Page 82 of A Wolf of War
Lachlan gave her a slow, understanding nod, the faintest curve of sympathy tugging at his mouth. “Of course.” He straightened, brushing an invisible speck from his shirt sleeve before continuing. “And for now, Ican prescribe you something mild for the anxiety. Nothing heavy, just enough to keep you comfortable.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his, and though she managed a small, grateful smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Lachlan.”
He reached across the island, resting a hand briefly over hers, warm and grounding. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my honor to look after you.” Then, as though sensing she needed space, he stepped back, gathering his folder. “I’ll get the prescription filled today. Make sure you take one tonight and another in the morning.”
She nodded again, and he offered her a quiet, brotherly smile before leaving the kitchen, his footsteps fading down the hall.
When the silence settled back in, Willow let out a long, shaky breath and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. It all felt surreal, like her life had been dragged into fast-forward without her permission. Only weeks ago, Milo had been a presence at the periphery of her world—dangerous, magnetic, terrifying. And now she’d woken in his bed, tangled in his arms, carrying his child, and making the choice to end it.
Everything had escalated so quickly. Somewhere between his relentless pursuit and herreckless surrender, she’d crossed a line she hadn’t known she was approaching. And now she was sitting in his kitchen, staring down the aftermath, wondering how everything could feel both so devastating and inevitable all at once.
Willow was still sitting at the island, hands curled around the cooling mug, when she heard the quiet creak of the floorboards behind her. Milo’s presence filled the room before she even turned, that heavy, grounding energy of his already filling the air around her.
He came up behind her and set his broad palms gently on her shoulders, kneading the tension there before leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low, steady, “you don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll be there. Every step. When it’s done, you’ll come home to me, and you’ll recover in nothing but comfort. Luxury, if I have my way.”
Her throat closed around the words she didn’t want to say, but they spilled out anyway, fragile and raw. “Milo… I’m ending a little life.”
For a heartbeat, he was quiet. Then he shifted, crouching in front of her so he could look into her face. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, catching the trace of a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. His eyeswere sharp, unwavering, but there was no judgment—only a fierce, unyielding tenderness.
“It might be alive, Willow,” he said softly, “but it’s not a life. Not the kind of life you’re thinking of. Not yet.” His hand settled over hers, large and warm, grounding her trembling fingers. “What you’re doing isn’t wrong. You’re taking charge of your future. Our future.”
Her chest hitched, torn between the ache of guilt and the swell of relief his words gave her. He leaned closer, pressing his forehead to hers, and the weight of his certainty settled over her like a blanket. “You’re doing the right thing, Willow. You’re always right to choose yourself. In the animal kingdom, female animals abort their fetuses and even kill their own young when they can’t take care of them. Controlling your own reproduction is the most natural thing in the world.”
And for the first time that morning, she let herself lean into him, her forehead pressed into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him until the panic inside her loosened its grip.
***
By afternoon,the heaviness of themorning had thinned into something bearable, though still weighing on her. Lachlan had pressed a handwritten list into Milo’s hand before heading back to the hospital, his pen-strokes neat, medical, efficient—hydration salts, heating pad, electrolyte drinks, easy-to-digest foods, ibuprofen, thick pads. Milo had tucked it into his back pocket with care.
Now, the two of them moved side by side down the glossy aisles of a pharmacy, the blast of AC not quite enough to cut the summer heat still clinging to her skin. Willow had thrown on a white tank top and jean shorts, her hair falling over her shoulders.
Milo, infuriatingly, looked completely at ease despite the temperature, broad frame in dark jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched over his chest and shoulders. He had one hand resting on the cart handle, the other at his side, posture loose but alert. Willow knew Titan had gone in ahead of them, sweeping each corner. It was surreal, shopping for Pedialyte and crackers under the quiet watch of men who could dismantle a body in seconds.
Milo reached for the top shelf without hesitation, plucking down a mega-sized pack of overnight pads and dropping it into the cart. The muscles in his forearm flexed, and Willow caught herself staring before draggingher eyes away.
“You okay?” he asked without looking at her, tone casual but carrying that undertone—him checking her pulse in ways that had nothing to do with her physical health.
Willow smoothed her palm against the hem of her tank top, nodding. “Yeah. Just hot.”
His mouth tilted, faint amusement cutting through the otherwise cool mask of his face. “Yeah, you are.” He winked.
She rolled her eyes, cheeks warming, but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips.
***
The house was quiet,the kind of silence that felt thick, as though it knew what tomorrow would bring. Willow lay tucked into Milo’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like steel cables softened by warmth. The sheets were cool against her bare legs, but his heat made her feel cocooned, tethered to him.
He pressed his lips into her hair, voice low and steady against the back of her skull. “You’re making the right choice, sweetheart. Don’t let yourself carry shamethat doesn’t belong to you.”
His words eased something inside her, but only for a breath. A thought crept in, fast and unrelenting—the calendar.
The full moon.
Her stomach clenched.
“Milo,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to see his face in the dim light. “Tomorrow’s the full moon.”
She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on it, how much she’d pinned her security on the bond they were supposed to complete. Her pulse skittered as panic welled in her throat. “You’re supposed to knot me tomorrow and?—”
