16. Milo
MILO
A s soon as Willow set her fork down, Milo moved with quiet precision.
He waited until Titan and Lachlan had filled their plates, a code ingrained deep in his bones.
The alpha ate last. Whether they were crouched over a fresh kill on a ridge in the wilderness or seated at a mahogany table with warmth and civility, the principle stood.
Protecting your own was the only objective that truly mattered.
He made his own selections with purpose—grilled chicken, a rare steak, roasted potatoes, and a medley of vegetables.
Functional food to fuel him. It was a habit rooted in years of training under a commanding officer who lived and breathed nutrition.
The man had been intense, borderline obsessive, but Milo couldn’t argue with the results.
Sliding into the seat beside Willow, his gaze flicked briefly to her plate.
She hadn’t gone for anything overly indulgent, but she’d chosen hearty, nostalgic comfort.
He allowed himself the smallest glimmer of pride.
Maybe she didn’t realize it yet, but she was choosing to find comfort in the situation, however meager. She was surviving.
And survival was the first step toward belonging.
He desperately wanted her to belong. Needed her to.
Willow wasn’t just some captive in a cage—she was a queen, a leader-in-waiting who had no idea of the weight her presence carried.
Milo ached for the moment when she would see it.
When she’d stop shrinking and start taking up space.
The power she could hold was breathtaking, if she reached for it.
He glanced sideways, watching her closely, cataloging every twitch of her fingers, every breath she took. She didn’t know it yet, but this was already hers.
The house, the land, the empire...
She could have it all .
While Milo sank deeper into his thoughts, the clatter of forks and knives filled the room.
Everyone had begun eating in earnest, the quiet falling naturally, comfortably, and easily.
It was Lachlan, of course, who broke it.
He had always been a unifying force among a group, even when he and Milo had been kids.
“So, how are classes going, Titan?” Lachlan asked, light but loaded with implication.
The younger wolf groaned dramatically, slumping back in his chair like the weight of academia might kill him. “Can we talk about literally anything else? McGarvey’s up my ass on every paper. I haven’t seen anything higher than a C in weeks. My GPA’s circling the drain.”
Lachlan barked out a laugh, shaking his head like an older brother watching a younger sibling flail.
“Have you tried telling McGarvey he can meet you out back?” Milo teased.
“Great plan, Milo,” Titan deadpanned, throwing a hand in the air. “Let me just get my GPA and my ass beat to hell.”
The two other men laughed, low, comfortable, and familiar. Willow let out something between a scoff and a breathy chuckle, like she couldn’t help herself.
Milo heard it. It meant the world to him.
“Who’s McGarvey?”
The question caught Milo off guard, but hearing her voice soothed him—quiet, cautious, like rainfall on a tin roof. He glanced at Lachlan and Titan, an unspoken exchange passing between the three, before turning his attention back to her.
“He leads the only pack in the city that rivals ours.”
Her brows furrowed. “There are more of you?”
That soft note of awe in her voice encouraged him to continue. “Yes,” he said carefully. “There are. A few smaller packs here and there, but it’s mostly us and the McGarvey pack. Pack names follow the alpha’s last name, so if leadership changes, the name does, too.”
He hadn’t meant to offer so much, but she didn’t look scared, just curious. He could work with that. It was better than fear, and certainly better than hate.
So he kept talking, just a little longer.
“It’s not often that happens. Usually, somebody has to die.”
Willow went still as she absently pushed the remnants of her food around her plate. It was just scraps now. A few lonely peas, a bit of potato.
Milo watched her closely and couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his mouth.
“I promise I’m not going to die anytime soon, Willow,” he said, locking eyes with her like he was issuing a vow.
She flushed deeply. “I’m not worried about that, actually.”
“I think the lady doth protest too much.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t quote Shakespeare at me. You probably don’t even know how to read.”
“Let grief convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.”
Willow’s mouth snapped shut. He wasn’t sure what amused him more—her surprise, or the fact that she’d assumed he was some illiterate brute.
He wasn’t.
He knew the quote had likely hit home because it meant something. It wasn’t just Shakespearean flair, it was a mirror. A sharp-edged truth she wasn’t ready to admit aloud, that her sorrow was the heart of the problem, not her rage.
