40. Milo
MILO
M ilo could see it plain as day, the terror in Willow’s eyes. She was bracing for war, except this wasn’t a battlefield, it was her own body. It gutted him that he couldn’t fight this one for her, even though he’d been the one to do it to her in the first place.
He cupped her cheek with a hand that had broken bones, spilled blood, and ended lives—but now it trembled, not from violence but from love.
“You’re going to be okay,” he told her, his voice low, steady, commanding in a way that left no room for doubt.
“Lachlan’s got this covered. He handpicked the team, and my men will be at every door, every exit.
Nothing touches you. Do you hear me? They’re going to replace your IUD too, so that’s taken care of. ”
She nodded, attempting a smile, but the tears shining at the corners of her lashes betrayed her. She still couldn’t believe she’d forgotten her IUD had expired, but, with everything happening, it had just slipped her mind.
Milo swallowed hard, pulling her into his chest, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like floral soap and fear, a combination that made his chest hurt.
The clinic wasn’t some sterile public hospital where strangers could whisper and judge.
Lachlan had pulled this together with his connections— a network of underground doctors who owed him favors, who worked quiet and discreet, where no questions were asked and no records could ever trace back.
Milo had made use of the underground regularly since he’d been back, but never for something that mattered this much.
He tilted his head, brushing his lips over her temple. “You’re not alone in this. Not for one second. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
And he meant it. Even if it killed him to watch her go through it, he wasn’t letting go.
“Milo, we have a problem.”
The sound of Titan’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to turn both Milo and Willow’s heads at once. The kid stood in the doorway, shoulders tight, eyes wide in a way Milo didn’t like.
Milo rose from where he’d been holding Willow, his body already shifting into that familiar battle-readiness. He didn’t need to ask what kind of problem. The tension in Titan’s stance told him enough. This wasn’t small.
Titan jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Need a word, boss.”
Milo brushed a kiss over Willow’s cheek, murmuring low in her ear, “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” He forced his body to move steady, unhurried, but every nerve in him was already wired hot. He followed Titan into the other room, and the moment the door shut behind them, the kid let it out.
“McGarvey’s making a move. Everywhere.” Titan’s voice was clipped, urgent. “Reports are flooding in—multiple places hit, wolves dead. Some of ours, some of theirs. It’s chaos. Nobody knows what to do.”
The words lit Milo’s blood on fire. His jaw locked, shoulders straightening, mind already snapping into formation. “Where?” he demanded.
“Fucking everywhere, dude. It’s coordinated. He’s everywhere.”
Before Milo could answer, his phone buzzed violently in his pocket. One glance at the caller ID had him moving without hesitation. Arlo.
He answered, voice dropping into command mode, every ounce of softness from moments ago with Willow gone.
“Talk to me.”
“Milo,” Arlo’s voice came in hard and ragged, the sound of an engine in the background, “McGarvey goons came for us. Condo’s been breached. Poppy and I barely made it out. We’re on the road now. ”
Milo pinched the bridge of his nose, pacing, his pulse roaring in his ears. “Stay moving. Don’t go to ground unless you have to. Titan and I will coordinate an extraction route.”
Poppy’s faint voice echoed through the line, panicked, but alive. That alone steadied Milo enough to press on.
“Arlo, listen to me. You keep her safe, you hear? Get her out of sight until I can send backup. McGarvey wants us scattered. We need to regroup as quickly as possible.”
Arlo exhaled hard, but there was iron in his words. “Copy that.”
Milo’s eyes flicked to Titan, who was pale with fear. His chest tightened. Willow in the next room, likely terrified. Poppy in the wind. Wolves dead. McGarvey hitting every border.
War had just landed on his doorstep.
***
Milo’s hands lingered on Willow’s shoulders longer than they should have, his thumbs brushing against her collarbones as though he could etch strength into her spirit through touch alone.
She was pale, nervous, but trying so damn hard to be strong.
Lachlan sat in the backseat beside her, face set into that doctor’s mask he wore when he needed to be steady for someone else.
“You’ll be safe with him,” Milo murmured, leaning in close. “I’ll meet you after. Nothing will touch you, I swear it.”
Her fingers clutched at his shirt like she didn’t want to let go, and for a split second, he almost said fuck it to everything—McGarvey, Jenner, all of it.
But war wouldn’t wait. With a gentle press of his lips against her forehead, he pulled back.
“I love you, sweetheart. You’re doing the right thing. ”
Willow’s eyes shone, glassy and fearful, but she gave him a small nod. Milo stepped away and closed the car door, watching until the driver he’d assigned pulled away. The SUV disappeared down the long driveway before he turned back toward the house.
Titan was already waiting, shoulders squared, jaw tight. No backtalk, no grin. Just a wolf ready for blood to defend his land.
They didn’t speak as they moved into the library.
Milo reached for the thick manual in the bookcase, pulled it outward, and slid the bookcase over.
Once the door was open, the faint scent of gun oil and metal hit his senses like a homecoming.
The armory yawned open, a cold, shadowed space where he felt more at home than anywhere else.
Except, of course, in her arms.
Milo stepped inside, shrugging out of his t-shirt and tugging on a slim Kevlar vest that would pass under his hoodie without drawing stares. He clipped spare mags into the inner webbing, deliberate and quick. No wasted movement.
“You don’t want to be bulked down,” he told Titan, his voice low and even as he adjusted the straps. “If humans spot you decked out like a Green Beret, they’ll lose it. Blend in. Civilian, but ready.”
Titan nodded, already mirroring him, tugging on a dark jacket over a vest that fit snug against his frame. His hands moved a little shakier on the buckles, but Milo stepped over and tightened them down with efficient pulls, clapping him once on the shoulder. “Good.”
They moved along the racks, loading backpacks with compact carbines broken down into parts, sidearms tucked in holsters, suppressors wrapped in cloth. A pair of rifle bags leaned against the far wall—Milo tossed one to Titan. “Carry it like it’s nothing special. Just another hunter with his gear.”
Titan zipped it closed, testing the weight before slinging it over his shoulder. “Feels light.”
“Won’t when it’s full,” Milo said, grabbing his own bag and sliding a shotgun inside, the action smooth and practiced.
When they stepped back into the library, the air felt heavier, as though the house itself knew what they were walking into. Milo closed the bookcase behind them, sealing the armory away again, and looked at Titan—really looked at him. The boy was gone. A soldier stood in his place.
“Stay sharp. We don’t have the luxury of mistakes. Take your car. Get to Poppy and Arlo. I’ll head into the thick of things.”
Titan nodded once, and together they strode toward the door, the weight of oncoming battle slung across their backs.