A Wolf of War (The Tooth & Claw Duet Book 1), page 12
And Milo couldn’t afford to bleed.
Not now. Not with Willow under his roof. Not with the bond half-complete and her scent lingering on his skin as a signal to every other wolf that she existed, and she was his.
His fingers curled tighter on the wheel. He was walking into the lion’s den without a plan.
Milo rolled onto the dock road with the slow precision of a man expecting an ambush. The headlights washed over the row of rust-stained warehouses and shipping containers stacked sky-high. The SUV crunched over gravel as he pulled into the shadow of one of the larger structures, Building 12. It was a good choice. Isolated. Close to water. Easy exits in every direction.
He cut the engine.
Titan was already there, leaning against the side of a black Charger with his arms crossed and a scowl that likely hadn’t budged since puberty. The younger wolf straightened as Milo stepped out, heavy boots landing on the concrete like punctuation marks.
“You made good time,” Titan muttered, falling in step as Milo passed.
“I wasn’t stopping for red lights,” Milo replied, scanning the building with sharp eyes. “You see any movement?”
“Just the usual rats. No signs of McGarvey’s wolves yet.”
“Then they’re already inside.”
Milo led the way toward the warehouse’s side door, every step echoing beneath the high steel roof. He could smell the river, rust, and something else underneath it all—something wrong.
The quickly mounting tension sharpened as they reached the threshold.
The metal door groaned on rusted hinges as Milo pushed, the sound bouncing down the darkened corridor like a warning shot. Cold air met them first, sea-drenched and metallic, followed by the faint flicker of fluorescent lights, one of them stuttering overhead like a faulty nerve. Milo moved first.
He swept the space with his eyes, mentally marking the exits, counting shadows, cataloging angles. It was muscle memory now. Doorways. Blind spots. Cracks in the concrete that could trip a man running for cover. Every sense dialed in, heightened by the wolf inside him.
Titan followed a step behind, too loud. Too tense. Milo could hear his heartbeat, the fluttering of uncertainty bleeding out through his pores.
“Breathe through it, pup,” Milo murmured under his breath. Titan didn’t answer, but his pace steadied.
They turned a corner into a massive, open room where the ceiling rose in a cavernous arc overhead. It had once housed freight. Now, it held something far heavier.
McGarvey stood at the center of it all, arms crossed, jaw tight, his pack flanking him like obedient dogs. Five men. No visible weapons.
That didn’t mean they weren’t armed.
Milo stepped forward.
“McGarvey.”
McGarvey’s smile slithered across his face.
“Milo,” he drawled, voice smooth as aged bourbon and just as full-bodied. “Always a pleasure. And Titan, of course. I do hope you’re hard at work on the essay I assigned.”
Milo didn’t return the smile, ignoring his pointed words.
He stopped ten paces away, feet planted like concrete and arms loose at his sides, relaxed but ready. “Let’s skip the formalities. You called this meeting. What do you want?”
McGarvey let out a low chuckle, brushing imaginary lint off the shoulder of his charcoal blazer. “So direct. It’s charming, in a beastly sort of way.” He took a slow step forward, his pack staying firmly behind him.
“I want peace, Milo,” McGarvey said, lifting his palms in what reeked of mock sincerity. “At least for now. The city’s bleeding. Our men are restless. Tensions are rising, and if we don’t ease the pressure, we’ll be wiping blood off our floors for months.”
“You’re not wrong,” Milo said flatly. “But you don’t usually care about the chaos or the cleanup.”
“True.” McGarvey’s grin widened. “But I do care about optics. And business. War is so… messy.”
He let the pause linger.
“I propose a truce. Temporary, of course. We give the city time to breathe. You and I keep our wolves in line.”
Milo narrowed his eyes.
“And what’s in it for you?”
McGarvey’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider.
“Oh, Milo. Must everything be transactional with you?” He took another measured step forward, the heel of his Italian leather loafer clicking against the concrete floor. “Fine. I’ll humor you.”
