29. Willow
WILLOW
T he ride was… pleasant, in a way that felt almost wrong.
Willow sat back in her seat, eyes drifting over the blur of trees and sunlit front yards passing beyond the window, and tried not to think about how strange it was to feel even a sliver of peace with everything that was hanging over her head.
On the surface, she kept her shoulders relaxed, her breathing steady. But beneath all the bravado, she was screaming.
McGarvey’s name pulsed in her thoughts like a warning bell.
Every detail Milo had given her replayed in sharp, ugly fragments—men who dealt in flesh, in organs, in nightmares.
She tried to picture what it would mean if they got their hands on her, but her mind shied away from the image.
The unknown was bad enough; imagining specifics made her stomach turn.
Her gaze flicked to Milo at the wheel, his profile calm and controlled. The same man who had taken her against her will now positioned himself between her and another predator. Her captor, now her protector. The paradox made her skin prickle.
Logic said she shouldn’t trust him—not entirely, or maybe not at all. But the truth was, if McGarvey’s people came for her right now, she’d want him there to save her .
That thought twisted in her chest, leaving her unsettled. Every time she thought she had her emotions in order, something else blindsided her, and everything inside her knotted back up again.
She turned back to the window, willing the road ahead to hold no surprises. But deep down, she knew that with Milo, surprises were inevitable.
It was the very nature of the beast.
Of his beast.
Willow’s feet swung lazily in time with the music; some heavy metal track she didn’t recognize. The riffs crawled over her skin in a way that made her shudder with delight.
“You like that, huh?” Milo’s voice cut through, casual, his sunglasses catching the last blaze of the setting sun.
“I’m a fan,” she said, forcing a small smile when he glanced at her.
“Nice.”
The rest of the drive slipped into a comfortable quiet, the kind that almost let her drift off. Her eyelids were heavy when Milo eased the SUV into a right turn and rolled into a parking lot. She blinked, straightening, and scanned their surroundings .
A plant nursery.
Willow arched a brow at him, unsure what to make of it. He was drumming a finger against the steering wheel, watching her with a look that suggested she was supposed to react.
“Uh… thanks?” she offered, her mouth curving into a crooked smile. It wasn’t that she minded—plants were fine—but it wasn’t exactly what she’d expected when leaving the safety of the manor. Whatever reason he had for bringing her here, she decided not to question it.
Titan yawned, then leaned forward between the front seats. Milo turned and shoved his head back with a flat palm, forcing him into the rear again.
“Aw, fuck you, Milo,” Titan muttered, raking a hand through his mussed hair.
“Fuck yourself.” Milo reached into the console and held out a small case. “Here. Earbuds. You know the drill.”
Titan took them, sliding them in before making a move for the door.
“Oh, and Titan?”
He paused, glancing back.
“Don’t fuck it up, or it’ll be the last thing you ever fuck up. Tracking? ”
Titan’s smile was tight, the kind that knew better than to push back. “Tracking,” he confirmed, before slipping out fast.
Willow crossed her arms, watching him disappear. “Do you really need to be such a dick to him?” She didn’t see the point in grinding down the youngest member of the pack. She’d never been a fan of hazing.
Milo hummed low in his throat, one arm stretched out on the wheel, the other resting loosely in his lap.
“Yeah,” he said at last, a playful grin tugging at his mouth. “I do, actually.”
She huffed, not satisfied with the answer. “What are we waiting for, anyway?”
“Titan’s sweeping the place before we step inside. Cameras already say it’s clean, but I want boots on the ground before we arrive.”
The nerves she tried to bury flickering in her eyes. Her fingers worked restlessly in her lap, twisting until her knuckles turned pink. Milo still spoke like a soldier—clipped, precise—and she found herself wondering if that would ever fade.
Milo plucked another earbud from a separate case, fitting it snugly in place before pressing a finger to its side. “Titan, do you copy? ”
A brief pause. Then, “I copy. Over and out.”
He turned to her, his voice low, almost gentle. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
For once, she didn’t bristle at the endearment. A faint, weary smile tugged at her mouth as she nodded. Together, they stepped out of the SUV, the air outside cooler, sharper, and carrying the weight of whatever waited in their future.
***
“Are you fucking joking?” Willow’s voice pitched up in surprise as she clutched his arm, her face breaking into a grin so wide it almost startled her. Her eyes lit, sparkling as she took in the scene ahead.
A little animal shelter.
“They do this every week,” Milo said, as if it were nothing. “Figured you might like to play with some puppies.”
His tone was casual, but she could feel the tension coiled beneath it, the way he was watching her too closely.
He was waiting for something—for the other shoe to drop, maybe.
And it hit her then that after everything, he might not fully trust this version of her.
The one smiling, excited. The one who, for the moment, had forgotten to fight him.
“I’ve heard of these. They do it for adoption events or whatever, right?” She asked.
“Yeah, exactly.”
Willow’s hand rested lightly on his arm as they walked in step.
His scent wrapped around her—clean and sharp, with something darker and muskier beneath.
Where they touched, heat seemed to pool under her skin, spreading until she felt luminous.
Milo adjusted his arm, crooking it to give her a more secure hold, and the small gesture sent warmth through her.
She was… happy. If this were another life—her life, the one she’d had before—she could have sworn this was the kind of man she might marry. The kind she’d come home giddy over, curling up on the couch to gush to Poppy about how he’d swept her off her feet with a thoughtful surprise.
But this wasn’t that life.
And Milo wasn’t just some man.
In fact, he wasn’t merely a man at all.
The reality pressed in like a cold draft, reminding her of the jagged edges beneath the moment. She was still caught in a web of shifting danger and emotional whiplash, and the sweetness of it all deflated under the weight of that truth .
“Hey. You good?”
She glanced over to find Milo watching her, his gaze lit with concern.
Willow brushed her hair out of her face and looked straight ahead. “Yeah. Fine. Just… a little all over the place. It’s a lot to process.”
Silence stretched for a beat before his free hand came over to cover hers, still hooked in the crook of his arm.
“It’s going to be alright,” he said, voice low, steady. “Whatever comes, we were always meant to be with each other. You feel it too. I know you do.”
She tensed. Her mouth opened, ready to tell him to tone it down, but he kept going.
“We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay? Let’s just… enjoy tonight. Pretend it’s all fine. Just for a little while.”
Willow let the words settle. He wasn’t wrong—dragging herself through the weight of it now would ruin the one moment of lightness she’d had in what felt like years. With a small nod, she decided to let herself breathe.
Just like Milo had said.
Just for a little while.