That was why she was acting like this. Milo could see it clear as day. She wasn’t being difficult for the sake of it. She was spiraling, trying to hold on to anything that still felt like hers.
“Well, I’m finished,” Titan announced suddenly, standing with a clatter and reaching for his plate.
“Sit the fuck down.”
Milo’s voice hit the air like a gunshot. The growl beneath it echoed.
Titan froze. Eyes wide, he dropped back into his seat. Milo wasn’t just the alpha—he was the executioner too, and he still hadn’t dealt out the punishment that was to come. Titan was aware that he was biding his time. He was foolish to push his buttons at this point.
“No, I’m finished too,” Willow said sharply, pushing back from the table. The scrape of her chair echoed through the room as she stood, and all three men turned to watch her with varying degrees of caution and curiosity.
She picked up her plate with trembling fingers.
“I’ll take care of it,” Milo murmured, reaching out. His hand grazed her arm—a feather-light touch, but it might as well have been a collar by the way she froze.
“Thank you,” she said, and though her voice faltered, she didn’t flinch or pull away.
Milo tipped his head and looked at her, like she was some specimen he hadn’t finished studying.
His gaze softened, warming as he cataloged each curve and crinkle of her face.
The way her brows knit when she was uncertain.
The tiny twitch in her jaw when she was trying to be brave.
The lines near her mouth—not from sorrow, but from joy. From laughter.From love .
She was so many things he was not.
And that was exactly why he needed her.
Not just as his mate, but as the part of him that had been missing all along.
The best part of him, he hoped.
When she walked away, Milo watched every step. The sway of her hips, the line of her spine as it curved down into the delicious swell of her ass—it was all burned into his memory, filed away like classified intel .
There were moments when he wished he’d installed cameras in the room he’d built for her. Not for control. Not even for strategy. Just to see her. To know she was safe. To feel connected. But he hadn’t.Because now, it wouldn’t be for her safety.
Before, he had only wanted to connect with her on a personal level, had only wanted to keep tabs on her to ensure her safety. He didn’t have the same excuse anymore. It would now feel like a violation.
Milo scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking the thought loose like a soldier clearing a jammed weapon. He didn’t have time for self-indulgence. Not tonight. Not with everything else in motion.
Pining could wait.
His wolves needed him.
***
“You know, this shit is getting really old.”
“Shut up, Titan, and keep digging.”
They were deep into nowhere now, miles beyond the last semblance of civilization. Just trees, shadows, and the cold bite of a springtime night. The air clung damp and sharp to their skin, but sweat still beaded down their necks and soaked their collars as they worked.
Above them, the moon hung like a lazy sentinel, just a sliver of silver barely cutting through the dark.
It wasn’t enough to see by, but they didn’t need light to do what they were doing.
They’d done it often enough at this point.
For Milo, perhaps in a different way entirely, but it was really all the same.
The job was simple. Two dealers had gone off script, started cutting shit into product without permission. Thought they could make a few extra bucks on the side and not pay the cost. Milo didn’t tolerate that kind of thinking.
Punishment was swift. Ruthless. Eternal.
And Milo always carried it out himself.
With every shovelful of cold earth, Milo cursed their names under his breath.
His movements were sharp and methodical, the kind of effort that came not from anger but from a deep, steady belief in consequence.
Justice, after all, didn’t have to shout.
It just had to bury you deep enough that no one ever found you.
Milo paused, one boot crunching against the torn-up soil as he leaned forward, resting both hands on the shovel’s handle. His phone buzzed insistently against his thigh, a signal from the only man with clearance to interrupt him mid-burial.
With a grunt, he yanked the device from his back pocket and pressed it to his ear. “Kind of busy here, Arlo.”
“Yeah, I figured. Didn’t mean to rain on your little funeral parade,” Arlo replied, voice laced with his usual dry edge, “but I thought you’d want to be in the know on this particular piece of intel.”
Milo’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked toward Titan, who was still digging like his life depended on it. In fairness, it kind of did.
“I’m listening,” he said.