Chapter 4

Milton's expression hardens, his wolf clawing at him with such intensity that he nearly doubles over. The animal inside him recognises something his human half refuses to acknowledge, something primal and inevitable.

"I'm not stopping you from honouring your mother," he says, his voice softer than Clover has ever heard it. "But this conversation isn't over. Not by a long shot."

He turns and strides toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. Without looking back, he adds, "I'll see you at the ceremony, Clover. And things are going to change after tonight, I promise you that."

“Yeah, right, sorry if I don’t believe you, coz people have told me that for years, and well, I’m still the unwanted one except by the kids I help at the preschool, so whatever. Well, until they’re old enough for others to get into their head, and then they start. As I said, it might be better if I transfer.”

Milton stands frozen at the door, her words hitting him like physical blows. His wolf is practically tearing at his insides now, demanding he turn around, demanding he make her understand. But understand what? He can't even explain the storm raging inside him.

"Clover," he says, his voice uncharacteristically rough as he turns back to face her, "I don't want you to transfer. The pack needs you." The unspoken 'I need you' hovers in his mind, shocking him with its intensity.

She looks at him with disbelief etched across her features, years of hurt hardening her amber eyes. "Sure, they do what the pack needs a Beta they respect, not one they mock behind her back. Not one whose own Alpha Heir can barely stand to be in the same room with her. Besides, I’m just one she-wolf that the pack would barely notice if I were gone."

She walked over to her dresser, picked up her offering to her mother, and started towards the door. “Now, Alpha Heir, I must go take these to my mother’s grave.”

Milton's hand catches her wrist as she attempts to pass him, the contact sending an electric current through both of them. His touch is firm but not painful, his fingers warm against her skin. For a moment, neither speaks, the sudden physical connection leaving them speechless.

"I'll accompany you," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument even as his wolf practically purrs with satisfaction at the contact.

Clover stares at his hand on her wrist, conflicting emotions battling within her. Part of her wants to wrench away, to maintain the distance that has defined their relationship for years.

“Alpha Heir, let go of me right now. And that won’t be happening. I must do this alone, I always do it alone on my birthday, but I guess all men in this seem to think I am nothing good to see I’m right about one thing.”

Milton's fingers tighten slightly around her wrist, not enough to hurt but enough to convey his determination. His wolf is practically howling in victory at the contact, though Milton himself can't understand why such a simple touch affects him so profoundly.

"I didn't ask," he says, his voice lower now. "And I'm not like other men in this pack."

Clover's eyes flash with anger and something else—a fleeting vulnerability that disappears as quickly as it surfaces. "You've proven otherwise for years."

Around them, the afternoon light shifts, casting long shadows across the bedroom floor. Outside, pack members continue preparing for the ceremony, unaware of the confrontation happening in the Beta Heir's quarters. Theodore and Alpha Kirkwood remain closeted in their meeting, making decisions that will impact lives beyond their understanding.

Milton studies Clover's face, seeing for the first time the strength that has sustained her through years of isolation and doubt. His wolf recognises what he has been blind to, the perfect partner standing before him, fierce despite being underestimated at every turn.

"Then let me prove otherwise now," he says, releasing her wrist but maintaining eye contact. "Your mother deserves proper respect, and you deserve an escort befitting your station."

“NO. LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Milton recoils at the force of her outburst, his wolf momentarily retreating in confusion. Something raw and genuine flashes across Clover's face, a pain so deep that even Milton, who has spent years deliberately misunderstanding her, can't ignore it.

"Fine," he says after a moment, stepping aside. "Go alone."

Clover doesn't wait for him to change his mind. She brushes past him, the small bundle of wildflowers and her mother's favourite river stones clutched tightly in her hands. The scent of her, lavender, pine, and something uniquely Clover, lingers in the room after she's gone, tormenting Milton's wolf.

Once she's safely down the hall, Milton slams his fist into the wall, leaving a small dent in the plaster. His wolf is furious, not at Clover but at him.

-You fool,- his wolf growls. -You've wasted years.-

"Shut up," Milton mutters, but there's no conviction behind it. For the first time, doubt creeps in, unwelcome and uncomfortable.

Outside, Clover slips away from the main paths, taking a hidden trail that winds through the oldest part of the Kirkwood forest. Here, ancient pines tower overhead, their branches creating a natural cathedral. The afternoon light filters through in dappled patterns, illuminating patches of wildflowers that grow in defiant clusters.

Theodore watches her go from his office window, his meeting with Alpha Kirkwood having ended in tense silence. The Alpha's words echo in his mind: "You cannot force a mating bond, Beta. Some things are beyond even our control."

"She'll do as she's told," Theodore had insisted. "She always has."

But now, watching his daughter's determined stride as she disappears into the forest, doubt gnaws at him. She looks too much like her mother, not just in appearance, but in that quiet, unbreakable resolve.

In the forest clearing where Lettie Gilmore's memorial stone stands, Clover kneels and arranges her offerings with practised care. The polished granite bears her mother's name and the pack symbol for courage, a wolf with head raised in defiance.

"I miss you," Clover whispers, her fingers tracing the carved letters. "Especially today."

The wind stirs the leaves overhead, creating a gentle rustling that sounds almost like a response. Clover closes her eyes, trying to imagine what her mother would say if she were here. Would she encourage Clover to stand her ground? Or would she advise caution, knowing the pack politics that swirl like dangerous currents?