A Wolf of War (The Tooth & Claw Duet #1)

1. Willow

WILLOW

T he end of the month always hit hard.

Reports piled up, meetings drained her bandwidth, and her vastly varied tasks converged in a maddening rush.

But for Willow, it was in these moments that the repetition became both her burden and reprieve.

Each task had a rhythm that made it easy to fall into step, a steadying force she waltzed in time with.

“Hey, quick question.”

Broken from her trance, Willow sucked in a shallow breath, flinching at the words, though they had been softly spoken.

“Don’t scare me like that, Poppy.” Her tone was unintentionally sharp.

“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to.”

Willow eyed her older sister, who stood in the doorway, hands up as though in surrender.

Poppy recognized that there was a boundary she had crossed. She knew that no distraction was welcome when it was nearly time to rip another page off the big calendar on Willow’s office wall.

“I just wanted to let you know dinner will be ready soon.”

“That’s why you’re in here bothering me?”

“Look, you need to eat. It’s been twelve hours since you locked yourself in here. So, yeah, I’m bugging you about dinner.”

Willow exhaled slowly, her eyes closing as she tried to release the weight pressing against her chest. It wasn’t really Poppy that was irritating her—it was the crushing awareness of how little time remained to finish everything.

The flurry of tasks left her drained and hollow with exhaustion.

She reached beneath her, fingers brushing against the cool edge of the mini-fridge tucked beneath her desk.

With a soft click, she opened it and pulled out a long-necked bottle.

Poppy eyed the beer but held her tongue, instead quirking an eyebrow and saying, “It’ll be ready in an hour, toots. I’ll be back, and you will be leaving this office and eating.”

With that, her sister turned and walked back down the hallway on the second floor of their little three-bedroom condo.

Willow had picked it out because of the all-season room she turned into her office, getting a fourth room in the process.

The third bedroom was an art studio for her sister to do crafts, a favorite pastime—of which she had many, almost all projects left abandoned after the fixation ended.

Having all of those windows letting in sunshine made her heart brim with joy. She had never seen an all-seasons room on the second floor. It was a lovely place for it, she had decided.

Except, of course, when she was writhing with anxiety because of her ever-growing to-do list.

Willow sighed between sips. Each bitter mouthful was easier to swallow than the last, and soon she had downed the entire bottle.

“Alright, break’s over,” she muttered, straightening her back as she pulled her chair closer to the monitors.

The first task was to record the KPIs, and then she’d dive into assigning articles once she’d figured out which writers were hitting the mark the previous month.

Her position as editor-in-chief kept her busy, but it paid well, and the money was well worth it.

That’s what she told herself, anyway.

***

When Poppy returned to collect Willow, she had managed to get halfway through updating a spreadsheet, while her inbox continued to ping in the background. With great hesitation and quite a lot of sighing, she dragged herself away from her desk and followed her sister out into the hallway.

The wooden floors were still faintly slick beneath her socks, the result of Poppy’s meticulous washing and polishing. The floors gleamed under the soft light, pulling gold instead of brown. Even so, she wished her sister would take it easier on her aching hands.

Willow gripped the banister as they descended the stairs, which opened into an airy, open-concept living space.

The kitchen was separated from the living room by a long counter, which had stools lined up against it.

It was sleek and modern, black and white with small splashes of color here and there.

Poppy thought it felt sterile. Willow simply thought it looked clean.

A mouthwatering scent filled the air, and despite her reluctance to admit it, Willow had to concede that Poppy was right. She needed to fuel herself. Her stomach grumbled, flipping over.

She trailed Poppy into the kitchen, her fingers brushing the smooth surface of the granite countertop. A feast awaited her—a golden spiral ham, creamy au gratin potatoes, sweet candied yams, roasted asparagus, soft rolls, and a bowl of ruby red cranberry sauce.

“You’ve been working hard lately. You deserve a nice dinner to celebrate all your success this month.”

Willow scoffed even as she smiled. Her sister knew she had a weak spot for cranberry sauce.

