blue and blazing. The way her voice cracked when she cursed his name, like it tasted too sweet to spit out so viciously.
He could smell her, even now. Her scent clung to his clothes, to his thoughts; he was undeniably hers.
Milo pulled the slide back and reloaded. Everyclick and snap of metal was a balm against the ache clawing at his chest.
She’s not ready yet,he reminded himself.But soon.
He raised the gun again and centered the next target.
Soon, she’ll understand.
Then, he fired.
Too many variables. Too much silence. In the world of wolves, silence never meant peace. A storm was coming. He could feel it in his bones, in the way the air tasted; too still, too clean.
McGarvey had gone quiet, and he never stayed quiet for long.
Milo didn’t trust it. It wasn’t like him to lie low unless he was planning something that would hit like a sniper’s bullet—silent, sudden, deadly. Every instinct Milo had, sharpened by years in the field, told him that the calm was about to fracture. Something was moving beneath the surface, and he hadn’t clocked it yet. That alone was enough to put him on edge.
He’d been considering relocating Willow. Somewhere more secure. Somewhere farther from reach. But the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’twant to be without her unless he had no other choice. But choices were thinning out.
And he knew better than anyone, the worst kind of war was the one you couldn’t see coming.
With a sigh, Milo flicked on the safety and holstered his weapon. It was time to go.
***
The engine rumbledlow beneath him, a steady growl that mirrored the growing tension in Milo’s gut. The city lights blurred past the windshield as he drove, jaw tight, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming restlessly against his thigh. The meeting with McGarvey had been a long time coming, but he didn’t trust the timing of the man reaching out.
Not for a second.
The air inside the SUV felt too hot, even with the AC blasting. He rolled his neck, trying to loosen the knot at the base of his spine, but it only cinched tighter. Every instinct he had, every scrap of training drilled into him during his special forces days, told him this was a setup of some sort. McGarvey never came to the table without something sharp hidden behind his back.
And Milo couldn’t afford to bleed.
Not now. Not with Willow under his roof. Not with the bond half-complete and her scent lingering on his skin as a signal to every other wolf that she existed, and she was his.
His fingers curled tighter on the wheel. He was walking into the lion’s den without a plan.
Milo rolled onto the dock road with the slow precision of a man expecting an ambush. The headlights washed over the row of rust-stained warehouses and shipping containers stacked sky-high. The SUV crunched over gravel as he pulled into the shadow of one of the larger structures, Building 12. It was a good choice. Isolated. Close to water. Easy exits in every direction.
He cut the engine.