He folded his hands behind his back, posture unnervingly elegant for someone who’d likely gutted a man in the last week.
“What I want,” McGarvey said smoothly, “is time. Time to let things settle. Time to get my people and territory in order again.” He arched an eyebrow. “Frankly, I think you could use the same.”
Milo didn’t respond, his expression unreadable.
McGarvey continued, voice low and persuasive. “You’ve been sloppy lately. Distracted. And it’s showing. Not very alpha of you.”
Titan tensed beside him, and Milo’s fists clenched.
“I’m warning you, McGarvey…” he growled.
“Alright, alright,” McGarvey chuckled, tone light, amused. “But you do need to tread carefully.”
His smile dropped.
“Take the deal, Milo, or we all bleed.”
Milo stared McGarvey down, jaw tight, muscles coiling beneath his shirt like a trigger primed. Every instinct in his body screamed to reject the offer, to bare his teeth and show that no one—especially not McGarvey—could dictate his next move.
But instinct didn’t build empires. Strategy did.
He gave a slow, curt nod. “Fine. We’ll stick to our parts of town. You do the same. No skirmishes. No overreaching.”
McGarvey’s grin returned like a mask being slid back into place. “Smart man.”
Milo turned on his heel without another word, Titan falling into step beside him. They moved with purpose, each footfall echoing through the cavernous building. The silence between them was thick until they pushed through the front doors and stepped into the cold air, the city lights glittering against the black water in the distance.
Only then did Titan speak, rubbing the back of his neck and exhaling hard.
“That guy is such a dick,” he muttered. “Worst homework I’ve ever had in my life. And it’s not even subtle. He gave me a twenty-page paper on power struggles in hierarchical systems—like he’s not talking about the packs.”
Milo snorted, unlocking his car and tossing Titan a look over the roof.
“Don’t flunk.”
“I’d rather get shot.”
23
WILLOW
Sleep hadn’t come easily. By the time morning rolled around, Willow had climbed out of bed with a new mission, determined to salvage whatever control she could. If she couldn’t escape yet, she could at least stop wallowing and start thinking clearly.
She decided she needed sunlight on her skin, needed proof the world still existed beyond the walls of Milo’s carefully constructed kingdom.
She ended up barefoot on the back patio, the light warming her arms as she settled into one of the Adirondack chairs with a tired sigh and a book she had snagged from a shelf she’d come across.
The late afternoon sun slanted across the back porch, washing the boards in smearing golden puddles. Her knees were drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins, a book held against her leg. Her eyes drifted across the sprawling backyard—first to the neat little garden surrounded by a low, white fence, then to the still blue surface of the pool. The place was so peaceful that it was offensive.
It didn’t feel like a prison right now.
And yet, she was still a captive.
The soft breeze teased at the hem of her white sundress, pulling a few strands of hair across her cheek. She didn’t brush them away. She didn’t move at all. Stillness had become a sort of armor lately—if she stayed quiet long enough, maybe her thoughts would too.
But no such luck.
Milo lived in her head like a ghost, lingering in the darkest parts of her mind, whispering things she didn’t want to hear. The shape of his mouth, the strength in his hands, the tenderness behind the violence—it all sat heavy in her memory. Worse than any one moment was the confusion it left behind. She didn’t want to want him. She didn’t want to like him.
And yet…
Her stomach turned.
Lachlan’s words echoed. A mate bond is instinctual… on both parts.
She had felt it—that pull, the unrelenting heat in her blood when Milo was near. It was like gravity had changed its rules and chosen him as her new center. Every time she tried to push it away, it came back stronger. She hated it. Hated how her body and heart refused to fall in line with her brain.
Werewolves. Crime lords. Mate bonds.
None of this was normal. And yet, here she was—sitting on a sun-drenched porch like a princess in a tower, trapped in what she was sure was someone else’s fairytale.
