Chapter 12
1142 Words
His wolf whines in anguish, the animal understanding what the man is only beginning to comprehend, that they have wounded their mate in ways that may be irreparable. The bond between them, revealed tonight by the Goddess herself, has been poisoned by years of deliberate cruelty.
Peter pauses at the edge of a small clearing, the scent of Milton strong on the night air. He crouches behind a fallen log, watching as his friend stands motionless, face contorted with self-loathing. Despite his own complicated feelings for Clover, Peter can't help but feel sympathy for Milton in this moment. The weight of recognition, of understanding what you've done to someone you were meant to cherish, is crushing.
"You really didn't know, did you?" Peter murmurs, too low for Milton to hear. "All these years, you had no idea she was yours."
Inside the hollow willow, Clover presses her palm against the rough interior, drawing comfort from its familiar texture. This tree has been her sanctuary since she was a child, the one place where she could escape the judgment and disappointment that seemed to follow her everywhere. Now it shelters her from a different kind of pain, the realisation that the Goddess has tied her to the one person who has made it clear he wants nothing to do with her.
"I can't face him," she whispers, her tears finally slowing as exhaustion sets in. "I can't watch him reject me in front of everyone."
Sage pushes against her consciousness, the wolf's certainty unwavering. -He won't reject us.-
"You don't know what he's said," Clover argues. "You haven't been there all these years."
-But I have,- Sage counters, her presence growing stronger in Clover's mind. -I've been here, waiting. Watching. I know his wolf better than you know the man.-
This gives Clover pause. Her newly awakened wolf speaks with a confidence that's difficult to dismiss. "What do you mean?"
-His wolf has always recognised me,- Sage explains. -Even when Milton denied it. Why do you think he was so cruel? He was fighting the bond.-
At the pack house, Grandmother Willow sits alone by the dying embers of the ceremonial fire. The other pack members have dispersed, returning to their homes to gossip about the night's dramatic events. Only the old woman remains, her gnarled fingers tracing patterns in the ash.
"The pattern completes itself," she murmurs to the night air. "As it was meant to.”
Meanwhile, the rest of his inner circle went to Victor’s place to talk.
“How long before he finds her and does what he’s always said he would?”
“Five, maybe ten minutes tops. Then we’ll never have to put up with her ugly face ever again.”
Victor's living room buzzes with tense energy as the group settles in, drinks in hand. The familiar space, usually filled with camaraderie and laughter during their regular gatherings, now crackles with something darker. Damien leans against the fireplace mantel, his face illuminated by the dancing flames.
"Can you believe what just happened?" he asks, swirling amber liquid in his glass. "Milton actually kissed her. In front of everyone."
"The question is what happens next," Victor says, his voice carrying the weight of certainty. "We all know what Milton's said for years about her."
The others nod in agreement, memories of Milton's casual cruelty toward Clover playing through their minds. None of them had questioned it; in fact, most had participated, following their Alpha Heir's lead without hesitation.
"He'll reject her," Damien states flatly. "He has to. Can you imagine Milton actually accepting Clover Gilmore as his Luna? After everything?"
What none of them realises is how profoundly tonight has changed Milton, how the moment his lips touched Clover's, years of deliberate blindness shattered like glass. They cannot see him now, desperately searching the forest for the mate he's denied for too long.
In the hollow willow, Clover's breathing has steadied somewhat, though her heart still races with anxiety. Her wolf continues to press against her consciousness, insistent that they've misunderstood everything.
-Listen to me,- Sage urges. -His wolf has always known. Watch his eyes when he's near us, the battle happening behind them.-
"It doesn't matter," Clover whispers, tracing her fingers along the weathered interior of her sanctuary. "Even if his wolf recognises ours, Milton would never accept it. He'd rather exile us both than admit he was wrong."
Outside, Milton's pace slows as he approaches the eastern boundary. The scent of lavender grows stronger here, mingled with the salt of tears. His heart clenches painfully at the evidence of Clover's distress, distress he caused with years of calculated cruelty.
"I was fighting the bond," he murmurs, the realisation washing over him like ice water. "All this time, I was fighting what I couldn't accept."
His wolf growls in agreement, the animal half of him having understood this truth from the beginning. For years, the wolf had recognised Clover as their mate, pushing Milton toward her even as the man created distance through hostility. The internal war had exhausted them both, leaving scars that might never fully heal.
The ancient willow looms ahead, its massive trunk split open by long-ago lightning. Milton approaches slowly, aware that any sudden movement might send Clover fleeing again. His wolf urges caution, understanding the delicacy of this moment better than the man.
"Clover?" he calls softly, stopping several paces from the hollow tree. "I know I have no right to be here, but I need you to know something: I’m not going to reject you; there will be no exile. I…I was wrong, Clover, so…so very wrong, please come out, we need to talk.”
Inside the hollow willow, Clover freezes at the sound of Milton's voice. Her heart hammers against her ribs so violently she fears he might hear it. Sage stirs within her, pushing forward with renewed urgency.
-Listen to him,- her wolf insists. -Feel the truth in his words.-
But years of hurt aren't so easily dismissed. Clover presses herself deeper into the shadows of her sanctuary, unwilling to reveal herself despite her wolf's protests. "He's lying," she whispers, so quietly the words barely disturb the air. "He's just saying what he thinks I want to hear."
Outside, Milton waits with uncharacteristic patience. The forest around them has gone quiet, as if nature itself holds its breath to witness this moment. He can sense her presence, can feel the pull of the bond between them even through the ancient wood of the willow. His wolf whines softly, urging him to approach, but the man restrains the animal's instincts, knowing that one wrong move could shatter any chance of reconciliation.
"I know you're in there," he says softly. "And I know you have every reason not to trust me. What I've done, how I've treated you, is unforgivable."
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