Page 56 of A Wolf of War
It hadn’t been his doing this time. He hadn’t reached for her—hadn’t pulled her through the bond. She’d called to him, even if she didn’t understand it yet. Something inside her had reached out in the dark, and that meant more to him than anything she could’ve said.
He laid a forearm over his eyes and exhaled slowly, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.
There was hope.
She was still softening.
Milo sat up, the sheets falling away from his chest as he planted his feet on the cold wood floor. Now that he was awake, the quiet of the morning wasn’t comforting—it was loaded. Too quiet, like the hush that came before a firefight. He rolled his shoulders, muscles tight from tension he hadn’t worked out in days. Maybe he’d take it out on the bag later. Maybe the range.
As he stood, he moved through the motions of his morning routine with militant efficiency. Brushed teeth, cold water to the face, a clean black shirt pulled over his frame, jeans slung low on his hips. He strapped on his watch last.
But his mind wasn’t on the day ahead.
It was on McGarvey.
Milo didn’t trust a single fucking thing that came out of his mouth, and ever since their meeting at the docks, he’d felt something rolling in over the horizon. Something was coming, and Milo wasn’t going to be caught off-guard when it did.
He could feel it in his gut. McGarvey had his eyes on Willow.
And that terrified him.
His jaw clenched as he stared into the mirror, the lines of his face hard and shadowed. He had taken oaths in his life—some for his country, some for his brothers—but this one was more personal.
If McGarvey so much as breathed in Willow’s direction, Milo would wipe his pack off the map.
War was coming, whatever it looked like.
Hewouldbe ready.
***
Milo stalked downstairs,each step deliberate, soundless. His senses stretched wide, testing the air like antennae. No trace of her yet—his nose told him that much. Willow hadn’t come down. Her scent was still faint, dormant. Still upstairs.
But Titan?
Oh, he had been here.
There was the distinct tinge of unease in his scent. Not panic, not dread—just raw, simmering fear. Good. Milo wanted that. He needed Titan to be scared of him. It was a necessary step in his development. Fear created obedience. Obedience ensured survival.
In combat, hesitation got people killed. The quickerTitan internalized that truth, the longer he’d live. Milo knew the formula firsthand.
He had been scared, too.
Back when he was in basic, green and burning with adrenaline, he remembered the internal terror when his commanding officer barked orders. But that fear had sharpened him. Molded him into something leaner, faster, smarter. Eventually, it became understanding.
His commanding officers hadn’t been cruel. They’d just known the cost of failure.
Milo didn’t need Titan to like him. He needed him alive. If fear was the bridge that got them there, so be it. At the end of the day, Milo cared deeply for Titan. That was what made him tough on the kid.
Even if hewasa fucking idiot.
He turned into the kitchen and caught Lachlan’s scent before he saw him. Lachlan. That ever-present mix of antiseptic and exhaustion clung to the man like a second skin. Milo rounded the corner and found him exactly where he expected—hunched slightly, one hand wrapped around a chipped mug, the other bracing himself on the counter. His bright pink scrubs were wrinkled, the dark circles beneath his eyes bordering on bruises.
“Long night?” Milo asked, coming to stand beside him. He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed.
Lachlan exhaled through his nose, then took a slow sip before answering.
“Five-hour surgery on a toddler. Defect in her heart. We got her through just fine, but…” He trailed off, shoulders sinking. “It always hits harder when they’re that small.”
