Page 84 of A Wolf of War
Titan jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Need a word, boss.”
Milo brushed a kiss over Willow’s cheek, murmuring low in her ear, “I’ll be right back,sweetheart.” He forced his body to move steady, unhurried, but every nerve in him was already wired hot. He followed Titan into the other room, and the moment the door shut behind them, the kid let it out.
“McGarvey’s making a move. Everywhere.” Titan’s voice was clipped, urgent. “Reports are flooding in—multiple places hit, wolves dead. Some of ours, some of theirs. It’s chaos. Nobody knows what to do.”
The words lit Milo’s blood on fire. His jaw locked, shoulders straightening, mind already snapping into formation. “Where?” he demanded.
“Fucking everywhere, dude. It’s coordinated. He’s everywhere.”
Before Milo could answer, his phone buzzed violently in his pocket. One glance at the caller ID had him moving without hesitation. Arlo.
He answered, voice dropping into command mode, every ounce of softness from moments ago with Willow gone.
“Talk to me.”
“Milo,” Arlo’s voice came in hard and ragged, the sound of an engine in the background, “McGarvey goons came for us. Condo’s been breached. Poppy and I barely made it out. We’re on the road now.”
Milo pinched the bridge of his nose, pacing, his pulse roaring in his ears. “Stay moving. Don’t go to ground unless you have to. Titan and I will coordinate an extraction route.”
Poppy’s faint voice echoed through the line, panicked, but alive. That alone steadied Milo enough to press on.
“Arlo, listen to me. You keep her safe, you hear? Get her out of sight until I can send backup. McGarvey wants us scattered. We need to regroup as quickly as possible.”
Arlo exhaled hard, but there was iron in his words. “Copy that.”
Milo’s eyes flicked to Titan, who was pale with fear. His chest tightened. Willow in the next room, likely terrified. Poppy in the wind. Wolves dead. McGarvey hitting every border.
War had just landed on his doorstep.
***
Milo’s handslingered on Willow’s shoulders longer than they should have, his thumbs brushing against her collarbones as though he could etch strength intoher spirit through touch alone. She was pale, nervous, but trying so damn hard to be strong. Lachlan sat in the backseat beside her, face set into that doctor’s mask he wore when he needed to be steady for someone else.
“You’ll be safe with him,” Milo murmured, leaning in close. “I’ll meet you after. Nothing will touch you, I swear it.”
Her fingers clutched at his shirt like she didn’t want to let go, and for a split second, he almost said fuck it to everything—McGarvey, Jenner, all of it. But war wouldn’t wait. With a gentle press of his lips against her forehead, he pulled back. “I love you, sweetheart. You’re doing the right thing.”
Willow’s eyes shone, glassy and fearful, but she gave him a small nod. Milo stepped away and closed the car door, watching until the driver he’d assigned pulled away. The SUV disappeared down the long driveway before he turned back toward the house.
Titan was already waiting, shoulders squared, jaw tight. No backtalk, no grin. Just a wolf ready for blood to defend his land.
They didn’t speak as they moved into the library. Milo reached for the thick manual in the bookcase, pulled it outward, and slid the bookcase over. Once thedoor was open, the faint scent of gun oil and metal hit his senses like a homecoming. The armory yawned open, a cold, shadowed space where he felt more at home than anywhere else.
Except, of course, in her arms.
Milo stepped inside, shrugging out of his t-shirt and tugging on a slim Kevlar vest that would pass under his hoodie without drawing stares. He clipped spare mags into the inner webbing, deliberate and quick. No wasted movement.
“You don’t want to be bulked down,” he told Titan, his voice low and even as he adjusted the straps. “If humans spot you decked out like a Green Beret, they’ll lose it. Blend in. Civilian, but ready.”
Titan nodded, already mirroring him, tugging on a dark jacket over a vest that fit snug against his frame. His hands moved a little shakier on the buckles, but Milo stepped over and tightened them down with efficient pulls, clapping him once on the shoulder. “Good.”
They moved along the racks, loading backpacks with compact carbines broken down into parts, sidearms tucked in holsters, suppressors wrapped in cloth. A pair of rifle bags leaned against the far wall—Milo tossed one to Titan. “Carry it like it’s nothing special.Just another hunter with his gear.”
Titan zipped it closed, testing the weight before slinging it over his shoulder. “Feels light.”
“Won’t when it’s full,” Milo said, grabbing his own bag and sliding a shotgun inside, the action smooth and practiced.
When they stepped back into the library, the air felt heavier, as though the house itself knew what they were walking into. Milo closed the bookcase behind them, sealing the armory away again, and looked at Titan—really looked at him. The boy was gone. A soldier stood in his place.
