Page 27 of A Wolf of War
Milo had to hold back a laugh. A monster? If only she knew the half of it. The things he’d done, the blood on his hands, made the title feel almost quaint. And still, she stood before him, glaring like she had claws of her own.
Her defiance was beautiful—a little flame flickering in the dark, stubbornly refusing to be snuffed out. She reminded him of a kitten, all hiss and spit, trying to act big while her heart was ready to give. She was breathtaking when she was angry.
He could smell her arousal, heady and impossible to ignore. It clung to the air like a challenge, daring him to act. And though he wouldn’t take her—not yet—he’d make damn sure she remembered who she belonged to.
“You’re trembling,” he said, voice low and dark. “Not from fear. So tell me, Willow… if I’m such a monster, why are you so wet?”
Her eyes widened, lips parting in a soft gasp as her body betrayed her. Rage warred with desire across her face, but he didn’t give her time to choose.
In a blur of movement, Milo spun her around and pressed her forward, bracing her against the countertop. She was bent in half over the edge, breath knocked fromher lungs in a startled sound that teetered between protest and need as her feet kicked against the cabinets.
“Still think I’m a monster?” he growled into her ear, one hand firm against her back, the other tracing up her inner thigh. Even from that distance, he could feel the heat pulsing from her core.
She made a pathetic little noise, and he stilled. He wouldn’t cross the line, as much as he wanted to rip her pants off and bury his face between those beautiful legs. Instead, he hovered, breathing in that soothing, addictive scent.
“If I ever lay a hand on you, Willow…” he whispered, voice rough with restraint, “it’ll be only because you begged me to.”
***
Aside from their little lovers’spat, the tour went smoothly. He walked her through the library, the game room, the sprawling backyard, and even the garage, where she gazed longingly at the lineup of vehicles. Unfortunately for Willow, he’d already ensured they wouldn’t be a possible route of escape for her, even if she had the balls to drive in the first place.
Finally, they reached the last stop.
“I saved something special for last,” he said, pausing in front of a heavy door on the third floor with a gleam in his eye.
“Yeah? Is it the exit?” she snapped.
He barked a laugh, turning to look at her over his shoulder. It was genuine, deep and rumbling.
“Something you’ll like even better,” he shot back, “once you lose the attitude.”
She sighed, but he didn’t miss the shift of her energy. She was softening. Even if her mouth hadn’t caught up yet, the rest of her body was giving her away—the subtle lean toward him, the way her gaze flicked between his eyes and mouth, the unmistakable scent of arousal still soaking her panties.
She could fight it all she wanted. He had already won.
He opened the door without another word, swinging it wide to reveal the room he had painstakingly curated just for her with the help of the rest of the pack.
A king-sized bed dominated the space, dressed in luxury linens designed to stay cool and regulate temperature. The en suite bathroom was fully stocked with her favorite products—every brand,every scent, every detail accounted for.
The colors were soft, neutral, calming. He’d even set up an oil diffuser, its gentle scent winding slowly through the air, and arranged plants along the bay window.
“Am I supposed to thank you?” she whispered, arms wrapped around herself, voice small and broken up with subtle sniffles.
Every tear she shed felt like a thorn twisting deeper into his chest. A slow, steady bleed he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t just guilt; it was grief. He’d broken something that he desperately needed to fix.
“Willow…” he breathed, stepping closer. “It won’t always be like this. There are things you don’t know yet. I’m not asking you to thank me. I’m just asking you to trust me, just like I did on the trail.”
He couldn’t tell her about McGarvey. Not yet. Her worldview was already fractured into splinters. If he added one more fissure, she might lose it completely. And he couldn’t bear the thought of watching her come undone.
“No. Don’t. Just… go.”
The words hit hard—a direct blow strong enough to pierce body armor. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t plead.
Milo stood there for one heartbeat longer than he should have—long enough to memorize the way she looked when she pushed him away. Then he turned on his heel and walked out, giving her the space she sought.
***
Milo closedthe door with precision. Quiet, clean, final. The sound of the latch clicking into place echoed louder in his skull than any explosion he’d ever walked through. He descended the stairs like a predator on the prowl. The house was silent now, all three packmates going about their business as instructed.
