Page 44 of Howl About That

She'd wanted it to—God, how she'd wanted it to work. But how could it, if Keiro couldn't stop trying to fix her problems? If he kept making her feel helpless and useless, like she had nothing to contribute except the privilege of being rescued by him?

That went against everything she'd built herself into over the past eleven years. She was the most competent, hyperindependent, strongest Alpha her pride had seen in generations. She wasn't going to erase that identity now, not even for love.

Or could you find balance?her traitorous heart whispered.

Maybe that's what truly terrified her. Not that she'd lose herself in this partnership, but that she'd have to figure out who she was when she wasn't constantly fighting for survival. What did Poppy Mintz look like when she wasn't carrying everything alone? Could she become more in this relationship instead of less?

The questions felt too big, too overwhelming. So she buried her face in her hands and let herself cry for the future that had felt so perfect just hours ago and now seemed impossibly out of reach.

An hour later, the tears had finally dried into salt tracks on her cheeks, leaving behind a hollowed-out ache that felt worse than the initial storm of emotion. Poppy stared at the ceiling of her living room, sprawled across the sofa where she'd collapsedafter Keiro left, her body feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away the minutes with merciless precision—each second a reminder that she was wasting time wallowing when she should be doing what she always did.

Figure it out. Fix it. Handle it.

But for once, the problem felt too big, too tangled, too personal for her usual methods.

How did you solve the mess you'd made of your own heart?

Through the mate bond, she could feel his emotions like phantom limbs—his hurt, his confusion, his desperate love that hadn't dimmed despite her harsh words. The connection pulsed between them like a wounded thing, and every beat reminded her of what she'd thrown away in a moment of panic.

She needed Neve.

She needed her best friend to ground her and tell her things would work out just like she'd told Poppy countless times before. But what worried her, was that maybe this time, even Neve would realize things were too impossible to work out, that Neve would confirm that Poppy was on the verge of losing the best thing to ever happen in her life.

Twenty minutes later, Poppy stood on the front porch of Neve's modest cottage, her appearance probably resembling something that had crawled out of a disaster zone. The door opened before she could knock, and Neve's expression shifted from mild curiosity to alarm in the space of a heartbeat.

"Wow, Poppy. You look like hell."

"Thanks. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear." Poppy attempted a weak smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "Can I come in?"

Neve stepped aside without hesitation, ushering her into the warmth of the living room. The space was quintessentially Neve—clean lines, neutral colors, everything in its proper place. Itshould have been calming, but Poppy felt too raw, too chaotic for the organized serenity.

"Sit." Neve pointed to the cream-colored sofa. "I'll make tea."

"I don't need?—"

"You're getting tea whether you want it or not." Neve's voice carried that Beta authority that brooked no argument. "And then you're going to tell me why you look like you've been crying for hours."

Poppy sank into the cushions, her body finally admitting how exhausted she was. Through the open doorway, she could hear Neve moving around the kitchen with efficient precision—the whistle of the kettle, the clink of china, the measured steps of someone who approached everything like a military operation.

When Neve returned with two steaming mugs, Poppy accepted hers gratefully, wrapping her fingers around the warmth.

"This seems like déjà vu," Neve said, settling into the opposite chair with her own tea. "Let me guess—your mate overstepped again because he was being overprotective?"

Poppy's laugh came out bitter and hollow. "How did you know?"

"He may have mentioned he had concerns about Sander and needed to talk to you about it. I naturally connected the dots." Neve's dark eyes studied Poppy with uncomfortable accuracy. "So, what did he do this time?"

"Keiro decided to look into Sander and my father's murder without asking for my permission." The words tasted bitter in her mouth. "He didn't say as much, but he must think they're connected somehow. That Sander is involved."

For a moment, Neve went completely still, her tea mug frozen halfway to her lips. Then something shifted in her expression—shock giving way to a kind of terrible understanding, like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

"Poppy." Neve's voice was carefully controlled. "You don't think Sander would've killed your father, do you?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implications that Poppy had been too afraid to examine. She'd spent eleven years focusing on moving forward, on proving herself worthy of the position she'd inherited. She'd never allowed herself to dig too deep into the why of her father's death, because revenge felt like a luxury she couldn't afford.

"I don't know." The admission felt like pulling glass from her throat. "Sure, Sander wanted to be Alpha after my father died, but I didn't think he would kill to become Alpha. I mean, that's..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"That's really bad," Neve said quietly.