Chapter 11
912 Words
His wolf whines inside him, sensing the turmoil ahead. Peter hesitates at a fork in the path, sniffing the air. Clover's scent leads toward the eastern boundary, toward her secret place. He'd discovered her hideaway years ago but had kept that knowledge to himself, never invading her sanctuary even when tempted to torment her there.
Milton, meanwhile, has lost Clover's trail at the Claiming Pools. He circles the steaming waters in frustration, his wolf growing increasingly frantic.
"Clover!" he calls, voice echoing through the trees. "Please! We need to talk!"
Only the night creatures answer him, the forest seeming to close ranks around Clover's escape route. Milton rakes his hands through his hair, self-loathing washing over him in waves.
"How could I have been so blind?" he whispers, the magnitude of his years-long denial crashing down upon him. His wolf had recognised her from the beginning, had pushed and prodded and howled for him to acknowledge what was right before his eyes. But pride and prejudice had blinded him, leading him to reject the very thing he needed most.
Inside her hollow willow, Clover draws her knees to her chest, tears flowing freely now that she's alone. The silver threads of her ceremonial dress catch what little moonlight filters through the ancient trunk, creating the illusion of stars in her private darkness.
"What am I going to do?" she whispers to herself, the question encompassing more than just this night. Her entire future has been shattered and reformed in the space of hours. "I can't stay here now."
Her wolf disagrees vehemently. -We must stay. Our mate is here.-
"He's not our mate," Clover argues aloud, though the denial rings hollow even to her own ears. "He hates us."
-No,- Sage insists with the certainty of instinct. -He fears us. Fears, what we mean to him. Different.-
At the pack house, chaos continues to reign. Theodore paces the Alpha's office like a caged animal, his carefully constructed plans lying in ruins around him. Alpha Frederick watches from behind his desk, outwardly calm though inwardly concerned about how this night will end.
"This changes nothing," Theodore insists, his voice tight with controlled fury. "Fated mate or not, your son has made his feelings about my daughter very clear. Including how he’d reject her if she were his, where do you think those other two got the idea from? Let alone my own daughter, otherwise why would she have run?”
Frederick's eyes narrow at Theodore's accusation. The Alpha's weathered face reveals a flash of anger before settling into the impassive mask of leadership he's worn for decades.
"My son may have been a fool," he says, each word measured and deliberate, "but he is not the only one in this room who has failed to see what was right before him."
Luna Joanna steps forward, placing a calming hand on her mate's arm. Her silver-streaked hair catches the lamplight as she turns her penetrating gaze on Theodore.
"The Goddess works in ways we cannot always understand," she says. "Perhaps this is her way of healing old wounds, wounds that go deeper than you know."
Silvie watches this exchange with calculating eyes, her mind already adapting to the new reality. Unlike her mate, she sees opportunity rather than disaster in this unexpected turn of events. Her son Peter may have lost his chance at the Beta position, but the political landscape has shifted in ways that might prove advantageous.
"We should focus on finding them," she suggests, her voice deliberately soothing. "Before either does something they'll regret."
In the forest, Milton has stopped calling Clover's name, realising that his shouts are only driving her deeper into hiding. His wolf, normally so aggressive and dominant, whines with a vulnerability he's never experienced before. The animal understands what the man is only beginning to grasp, that they've wounded their mate deeply, perhaps beyond repair.
"I have to find her," he whispers, closing his eyes to centre himself. "Think, Milton. Where would she go?"
His wolf suddenly goes still, an idea forming in their shared consciousness. Not where she would go, but where she would feel safe. The answer comes to him like a revelation: the ancient willow near the eastern boundary, the one struck by lightning centuries ago. He's seen her disappear in that direction after particularly harsh encounters with her father or Peter, though he's never followed.
“How did I miss what was right in front of me? Clover, I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner, Goddess. Why would you think I’d reject you, after kissing you like that? I’ve never even kissed another she-wolf.”
As if being summoned, the memory of him laughing with his friends about fated mates, one of Victor's baby sisters from his inner circle asked what if Clover was his fated mate. His friends waited for his answer, but he barely even thought about it ‘I’d reject her as soon as I realised what had happened. Then I would exile her so that I didn’t have to look at her face again.’
The memory slams into Milton with the force of a physical blow. His own cruel words echo in his mind, mocking him with their callousness. How many times had he casually dismissed the idea of Clover as his mate? How many times had he laughed along with his friends at her expense?
"Goddess," he whispers, shame burning through him like wildfire. "What have I done?"
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