Page 59 of A Wolf of War
He hesitated, jaw tightening just enough for her to notice.
“It’s a long story,” he said quietly. “Go to the dining room. It’ll be more comfortable. Give me a minute and I’ll be there. I’ll tell you everything I can.”
Her body moved before her mind could object, and she walked across the kitchen and into the dining room as though in a trance.
Once there, she sat down, hands in her lap, fingers twisting together anxiously.
A few quiet minutes passed before Milo stepped into the dining room, a plate held in one hand. He set it in front of her without a word—slices of white cheese, thin rounds of salami, a neat stack of crackers, and a small bunch of grapes. Willow arched a brow, staring at the spread like it had personally offended her.
“Really?” she muttered. “A snack plate? Is this one last-ditch effort to distract me?”
“You didn’t eat dinner last night,” Milo replied, unbothered. “You need something in your stomach.”
She rolled her eyes, but herfingers twitched toward the food anyway. “Well, maybe dinner would’ve gone smoother if a certain someone hadn’t tried to pick on somebody half his size.”
His mouth twitched, just enough for her to know he was fighting a laugh.
Still, she plucked a grape from the plate, popped it into her mouth, and chewed. Sweet. Cold. Perfect. Her stomach gave a grumble, and she scowled at the sound. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t have to.
Swallowing, she leaned back in the chair and narrowed her eyes.
“Alright. Let’s hear it.”
Milo cleared his throat and leaned forward. His fingers threaded together, forearms braced on the table as if grounding himself before dropping a weight between them.
“We’re not the only…” His jaw flexed. “Uh, ‘werewolf mafia’ in the city.”
Willow gave a noncommittal, “Mm-hmm,” before saying, “I’m aware.” Her tone invited him to keep talking, even if she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest.
“The city’s split into two territories. Ours, and the other run by a man named Colin McGarvey. He’s Alpha of his pack, and they deal in…” Milo’s gaze slid away, his mouth twisting uncomfortably. “A different currency than we do.”
She bit into a cracker topped with cheese, the crunch loud in the silence. Her brows drew together, a faint unease prickling in her chest. “What do you mean by a different currency?”
“They deal in people.”
Her chewing stopped. The taste in her mouth turned to ash.
“Like… prostitution?” The word came out as a whisper. “Or what?”
“And more.” His voice was steady, but there was venom in it. “The organ trade. Black market. They feed on the shit we won’t, and they’ve grown fatter than we should’ve let them on our scraps.”
Willow’s blood iced over. Forced sex work. Organs taken from a body that still breathed. They were the kind of nightmares you kept at arm’s length, horrors that lived behind a television screen—never something she had looked in the eye.
“And they want me?” Her voice was barely there. “Why?”
“Because you matter to me,” Milo said grimly, “and they want more ground.Their leader, McGarvey, has got some stupid fucking fantasy that he’s going to take this city and crown himself king.”
She stared down at the plate. The food blurred, her stomach churning, but she’d at least managed to choke down half.
“What happens if they get me?” The question slipped out, brittle with dread.
“You won’t ever have to find out.” His eyes locked on hers, hard and unyielding. “I will never let that happen, Willow.”
She wanted to believe him. Part of her ached to step into his arms, to let his strength wrap around her like armor, to never leave that fortress once she was inside it. But the other part, the part that remembered she’d been kidnapped, was ice and dread. A gang of ruthless sociopathic werewolves was planning a hostage situation with her as the bargaining chip, and she didn’t know how to carry that. The entire thing felt absurd.
A sigh escaped her as she leaned back, slipping her hand from under his, folding both in her lap. The exhaustion came all at once, bone-deep.
“I think I need a nap,” she murmured with a humorless laugh.