Titan appeared, snapping her from her thoughts with his muddy boots thudding against the wooden boards as he shoved the back door open with his hip. He was juggling a stack of burger patties in one hand and a large bag of chips in the other. Behind him, Lachlan followed with a tray of marinated chicken and a six-pack dangling from his fingers.
“Hope you’re hungry, Willow,” Titan called out, flashing her a boyish grin as he made a beeline for the grill tucked beside the porch railing. “We’re doing barbecue tonight.”
Willow blinked up at him, squinting against the sun. “Didn’t realize you took dinner requests.”
“Oh, for you? Always,” Lachlan said with a wink, already setting the tray down on the side table beside the grill. “But for now, our dear alpha decided it was a good night for grilling, which usually means we get to do the work and he gets to stand around and supervise.”
“Lies and slander,” came Milo’s voice from the open slider.
Willow’s heart gave an unhelpful lurch.
He stepped through the open door, dressed in dark jeans and a navy t-shirt that clung to his chest and arms in maddening ways. His eyes found hers, that familiar heat sparking to life in their depths.
Willow turned away before he could say anything, fixing her gaze on the garden as if it were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
Unbothered, Milo strolled to the railing and leaned on it beside her, letting the breeze lift a few strands of his hair. “Even prisoners deserve good meals,” he said quietly, eyes still on her.
She didn’t answer.
But she didn’t move away either.
Willow’s voice cut through the air, cool and sharp. “Strange sentiment coming from you. You don’t exactly strike me as a fan of rehabilitation over punishment.”
Milo didn’t respond at first. He stayed where he was, eyes fixed on the tree line like he could see through the pines and straight into whatever future he was dreaming up.
Finally, his voice came low and even. “You might be surprised who I am, Willow, and what I believe. But you’d have to bother to get to know me.”
Then, without waiting for her reply, he pushed off the railing and walked to where Lachlan was setting out utensils. Wordlessly, he picked up the tongs and began helping.
The grill hissed as the first pieces of steak hit the grate, smoke curling upward in thin tendrils. Milo moved with practiced ease. Lachlan stood beside him, sleeves rolled, fussing over the marinade bowl with surgical precision.
Titan was leaned against the porch rail with a cold beer in hand, watching the whole thing unfold like it was the most effort he planned to exert all day.
“Do you think McGarvey will give me an extension on—” Titan began.
Milo didn’t look up, cutting him off. “No, and I think it would be a mistake to ask him for one.”
Willow heard them vaguely, their voices drifting across the yard. She didn’t so much as lift her head. The book in her lap was open again, her thumb idly holding the page.
After some blessedly quiet time, the sun began its descent behind the trees, casting long, amber shadows across the yard. The scent of grilled meat clung to the air, rich and decadent. Lachlan was plating ribs and skewers with careful hands, humming to himself as he arranged everything on the outdoor table. Milo stood by the grill, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Titan had just cracked open another beer when Milo turned.
“Alright,” Milo said, voice low, “dinner’s ready… but first, Titan, we have some unfinished business regarding the night Willow met you.”
The younger wolf froze, bottle half-raised to his lips. “What’d’ya mean?”
Milo didn’t answer.
Titan’s eyes widened, and in the next heartbeat, he was gone—feet pounding across the lawn, beer bottle shattering against the deck. Willow startled, her head jerking up in time to see a blur of movement shoot toward the pool. She stood halfway, uncertain, heart suddenly racing.
Milo moved just as fast, a silent predator cutting across the yard with ease. He didn’t shift. He didn’t need to. Within seconds, he was gaining ground, his long strides eating the distance.
Titan rounded the pool, breath ragged, skidding in the grass.
But it was too late.
Milo caught him by the collar and yanked him back just before he reached the concrete.
She was out of her chair.
Willow launched herself across the yard, her bare feet pounding, fury bubbling in her chest. Within seconds, she was between them, slipping into the narrow space.
