Page 42 of A Wolf of War
Arlo clapped him on the back. “The bond runs deep. You’re in her head now. It’s only a matter of time.”
Milo grunted softly, but his focus was elsewhere. Willow’s tone had shifted, drawing his attention like a magnet. He tilted his head just slightly, tuning in to the conversation he wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping on.
“Has he… hurt you?” Poppy’s voice was barely audible, strained and trembling.
“No,” Willow replied without hesitation. “None of them have.”
“Do you promise me?”
“Yes.”
That was enough to make the corner of Milo’s mouth curl, smug and quiet.
She could’ve said anything, especially after what happened in the kitchen. But she didn’t. She hadn’t twisted the truth. She told her sister he hadn’t hurt her.
Because he hadn’t.
Because she wanted it. Whether she was ready to admit that out loud or not.
Arlo followed Milo’s gaze, eyes narrowing slightly with understanding.
“She’s sharp,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Bit of a smartass, but sweet under the surface. Asked a lot of questions, but she’s playing nice—for now.”
Milo nodded, barely absorbing the words. Hisattention was locked on Willow like he was watching prey, except there was no intent to harm; just to possess. She was all sunshine bound by tension, laughing with her sister, her body language betraying the war waging inside her.
He’d seen it.
And he recognized it now.
“She’s softening,” Milo muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
“Dangerous thing, underestimating your target,” Arlo offered carefully.
“I’m not underestimating her,” Milo said, eyes dark. “Trust me. I have a game plan.”
He shifted slightly, adjusting the discomfort growing beneath his jeans.
He was just waiting for nightfall.
***
They didn’t leavefor hours, Milo allowing the sisters as much time as he could. The ride back was tense, marked by a fragile silence, occasionally broken by sniffles. Willow had turned her face to the window, cheek pressed to the glass, trying to disappear into the passinglandscape. Milo didn’t need to look to know she was crying—he could smell it. Salt laced with sorrow, sharp in his nose.
They were leaving behind the only tether she had to normalcy, and she was unraveling at the seams.
“You know,” he said, voice low and raw, “I feel the same when Arlo’s not with me.”
Willow’s breath hitched, a soft, wet sound. “Like hell you do,” she whispered, swiping at her face with the back of her hand. Milo didn’t argue. Just adjusted his grip on the wheel, knuckles white, and kept driving into the quickly fading daylight.
As soon as the tires crunched against the gravel drive, Willow was out of the SUV like a shot, her figure blurring past the hood before the engine had even gone quiet.
Milo sat frozen behind the wheel, hands slack in his lap, heart twisting painfully in his chest. Watching her cry felt like watching glass shatter in slow motion.
It would be easy for him to follow. To close the space between them, gather her trembling form in his arms, and hold her until her sobs subsided.
Still, he knew she’d reject him.
For now, there were business matters to tendto. With a rough sigh, Milo shifted into reverse, cutting the wheel. His hands gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, every fiber of him resisting the act of leaving her behind. What he wanted was to charge back through that door, wrap her up in his arms, and shield her from everything that weighed on her mind.
