39. Willow
WILLOW
W illow sat at the kitchen island, her hands wrapped around a mug she hadn’t touched, staring down into the lightened coffee like it might give her answers to what plagued her.
Lachlan stood opposite her, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his expression calm in that steady, clinical way she knew he must carry at the hospital. She had become a patient, in his eyes. There was no judgment in his eyes, no pity—just quiet assurance.
“It’s all taken care of,” he said gently, setting a folder on the counter but not opening it. “You’re scheduled for tomorrow. First thing.”
Her stomach clenched, but she nodded faintly.
He leaned forward a little, lowering his voice as though they weren’t already alone.
“It’s a very straightforward procedure, Willow.
Medically speaking, it’s called a dilation and curettage, or D&C.
What that means, simply, is that we’ll dilate your cervix and use suction to clear the tissue.
It doesn’t take long. The whole thing will be maybe fifteen minutes, tops. ”
Her throat worked, but she still didn’t speak. Lachlan gave her space, his tone calm, like he’d explained this a hundred times before to patients who needed the same reassurance .
“You’ll be in and out in a few hours. It’s safe. You’ll cramp afterwards, like a heavy period, but nothing you can’t handle. And both Milo and myself will be there the entire time.” His words had finality, like a promise he wouldn’t allow himself to break.
Finally, he tilted his head, studying her with those kind, tired eyes. “Do you want to be under twilight anesthesia for it? It’ll keep you calm, take the edge off, and you won’t remember much. Some people prefer to stay awake, some don’t. It’s entirely up to you.”
Willow swallowed, blinking down at her untouched coffee. The words sat heavy, clinical but softened at the edges, and for the first time since last night, she felt the faintest stir of relief.
She sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Willow nodded once, her voice quiet but steady.
“I want to be under,” she said. Her fingers tightened on the mug, knuckles pale against the ceramic. “I don’t… I don’t think I could sit through it awake. That sounds like torture .”
Lachlan gave her a slow, understanding nod, the faintest curve of sympathy tugging at his mouth.
“Of course.” He straightened, brushing an invisible speck from his shirt sleeve before continuing.
“And for now, I can prescribe you something mild for the anxiety. Nothing heavy, just enough to keep you comfortable.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his, and though she managed a small, grateful smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Lachlan.”
He reached across the island, resting a hand briefly over hers, warm and grounding.
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s my honor to look after you.
” Then, as though sensing she needed space, he stepped back, gathering his folder.
“I’ll get the prescription filled today.
Make sure you take one tonight and another in the morning. ”
She nodded again, and he offered her a quiet, brotherly smile before leaving the kitchen, his footsteps fading down the hall.
When the silence settled back in, Willow let out a long, shaky breath and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes.
It all felt surreal, like her life had been dragged into fast-forward without her permission.
Only weeks ago, Milo had been a presence at the periphery of her world—dangerous, magnetic, terrifying.
And now she’d woken in his bed, tangled in his arms, carrying his child, and making the choice to end it.
Everything had escalated so quickly. Somewhere between his relentless pursuit and her reckless surrender, she’d crossed a line she hadn’t known she was approaching.
And now she was sitting in his kitchen, staring down the aftermath, wondering how everything could feel both so devastating and inevitable all at once.
Willow was still sitting at the island, hands curled around the cooling mug, when she heard the quiet creak of the floorboards behind her. Milo’s presence filled the room before she even turned, that heavy, grounding energy of his already filling the air around her.
He came up behind her and set his broad palms gently on her shoulders, kneading the tension there before leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low, steady, “you don’t have to go through this alone.
I’ll be there. Every step. When it’s done, you’ll come home to me, and you’ll recover in nothing but comfort. Luxury, if I have my way.”
Her throat closed around the words she didn’t want to say, but they spilled out anyway, fragile and raw. “Milo… I’m ending a little life.”
For a heartbeat, he was quiet. Then he shifted, crouching in front of her so he could look into her face.
His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, catching the trace of a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen.
His eyes were sharp, unwavering, but there was no judgment—only a fierce, unyielding tenderness.
“It might be alive, Willow,” he said softly, “but it’s not a life. Not the kind of life you’re thinking of. Not yet.” His hand settled over hers, large and warm, grounding her trembling fingers. “What you’re doing isn’t wrong. You’re taking charge of your future. Our future.”
Her chest hitched, torn between the ache of guilt and the swell of relief his words gave her.
He leaned closer, pressing his forehead to hers, and the weight of his certainty settled over her like a blanket.
“You’re doing the right thing, Willow. You’re always right to choose yourself.
In the animal kingdom, female animals abort their fetuses and even kill their own young when they can’t take care of them.
Controlling your own reproduction is the most natural thing in the world. ”
And for the first time that morning, she let herself lean into him, her forehead pressed into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him until the panic inside her loosened its grip.
***
By afternoon, the heaviness of the morning had thinned into something bearable, though still weighing on her.