Milo’s fist hovered midair, frozen. Titan flinched, face turned, breath held.
“Absolutely the fuck not,” she howled, voice sharp. She jumped to meet Milo’s eyes and shoved her book into his chest.
“Willow—”
Something inside her snapped. Every ounce of anger, every inch of exhaustion, every second of being caged; it all detonated at once.
She started barking.
Loud, sharp, hysterical barks, one after the other, exploding from her lungs in rapid bursts.
Milo blinked, stunned. He stumbled back, caught off guard as she advanced on him, still barking.
“Bark, bark, bark. That’s what you sound like,” she snarled. “You need to cool the fuck off.”
She shoved him.
Hard.
Milo had nowhere to go but backwards.
The water engulfed his form.
The book went flying after him.
Willow stood at the edge, chest heaving, heart pounding.
Milo surfaced in a smooth glide, water cascading down his broad shoulders as the ripples fanned out around him. He ran a hand over his face, slicking his darkened hair back, then turned to glance at the floating casualty of her wrath—her book.
Reaching out, he plucked it from the surface with two fingers on the spine, shaking it gently like a wet kitten, then turned it in his hands. His expression shifted from curiosity to something close to delight.
“You like Shakespeare?” he called out, a grin spreading.
Willow’s eye twitched. She had forgotten that he was familiar with Shakespeare.
She let out one final scream—this one less rage, more resignation—before spinning on her heel and storming away from the pool and toward the deck, fists clenched and shoulders tight. She didn’t care that everyone was watching.
The exhaustion was back, creeping in behind her fury like a tide rolling in after the storm. Her limbs felt heavy, her chest hollow. All she wanted now was the dark solitude of her room, the comfort of silence, and the soft embrace of blankets.
Fuck him and his stupid fucking Shakespeare bullshit, she thought bitterly as she slipped in through the sliding door and headed upstairs.
24
MILO
Lachlan peered down at Milo, a brow raised as he scooped a bite of potato salad into his mouth. “You good down there?”
“Yeah, great. Why do you ask?”
Lachlan hummed, chewing thoughtfully. “You just seem a little wet, is all.”
Milo grinned, sharp and wolfish, even as his chest ached. “If that’s what’s worrying you, I’d be terrified for Willow tonight.”
“You’re gross, you know that?” Lachlan said, sighing. “Willow’s right. You need to settle down.”
Milo didn’t argue. He let the water cradle him, cooling his skin even as his clothes fought to drag him down, and his thoughts turned back to Willow. She was somehow so soft even in her fury.
Lachlan finished the last bite of his potato salad, crumpled the paper plate, and tossed it into the nearby trash can with a clean shot. Then, he offered a hand down to Milo.
“You ready to fill me in with what happened at that meeting?”
Milo sighed, letting his legs drop until he was upright in the water. “Not a whole lot.”
“But something did happen?”
With a practiced heave, Lachlan pulled him from the water, Milo landing on the stone pool deck with barely a splash. His shirt clung to his body like a second skin, water cascading from his jeans as he ran a hand through his dripping hair.
Once he was up, the two of them walked toward the back porch in silence for a beat, until Milo spoke, voice low and taut.
“He wants some sort of ceasefire between us.”
Lachlan’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “And?”
“I agreed to it, but I’m questioning what it entails. It feels almost like he wants to make a grab for territory and for us to roll over while he does it.”
Lachlan hissed softly. “He’s been after a few pockets for a while.”
“Regardless of the reason, it feels wrong,” Milo muttered, wiping water from his brow. “I know he’s up to something.”
Lachlan stopped just inside the doorway, folding his arms. “And Willow?”
“He’ll never so much as set eyes on her if I can help it,” Milo growled. “She’s not a piece on this board. She’s off-limits.”
Lachlan nodded. “I don’t even think McGarvey would go that far, honestly. It would go against the very nature of our laws.”
