CHAPTER 004

OLIVER HAWTHORNE'S POINT OF VIEW

The pull towards the stone cottage of the RedWoods Beta was heavier than Oliver thought. His thoughts were drifting as the wheels rolled over the gravel. He was wondering who he was going to meet—Ian Whitford.

His father and Ian were friends longer than Oliver had been alive. They had been acquainted in a private school, two youths moulded to be leaders, one to be an Alpha, the other a Beta. They had had an instant relationship, both of them proud of their Irish heritage, both of them with the weight of responsibility before their time.

The fact that the borders of their packs were touching assisted them in being close even after school. Oliver recalled that when he and Alistair were boys, Ian had come to the Glass Lake house. Ian was bigger than life, always, with that stern look and solemn mouth. Oliver had always thought as a boy that Ian resembled a person who could squash him with one hand should he decide to.

And yet, where that great presence was, Ian had never spoken ill. Oliver never forgot that, Ian now had a different life. His wife had passed away a few years back, and Oliver recalled how his father had broken his voice when he informed him. The loss of a mate was a brutal thing. No wolf should ever endure it. Ian had a daughter too. Oliver could not think of growing up without his mother.

The thought of the grief of that girl tightened his chest. Oliver was cogitating as he parked in front of the cottage. What a man was Ian now, after all the pain? Did he still bear it, heavy in his bones? Had he been able to climb out of grief? Oliver had hoped he had been able to find some peace in his own interest—and in the interest of his daughter.

The scheme was altered at the last moment. Alpha Klein was to have been here, but meetings clashed, and Ian had been called in to represent his pack. Oliver was disappointed at first—he had hoped to meet the Alpha himself. But at least today was more form than fight. The negotiations were finished; the contracts were prepared. The signing remained.

But Oliver had heard of such a thing as handshakes. When a man stared you in the eye and made a promise, he could not break it in the future. He desired that time with Ian. His father had been pleased when he heard that Oliver was going to see Ian. He had sworn to send him a request to play a round of golf. And there was Ian, as broad and as tall as Oliver knew.

Had this union afforded their fathers the pretext of laughing at a golf course once more, he would gladly have been the messenger. Oliver struck the bell and looked about. The ivy was veining the stone walls of the house, the flowers bright along the path and the porch. It was a storybook picture. Too soft, too feminine to be the work of Ian himself. Now it was the hand of his late wife or his daughter.

The door opened. Oliver trembled and could not restrain himself and pushed Teague into the shadows of his mind. But Oliver hardly noticed him, as the instant the door opened, a smell struck him so forcibly that he reeled. Honey. Wildflowers. Sweetness so sweet he could feel it on his tongue.

His knees locked. His wolf howled in his chest. “MATE!” The word came out of his mouth just as Teague shouted it in his head. Oliver had not even noticed that he had pushed past Ian until a powerful hand grabbed his shirt and pulled him back.

A growl ripped out of his throat, and his eyes flashed silver as Teague leapt forward, prepared to battle anyone who stood between them and the cause of that odour. But Ian didn’t flinch. He kept Oliver still with a cold stare.

He gradually, agonizingly, re-sheathed his claws, his chest heaving with the restoration of sanity. It would be suicide to attack Ian, the father of his mate and the best friend of his own father.

Oliver cleared his throat, parched as it was, and nodded. When Ian realized that he had control back, he pushed Oliver into a chair. "Business first," said Ian in a voice that would not be argued with. Then we will speak about my daughter.

The words appeared impossible, the smell still lingering around his brain like a drug. Ian turned pages without reading.

"You have papers for me," Ian said, observing him. Oliver sat up, bringing his eyes to himself. “Yes—yes, sir.” He groped in his bag and gave him the contract. I am sorry Alpha Klein could not be present, but everything is here as we talked. It just requires legal examination and a signature.

This was a dream of mine and Raphe's in our days. His lips smiled faintly. This is what your father always wanted. He perceived the shadow of loss, the memory of his mate. I am happy to be the one who is completing what we started as boys. Oliver read the distant expression in the eye of Ian and, momentarily, lost himself. He could still read the sorrow in the lines of his face. And to keep my furniture, I will have thee.

Then Teague tore his skull with his nails.“ Mate is here! We need her now! She needs us! ”Oliver clenched his hands on the arms of the chair till the wood creaked. His nails broke through once more, and he struggled to pull them out. His chest swelled and sank too fast, and as he glanced up, Ian was scrutinizing him with keen eyes.

"You will not rest till you see her," Ian said at last. Her lashes lay on fair skin, lips parted in a sweet smile. On one condition.”

"Whatever," Oliver said, in his desperation. Ian leant in, his tone hard. “She is sleeping. She worked through the night. You will not pass the threshold. You will not make a sound. You wake her, and I will toss you out so quick you will not hit the ground. Do you understand me?” “Yes, sir,” Oliver said quickly.

His heart hammered. A single look—that was sufficient. Ian wheeled and began to climb the stairs. Oliver walked behind, Teague singing in him, "Mate, mate, mate," with each stride.

The scent grew stronger. His body was sore to see her, to touch her, and to hear her voice. His mouth was watering, and his pulse was thundering. He was certain that he would fall under the weight of it by the time they got to the door. Ian opened the door.

The perfume was a tidal wave. And there she was, Selene. She was lying on her side, with blankets wrapped round, and curls of gold streaming over her pillow. He never believed in perfection. She was as delicate and as glowing as a dream.

Oliver was in a hurry to breathe. He could not spare his opportunity. Teague screamed so loud in his head that he thought Ian could hear it. “Beautiful,” Teague whispered. “Ours.

”Oliver’s chest clenched. He couldn’t look away. The walls were made of glass and looked out on the forest beyond, and the sun was streaming over wildflowers.

He was about to stand there forever when his arm was seized by the hand of Ian and pulled away. Oliver was about to fight him but restrained himself. Ian came back with two glasses of whisky, and one of them he put in front of Oliver. Ian pulled him into a little sitting room.

Oliver looked at the amber, with a tight throat, and Teague whined, begging to be sent back. Oliver thought only of her. Of her smell, her smile, and the sound, he thought she would laugh. Ian returned with two glasses of whisky, one of which he put before Oliver. You’ll need it,” he said grimly.

Oliver looked at the amber liquid, with a tight throat, and Teague whined, begging to be sent back.“She’s upstairs,” Teague moaned. “She’s ours. Why are we down here?

”Oliver clenched his temples in an attempt to hush him. “Quiet. We need to listen. He’s going to tell us about her. ”And then Ian sat up in his chair, with a keen eye, and said."

Now, Oliver Hawthorne," said he. “Let’s talk about my daughter. ”Oliver gripped the glass. What was Ian about to reveal?

Would he not be forbidden to see her again when she awoke? Or was this the time his whole world broke before it could start?