Page 74 of A Wolf of War
WILLOW
Morning crept in slow, the pale light of dawn spilling across the sheets, tangling with the scent of sex still thick in the air. Willow stirred, struggling against the weight of sleep, her body sore in ways that reminded her exactly how the night had gone. Heat crawled up her neck at the memory—his hands, his mouth, the way she’d clung to him as though she might die without his cock.
It had been reckless. And now here she was, lying in his bed with his arm heavy across her waist, his chest rising and falling steady against her back.
Willow swallowed hard, her throat dry. She knew she should roll away, put distance between them, rebuild the wall she kept patching together only for him to tear down again. This was dangerous. Getting too close, letting herself soften, giving a crime lord she didn’t even trust pieces of her heart she wasn’t sure she could ever reclaim.
But she didn’t move.
Her fingers twitched against the sheet, aching to curl into his hand where it rested possessively on her lower belly. The quiet was suffocating and soothing all at once, her thoughts caught between regret and yearning. She hated how easy it felt. How natural. As if she belonged here, as if she hadn’t been dragged into this lifekicking and screaming.
Willow shut her eyes, willing her heart to still, but it betrayed her anyway—beating faster, syncing with his as though her body had already chosen.
Milo stirred behind her, the shift subtle at first, becoming heavier as he drew in a long breath. His chest pressed closer, nose grazing her hair. Willow squeezed her eyes shut, trying to even her breathing like she was still asleep.
It didn’t work.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep, words dragging low across the nape of her neck.
Her heart leapt. She swallowed, unsure what to say, unsure what she even felt. “I wasn’t,” she whispered, defensive by instinct.
Milo’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “You were,” he countered, softer now, like he could feel the panic rising in her chest. “Whatever it is, you can always share it with me, Willow.”
She turned her face into the pillow, heat stinging at her eyes. She hated how much she wanted to believe him, how badly she wanted to just let herself sink. “It was just…” she muttered. “Last night. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Maybe not,” he admitted, and she felt the rumble of his voice against her back. “But we’re getting closer to the full moon, Willow. You’re going to start experiencing some… new things.”
She went still. His hand splayed wide against her lower stomach, warm and grounding, as he continued.
“The full moon matters, but not the way humans think. We don’t sprout fangs and eat people. What it calls out in us is something different. It’s tied to our fertility, our breeding. When the moon hits her peak, every instinct in me is to breed my bitch under that light, to bind us in the way nature demands.”
Willow’s mouth went dry, her mind fumbling over what he’d just revealed. She blinked hard, as if that might help her catch up, but it only left her more flustered. And then, like a trapdoor swinging open beneath her, an awful suspicion slithered in.
“Milo… what’s a knot?”
The silence that followed told her more than she wanted to know. He just stared, broad shoulders stilling, before the corner of his mouth curved into that infuriatingly crooked smile. It was obvious he was fighting laughter.
Heat flared in her cheeks. “Don’t be mean to me,”she groaned, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. He was solid as a wall, barely budging, and the huff she let out only made him grin wider.
After a moment, Milo finally sobered, his chest rising and falling with a long, measured sigh.
“A knot is a kind of bulb at the base of my cock. When I start to come, instinct pushes me to, uh, shove it inside of you. It physically ties us together for up to an hour.”
The silence was deafening.
“That’s… absolutely horrifying,” Willow said at last, her voice slow, deliberate, like she was trying to parse his words. On the surface, it was grotesque, something out of a horror movie. But low in her belly, something twisted.
Not fear.
Not revulsion.
Desire.
The realization made her flush hot, her skin prickling as though she’d just knelt in a confessional. What he wanted to do to her, it was fucking unholy. It sickened and fascinated her in equal parts.
But then, the want bloomed in her like it had back when she was a virgin, before she’d ever been touched,before she knew anything beyond the hunger yawning in her core. That nameless, impatient need for something to be inside of her.
Willow hadn’t known what it was to have something in that aching place. And yet, somehow, she just knew she needed that exactly.