“Don’t give me that. You know as well as I do that you’re doing great.”

Willow grabbed a plate from the counter and began loading it with food, each scoop guided by the whims of her stomach. She piled her plate high with enough food to hold her over for the next few days, let alone a single meal. She doubted she’d finish, but she’d give it her all.

After they assembled their meals and moved to the other side of the counter, they fell into a comfortable silence.

After a few years of living together, the sisters had settled into a routine, the days flowing by effortlessly.

At first, they were constantly in each other’s way.

Something changed, though, as they grew accustomed to each other, and soon their laughter was as frequent as their spats.

There were still plenty of disagreements to be had, however, and Willow found that half the time she wanted to wring her older sister’s neck.

The first bite of ham nearly sent Willow into space, sweet brown sugar glaze melting into the wonderfully tender pork.

“It’s incredible, Poppy. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Their relationship was tangled, complicated by the weight of shifted responsibilities and flipped roles. Though Poppy was technically the older sister by a stretch, it was often Willow who stepped into the shoes of the eldest.

She was the one who carried the responsibility, both as caregiver and breadwinner, doing whatever it took to maintain their stability. Still, Poppy was a motherly figure to Willow. This was especially true after they had lost their parents.

They finished their meal slowly, indulging in every bite. The conversation was a light, infrequent hum between them.

When everything was cleaned up, Willow felt the familiar pull of responsibility calling her back to her computer. She hugged Poppy briefly, offered another soft thank you for the dinner, and made her way back upstairs, the weight of her work already settling back in.

***

Once in her office, Willow breathed out a long sigh, slipping off her cream cardigan in favor of the white racerback tank top beneath. Delicate gold rings gleamed on a few fingers—minimal but striking on her pianist’s hands.

She hung the cardigan over the back of her chair, then sank back into the plush leather, the chair offering support where it was needed most. No regrets about spending the extra cash for comfort. Back support was one of the things she’d never skimp on.

Willow let her fingers fly across the keyboard, the mouse darting around the screen in erratic bursts. More emails landed in her inbox by the minute, and she was already overwhelmed. Willow reached under the desk again, flipping open the mini-fridge with another quiet click.

What was a long night without liquid courage?

Willow took a long swig, the cool beer sliding down her throat as she returned to the grind.

She lost track of time until the little clock in the corner of her screen read 12:30 a.m. By now, she was ahead of the game.

The reports were filed, the spreadsheets meticulously updated, and everything was in its rightful place.

Her desk had become a graveyard of empty beer bottles, and when Willow stood, she felt her knees wobble. She wasn’t the best at holding her liquor, and the liquid felt like it was sloshing over the edge of her stomach. I may have overdone it .

But it was a perfect opportunity to relax and let the day end on a high note.

She needed it. Pressure still hung heavy on her sagging shoulders.

Willow slipped out the door and crept her way down the hallway to her bedroom. Poppy was a heavy sleeper, but Willow preferred not to risk waking her up.

A few seconds later, she stood in front of her bedroom door. She turned the knob slowly, eased it open, and stepped inside.

Her room was her own personal sanctuary, meticulously curated to offer solace from the daily hustle and bustle.

It was a place to help her shoulder the weight of chronic fatigue, that relentless phantom she couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how many treatments or remedies were offered.

Nothing worked—no pill, no supplement, no “miracle cure.”

The cardigan hit the floor as soon as the door shut, followed by her tank top and bra. She shed her jeans and socks with the same slow, unbalanced movements, her feet dragging toward the king-sized bed.

Stumbling sideways a little, she threw back the covers and hopped up to climb beneath the cotton sheets, the material softly brushing over her legs.

With a quiet sigh, she reached for her bedside table, opening the drawer and rummaging until she found what she was looking for—a silver bullet vibrator.

Willow leaned back, pressing the power button until it hummed to life, then let her knees fall apart. In seconds, the toy was positioned at her core, her breath quickening as pleasure began to flood her system.