31. Willow
WILLOW
W illow woke to the soft, steady purr of a kitten on either side of her head, their tiny bodies warm against her ears. At the far end of the bed, Milo was stretched, passed out.
She blinked against the haze of sleep, turning her head to press a drowsy kiss to the fur of the kitten nearest her. Both were boys, barely twelve weeks old, and so new to this world. Two small, fragile lives, and they were hers now.
Her gaze slid to Milo, her lips quirking despite herself. She thought about last night—his massive hands cupping those delicate little bodies, the way he’d been careful not to startle them, speaking low and steady as he tucked them into their box while he and Willow set everything up.
Those hands could break a man with little effort, but with the kittens, he’d been patient and controlled. The memory settled in her chest with a warmth she didn’t want to examine too closely.
The mate bond was there, a quiet hum beneath her skin, pulling her toward him whether she wanted it or not.
With a grin she couldn’t quite help, she kicked out, nudging his calf. He grumbled in his sleep, so she tried rocking him with her foot, though moving a man built like a bull was an exercise in futility.
Still, she kept trying .
“Yes? May I help you, queen of our castle?” he drawled, his voice thick with sleep, edged in amusement.
“I want pancakes.”
His head turned toward her, one brow arched, eyes bright with mischief despite the grogginess still clinging to him.
“What’s in it for me?”
Heat crept into her cheeks at the low, suggestive note in his tone. She caught it instantly, but refused to take the bait.
Instead, she gave him another shove with her foot. “I’ll stop kicking you.”
Milo scoffed, the sound rough but fond. “Alright, fine. Pancakes it is.”
Willow eased back into the pillow with a contented sigh, the kittens curling close again, their tiny bodies warm against her cheeks. For the moment, everything felt simple.
She wished it could just stay like this.
***
Willow joined Titan and Lachlan already at the table. It struck her how often she found them all in one place, despite their schedules. They always seemed to make time for each other, something that had struck her in the short time she’d been there.
That little blip in time was all it had taken for her life to implode. For her to be kidnapped. For all of this to have happened. It felt absurd, like someone had handed the pen to a teenage girl with a fever and told her to write the next chapters of Willow’s life.
Not that the teenage girl buried inside her was complaining. She was busy swooning over the handsome, dangerous werewolf who had taken her hostage and…
Willow started shifting in her seat as her pussy began to pulse. She knew without question that both men could scent the change in the air, and the knowledge made her cheeks burn.
They were polite enough not to mention it. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t noticed.
“So, Willow. How are the kittens?” Lachlan asked, breaking the silence with a steady, measured tone that she welcomed.
“They’re adorable.” Her voice softened, but there was a rasp to it. “I really wish I could show my sister. She’s always loved cats.”
The words scraped her throat. Every now and then, the truth of her circumstances crashed back down like a sheet of ice water.
She knew she was adapting, making the best of it because that was what people did when their sanity depended on it.
But admitting that didn’t make the absence of her sister sting less.
“Well, I’m sure she’ll love them when she gets to meet them.” Lachlan’s eyes stayed on her, unreadable. “Do they have names yet?”
“I’ve got a name picked out for the dog Milo won’t let me get,” Titan cut in, leaning back in his chair.
“Shut up, Titan.” Lachlan didn’t even glance at him, still fixed on Willow.
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at the youngest of them. “Why is your name Titan?”
Titan blinked. “I—what?”
Heat crept into her cheeks, the realization that she might have been rude landing late. “I just mean, it’s an odd name, I guess.”
“She’s not wrong,” Lachlan chimed in. “It is pretty odd.”
“It’s traditional!” Titan whined, feigning offense as he pressed a hand to his chest.
“What tradition?” Lachlan countered without missing a beat. “My name is traditional. Your name is a god complex waiting to happen.”
A laugh bubbled out of Willow before she could stop it, light and unguarded. For just a moment, the tension at the table thinned, replaced by something dangerously close to normalcy.
“Alright, seriously, what are the kittens’ names?” Lachlan asked, inclining his head toward Willow again.
“They don’t have names yet.”
“Titan, go grab the rest of the shit from the kitchen.” Milo cut into the conversation, carrying a plate of pancakes piled high in one hand and a jug of maple syrup in the other.
Titan didn’t argue. He pushed back from the table and went without a word.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Willow turned to Milo, who had just settled in beside her. “You don’t have to be such a dick to him. He’s a kid.”
“First of all, Willow, he’s a full-grown man,” Milo said, rolling his eyes.
“A full-grown man who’s killed people,” Lachlan added evenly, as if he were reminding her of the weather.
Willow blinked, the weight of the words landing heavy. They were right—Titan wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t some boy she had to shield from Milo’s corruption. He’d taken lives, just the same as the rest of them.
And yet, something in her still wanted to protect him.
“Also, word to the wise,” Lachlan said, tapping his ear, “he can hear you patronizing him.”
She blushed, a hand rising to cover her mouth.
Fucking werewolf bullshit superpowers. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to it.
***
After breakfast, Lachlan headed out for a multi-day shift, and Titan was sent off on some urgent errand. The previously upbeat atmosphere disappeared quickly after that, leaving Willow to retreat back to her room.
The kittens were waiting.
One was a storm gray with bright orange eyes that seemed too sharp for a creature so slight. The other, an orange tabby with startling blue eyes, had white across his belly and on the tips of his paws. Willow stroked their fur absently, admiring them as she considered her situation.
She still wasn’t sure she trusted Milo .
Pieces were missing; incidents that didn’t line up, shadows she couldn’t shine a light on, no matter how she tried. How long had he been watching her before the farmer’s market? How had he known her name when she hadn’t even seen his face? What else did he know? Those questions gnawed at her.
Willow was certain of one thing only—Milo still had his secrets.
And she wasn’t sure she wanted to dig them up. Some truths, once unearthed, couldn’t be put back in the ground. Maybe ignorance really was a kind of bliss. Maybe pretending was easier than the alternative when things were already so complicated.
Her gaze drifted to the kittens nestled against her side, their small bodies breathing in perfect rhythm. For a moment, she let herself sink into the simple comfort of watching them. But her thoughts soon slid elsewhere—back to the dream that had haunted her a few nights ago.
Milo’s childhood bedroom. The rug beneath them. He stretched out beside her, close but not pressing, his presence wrapping around her entirely. She remembered the way the light had come through in amber waves, and the strange ache in her chest when she’d felt his lips ghost over her body.
It had felt so real at the time.
And, somehow, she had gone to him.
She shook her head, brushing her fingers over the kittens’ fur, as if their warmth could chase the thoughts away. But they lingered all the same—his secrets, her doubts, and the bond between them that pulsed stubbornly beneath it all, demanding to be acknowledged.
Regardless, she was here. And the truth was, there were far worse things in this world than Milo with his watchful eyes and unsettling devotion.
Her mind flickered to McGarvey, the name alone enough to send unease rippling through her. She didn’t even know his face, had never heard his voice, but Milo’s descriptions had painted him as monstrous, ruthless and predatory. A man who dealt in human flesh .
Willow shuddered, pulling the blanket a little tighter around herself. She hoped she would never have to see that man for herself.
For all her doubts about Milo, she had one certainty—if McGarvey ever came knocking, she would rather be standing behind her stalker-turned-captor-turned-protector than face the darkness alone.