Page 85 of A Wolf of War
“Stay sharp. We don’t have the luxury of mistakes. Take your car. Get to Poppy and Arlo. I’ll head into the thick of things.”
Titan nodded once, and together they strode toward the door, the weight of oncoming battle slung across their backs.
41
WILLOW
The quiet thrum of the tires against the road was hypnotic, steady and low, a lull that settled in her bones. Willow sat in the backseat, buckled in, her knees drawn close together, hands folded in her lap. Lachlan glanced at her, his voice calm and professional.
“How are you feeling? That benzo kicking in yet?”
She wet her lips, shrugging faintly. “A little… floaty. Like my head’s a balloon.” Her words slurred just slightly, and she gave a soft, nervous laugh. “I guess that means it’s working.”
“Good,” Lachlan said. “It’s supposed to take the edge off so you aren’t nervous for surgery. Just ride it out and let yourself breathe.”
She nodded, settling back against the seat as a strange, slow warmth threaded through her veins. It wasn’t happiness, not really, but the sharp screaming of panic had dulled into something muffled, as if her head were wrapped in cotton.
The car grew quiet after that, silence falling like a heavy blanket. The world outside blurred into patches of green and gray, unimportant compared to the ache inside her. Almost without thinking, Willow’s hand drifted down to rest against her lower stomach. Her palm pressed lightly, as though she could feel the truth of what wasthere with just the weight of her touch.
What if she let it grow? What if she gave it a chance to become something more than cells and possibility? She tried to imagine it—the tiny kicks, the curve of her belly, Milo’s arms wrapped around her with that proud glow in his eyes. A life growing inside of her that tied her to him forever.
The thought hollowed her out as quickly as it filled her. Fear and longing twisted together until she couldn’t tell them apart. She swallowed hard, forcing her eyes away from her hand.
The SUV descended into the underground garage, the sudden shift into shadow jarring after the light of day. The tires echoed against concrete, the air cooler, more sterile. Lachlan parked near a nondescript door with no signs, no markings. Just another gray wall hiding something monumental.
He got out first, circling to open her door. Willow slid out on shaky legs, her body heavier than she remembered, as though the consequence of her choice pressed into her muscles. Before he could take a step, she reached out, fingers clutching the sleeve of his coat.
Her throat burned, tears already spilling before the words made it out. “Lachlan… will you be mad if I change my mind?”
Her voice cracked, raw and small in the cavernous garage.
He turned immediately, his face softening, no judgment in his eyes. He placed his hand over hers, steady and grounding.
“Willow,” he said gently, “this is your choice. Only yours. Nobody will be mad. Not me, not Milo, not anyone. Whatever you decide, we’ll stand by you.”
The reassurance broke her, her sobs rising again, but softer this time, as though his words had carved out space for her grief instead of adding to it.
Lachlan squeezed her hand, his smile tired but warm, like the kind of smile a parent gave to ease a child’s fears. “We can go home right now, if you’d like,” he said softly. “Or we can take a few minutes and talk it through before you do anything. Whatever you need, Willow. This is at your pace.”
Her chest trembled with another sob, relief flooding her veins. She nodded faintly, lips parting to speak.
And then the world shattered.
A deafening crack split the air, sharp and final. Lachlan jerked violently, his smile ripped away in aninstant as his body twisted. His blood sprayed hot against her cheek.
Time stopped.
Her hand flew up, touched her face.
Red.
Wet.
Wrong.
Lachlan staggered back against the SUV, clutching his shoulder, breath caught in his throat. Her own body wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t listen. She stood frozen, staring, until the sound of boots and gunfire dragged her back into the moment.
“Lachlan!” she screamed, voice raw, her throat tearing.