Lachlan had pressed a handwritten list into Milo’s hand before heading back to the hospital, his pen-strokes neat, medical, efficient—hydration salts, heating pad, electrolyte drinks, easy-to-digest foods, ibuprofen, thick pads.
Milo had tucked it into his back pocket with care.
Now, the two of them moved side by side down the glossy aisles of a pharmacy, the blast of AC not quite enough to cut the summer heat still clinging to her skin. Willow had thrown on a white tank top and jean shorts, her hair falling over her shoulders.
Milo, infuriatingly, looked completely at ease despite the temperature, broad frame in dark jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched over his chest and shoulders.
He had one hand resting on the cart handle, the other at his side, posture loose but alert.
Willow knew Titan had gone in ahead of them, sweeping each corner.
It was surreal, shopping for Pedialyte and crackers under the quiet watch of men who could dismantle a body in seconds.
Milo reached for the top shelf without hesitation, plucking down a mega-sized pack of overnight pads and dropping it into the cart. The muscles in his forearm flexed, and Willow caught herself staring before dragging her eyes away.
“You okay?” he asked without looking at her, tone casual but carrying that undertone—him checking her pulse in ways that had nothing to do with her physical health.
Willow smoothed her palm against the hem of her tank top, nodding. “Yeah. Just hot.”
His mouth tilted, faint amusement cutting through the otherwise cool mask of his face. “Yeah, you are.” He winked.
She rolled her eyes, cheeks warming, but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips.
***
The house was quiet, the kind of silence that felt thick, as though it knew what tomorrow would bring.
Willow lay tucked into Milo’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like steel cables softened by warmth.
The sheets were cool against her bare legs, but his heat made her feel cocooned, tethered to him.
He pressed his lips into her hair, voice low and steady against the back of her skull. “You’re making the right choice, sweetheart. Don’t let yourself carry shame that doesn’t belong to you.”
His words eased something inside her, but only for a breath. A thought crept in, fast and unrelenting—the calendar.
The full moon.
Her stomach clenched.
“Milo,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to see his face in the dim light. “Tomorrow’s the full moon.”
She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on it, how much she’d pinned her security on the bond they were supposed to complete. Her pulse skittered as panic welled in her throat. “You’re supposed to knot me tomorrow and?—”
“Shh.” His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing softly across her skin.
His expression was calm, measured, even as her own turned frantic.
“Listen to me. Your health comes first. Always. Knotting you before surgery could cause complications. Infection. Bleeding. You’d be going in technically already injured, and we can’t risk that. ”
She blinked at him, struggling to process, but his certainty grounded her. He was so matter-of-fact, so immovable.
“It’s one or the other, Willow,” Milo murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. “And between my knot and your life, I’ll choose your life.”
Her breath caught, tears stinging her eyes. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t a choice at all.
Willow swallowed hard, still tucked against his chest. The weight of his words sat heavy in her mind, like smooth stones she couldn’t quite stack without everything tumbling down. Her fingers toyed absently with the hem of his shirt, the question slipping from her lips before she could stop it.
“What happens if we don’t… finish it? The bond?”
Milo shifted, the low rumble in his chest brushing against her ear. For a moment, he was quiet, considering his words carefully, choosing which edges to soften and which to leave sharp.
“There are consequences,” he said finally, voice low and certain.
“Without the bond, the pack will always feel unsettled. They’ll sense the gap, the unfinished connection between us.
They’ll still follow me, but there’ll be hesitation in them.
Doubt. There’s also the matter of their inability to find their own mates, which can be devastating for morale. ”
Willow tilted her head back to search his face, her brow furrowing. “And for me?”
His mouth quirked faintly, not unkind, but almost reverent.
“Once it’s done, you’re more than just my mate.
You’ll be their queen. Every wolf beneath me will feel it, and they’ll submit to you as natural as breathing.
Even though you’re human, you’ll hold authority they can’t ignore.
No one could challenge you. No one could touch you. ”
Her breath caught. She thought of Lachlan, Titan, the others—grown men with violence in their nature—bowing their heads, not out of choice, but instinct.
“Lachlan and Titan seem so quick to listen to me already,” she said, her voice quieter this time.
Milo’s gaze softened. “That’s because they’re good men. But you haven’t met any other wolves for a reason, Willow. I can’t introduce you to my empire in full until you’ve accepted my knot.”
Willow let his words sink in, her chest tightening with every revelation. Her decision was already made—had been the moment she’d let him share her body—but that didn’t stop the flicker of annoyance sparking in her eyes. He hadn’t told her any of this before.
Of course, she would still have said yes. That wasn’t the point.
It was the ease with which he left things unsaid that rankled her, the way he measured out truths only when pressed. Like he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hand her the whole picture until she was too far in to turn back.
Willow shifted against him, biting back the sharpness rising in her throat. She didn’t want to pick a fight, not now. But a part of her still simmered, a low burn beneath her ribs.
She was his mate. His queen, apparently. She wasn’t some fragile piece on his chessboard to be moved and protected without explanation. If he expected her to stand beside him, then he needed to start treating her like she belonged there.