Chapter 2

Meanwhile, Peter paces the forest path, his thoughts a chaotic mess. The possibility of having Clover as his mate, something he's secretly dreamed of but never allowed himself to truly consider, now dangles before him like forbidden fruit. But not like this. Not through manipulation and politics.

"Fuck," he growls, kicking at a fallen branch. The wood splinters under his boot. "She deserves better than this."

What Peter doesn't know, what none of them realise, is that the Goddess has plans of her own. As the sun begins its descent toward the horizon, marking the approach of the ceremony, ancient magic stirs within the pack lands. The Claiming Stones in the ceremonial circle pulse with energy, preparing for a revelation that will shatter carefully laid plans and force long-buried truths into the unforgiving light.

And at the centre of it all, still unaware of the forces converging around her, Clover Gilmore stands at her bedroom window, watching the preparations for her ceremony in the clearing below. The ceremonial stones have been adorned with fresh wildflowers and glowing lanterns, creating a sacred circle where she will finally meet her wolf. Pack members move purposefully through the space, hanging banners bearing the Beta family crest and arranging wooden benches for the witnesses.

"You look worried," says a soft voice from the doorway.

Clover turns to find her handmaiden, Eliza, carrying a tray of herbal tea. "I'm fine," she lies, the words automatic.

Eliza's knowing smile says she isn't fooled. "Your father has been closeted with the Alpha for over an hour now. The whole pack is buzzing with speculation."

“Great, but then they might have decided that Peter should get the Beta post after all, Milton has always liked him over me. I might have been born to the Beta line, but I’m no fool. Someone has been damaging my work for years while I’ve been in training. Mother used to work in the preschool with the younger pups, maybe I could do that instead.”

Eliza sets the tea tray down on the small table by the window and comes to stand beside Clover. Her eyes follow Clover's gaze to the ceremonial grounds below.

"You know," she says carefully, "I've served three generations of Beta families, and I've never seen a wolf more suited to leadership than you. Whatever happens tonight, remember that."

Clover's amber eyes flicker with surprise at the unexpected vote of confidence. She opens her mouth to respond when a sharp knock interrupts them.

"Enter," she calls, straightening her posture instinctively.

The door swings open to reveal Milton Kirkwood himself, his imposing frame filling the doorway. His piercing blue eyes immediately lock onto Clover, momentarily ignoring Eliza's presence entirely.

"Leave us," he commands the handmaiden without breaking his stare.

Eliza bows slightly and exits, shooting Clover a concerned glance before closing the door behind her. The air in the room seems to thicken with tension.

"Alpha Heir," Clover acknowledges with a slight inclination of her head, careful to maintain the proper formality despite her racing pulse. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Milton steps further into the room, his wolf stirring restlessly beneath his skin. Something about being in her personal space sets his teeth on edge, though he can't, or won't, identify why.

"Your father and mine are currently discussing tonight's ceremony," he says, his voice deliberately neutral. "I thought it prudent to speak with you directly."

“So why would you care after all you’ve never hidden that you’d rather Peter as your Beta over me. I don’t understand why you're even here when I have brought things to you that are a miss, you dismiss me, so just do whatever.”

Milton's jaw clenches at her words, irritation flaring in his eyes. He hadn't expected such direct confrontation from her. Usually, Clover maintains the perfect façade of deference, but today something is different. Perhaps it's the impending ceremony giving her courage, or perhaps she's simply tired of pretending.

"Is that what you think?" he asks, his voice dangerously low as he steps closer. "That I'd rather have that hothead as my Beta?"

“Sorry, hothead? Since when have you called your best friend that? Also, you have told me for years he’d do a better job, so if that’s the case, whatever.”

Milton's eyes widen slightly at her challenge. He hadn't expected this fire from her today, of all days. His wolf grows more agitated beneath his skin, pressing against his consciousness with unusual force.

"You think you know what I want?" he asks, taking another step toward her. The distance between them shrinks to mere feet, and something electric charges the air. "You think you know anything about what goes on in my mind, Clover?"

She stands her ground, though her heart hammers against her ribs. Her wolf, still dormant but stirring more with each passing minute, seems to push her forward rather than back.

"I know what you've shown me," she replies, her voice steadier than she feels. "Years of dismissal. Years of treating me like I'm somehow less than Peter, despite every evaluation saying otherwise. Not including when I noticed my work had been swapped out for a shittier version, you refused to believe me, told me my grades as a straight A student were the teacher's way of saying they felt sorry for me. So yeah, I’m pretty sure I do know what goes through your mind. You can’t stand me, just like Peter can’t. Then again, most of the pack see me as nothing, so why fight it?"

Something flashes in Milton's eyes, a brief glimpse of an emotion Clover can't quite name. His hands clench at his sides, and for a moment, he seems to be fighting some internal battle.

"Is that what you truly believe?" he asks, his voice suddenly softer, though no less intense. "That the entire pack thinks nothing of you?"

“Would you like my phone? It’s quite enlightening even today.”

Milton's hand extends, palm upward, and there's a hesitation in the gesture that Clover has never seen from him before. His wolf is practically clawing at him from within, urging him to do something, though what exactly remains unclear even to Milton himself.