Page 51 of A Wolf of War
MILO
Lachlan peered down at Milo, a brow raised as he scooped a bite of potato salad into his mouth. “You good down there?”
“Yeah, great. Why do you ask?”
Lachlan hummed, chewing thoughtfully. “You just seem a little wet, is all.”
Milo grinned, sharp and wolfish, even as his chest ached. “If that’s what’s worrying you, I’d be terrified for Willow tonight.”
“You’re gross, you know that?” Lachlan said, sighing. “Willow’s right. You need to settle down.”
Milo didn’t argue. He let the water cradle him, cooling his skin even as his clothes fought to drag him down, and his thoughts turned back to Willow. She was somehow so soft even in her fury.
Lachlan finished the last bite of his potato salad, crumpled the paper plate, and tossed it into the nearby trash can with a clean shot. Then, he offered a hand down to Milo.
“You ready to fill me in with what happened at that meeting?”
Milo sighed, letting his legs drop until he was upright in the water. “Not a whole lot.”
“But something did happen?”
With a practiced heave, Lachlan pulled him fromthe water, Milo landing on the stone pool deck with barely a splash. His shirt clung to his body like a second skin, water cascading from his jeans as he ran a hand through his dripping hair.
Once he was up, the two of them walked toward the back porch in silence for a beat, until Milo spoke, voice low and taut.
“He wants some sort of ceasefire between us.”
Lachlan’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “And?”
“I agreed to it, but I’m questioning what it entails. It feels almost like he wants to make a grab for territory and for us to roll over while he does it.”
Lachlan hissed softly. “He’s been after a few pockets for a while.”
“Regardless of the reason, it feels wrong,” Milo muttered, wiping water from his brow. “I know he’s up to something.”
Lachlan stopped just inside the doorway, folding his arms. “And Willow?”
“He’ll never so much as set eyes on her if I can help it,” Milo growled. “She’s not a piece on this board. She’s off-limits.”
Lachlan nodded. “I don’t even think McGarveywould go that far, honestly. It would go against the very nature of our laws.”
“Yeah. But everything is different now.” Milo looked toward the stairs, where Willow had vanished minutes before. “I can’t take chances, Lachlan. Not with her life riding on the outcomes.”
***
Milo movedthrough the quiet house, his bare feet silent against the cool floor. The night had finally wound down, the last threads of sunlight long since faded, and the manor had settled into a stillness that felt like pressure building behind his eyes.
He walked into his room, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it into the hamper. The distant chirp of crickets filtered through the open window, but the sound was drowned out by his thoughts.
Of Willow, naturally.
He went about his routine, brushing his teeth with slow, methodical strokes, washing his face like he was preparing for a date instead of bed. He towel-dried, staring at himself in the mirror for a long moment. There were lines in his face that hadn’t been there before. Newones, carved not from time, but from stress.
He could still hear the way she had said his name. The memory of her breathless voice from that night was a constant companion now, echoing in his mind like a song on repeat. He’d replayed the moment a hundred times—her softness, her surrender, the tremble in her voice as she begged.
He swallowed hard, dragging a hand down his face. She was unraveling for him, thread by thread, and soon, there’d be nothing left between them but truth and skin.
Milo pulled on a pair of worn sweatpants and padded over to the bed. He sank onto the mattress with a low exhale, staring at the empty space beside him.
