Opening the ceremonial cupboard, Keon heaved a sigh. With potential enemies at the door, he must prepare to speak, act, andthinkin the correct way.
Stripping, he focused his mind on one task at a time. He pulled on loose, sandy-coloured cotton trousers, natural and earthy, soft and flexible for manoeuvring. Next came the grass-green tunic. Keon pulled it over his head, wondering what the guys at the fraternity would say. They would have helped to prepare, handing items of clothing, bantering in the background.
Mother, he missed them.
He had no one. When he’d planned his return months ago, he’d believed his father was waiting, Simeon desperate to question him about Dnara. He hadn’t needed more. Now all he wanted was Drew. To have a best friend to confide every trouble, every thought, and who would sit to enjoy a smoke. As much as Drew had wanted to come, Keon couldn’t have allowed it.
Keon shook off the morbid thoughts and grabbed the leather vest from the cupboard. As he was about to undo the straps, a creak and the scent of pine announced Vega’s arrival.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the leather vest.
“No.” Keon didn’t have time. Petty squabbles, like Vega claiming the role of his mate when Keon had made it clear it would never happen, were a waste of time. Vega wasn’t his mate and had no right to be here.
Keon ignored the persistent man and lifted the leather vest from the dresser. Slipping it over his arms, he tugged it on, fastening the straps across his chest. He worked efficiently, calmly, ignoring Vega. His outfit complete, he confronted the elephant in the room.
“You know you’re my mate, don’t you?” he asked, watching Vega, hands thrust into his trouser pockets, gaze wandering.
Vega cleared his throat and bobbed his head. “Yes, and you know you’re mine.”
He didn’t bother to utter a confirmation. Keon pulled the boots from the cupboard, perched on the armchair to lace them, and stood, stomping to check they fit right. He should have tried them on earlier, but time had grown short. Everything had to be done instantly. He’d been in a tailspin for weeks.
Two steps to the door, Vega called a shaky, “You better come back alive.”
Pausing in the doorway, Keon swallowed the instinctive retort. Controlling the emotion welling in his chest, he took a single step and speared Vega with his gaze. “You arenotmy mate. The Fates may have chosen you, but if you can disrespect me and our mate bond, you’re not worthy.”
Keon took another step, anger swirled in Vega’s blue eyes. “I intend to fix what my brother broke. To make my father proud. To choose a mate who can stand by my side, be strong, proud of me, and help me lead this pack into a better future. You arenotmy mate.” He breathed and waited. Breathed and waited. Finally, Vega dropped his gaze and let out a shuddering breath.
Finally.
Leaving the room, Keon paused at the front door where Weston waited. “Get him out of my house,” he demanded, fighting the rush of adrenaline that told him to go inside and deck Vega for a lifetime of hurt.
He resisted the urge, relieved the matter was resolved. For the first time, he’d taken control of his life, his fate, and his future. He’d told Vega what had been bubbling inside for years, leaving behind the toxic man threatening to drown him in chaos.
“With pleasure, Alpha.” Weston politely asked the guards to escort Vega out, and glanced uneasily at the cluster of men gathered outside. Angry men, snarling, biting, demanding to know why Keon had brought an army to their doorstep. As if Simeon were a figment of his imagination.
Ignorant fools. This army wanted his dead brother. Keon would deal with it the same way he’d dealt with Simeon’s mistakes.
Ignoring the bickering, Keon marched from the village and into the wild grassy plains extending to the boundaries. The land was undeveloped, after the sickness took his mother and brother, and decimated their numbers. Overgrown, Keon had plans to redevelop it with new houses, a marketplace, and a barn to teach trades. Anything to help expand the village and grow their community.Ifhe could sweet-talk Farley into handing over another parcel of land. A vast, empty meadow, soft underfoot, the scent of jasmine and lavender rising with every step as the sun beat from above.
Common courtesy amongst foame made visitors wait at the boundary outpost, until the Alpha had been informed and extended a formal invitation. Whoever this invading pack belonged to had forgotten the ways of social etiquette. Bringing an army and murdering one of his people was a call for war.
Arriving at the empty eastern boundary outpost—a hut where Nelson and Nigel spent their day, relieved at night by another team—Keon stopped at the unmarked line and folded his arms.
Waiting.
Three feet ahead, a line of ten guards stood in armour, holding metal shields. He smirked, mentally remembering to tell Drew they looked like extras from a Robin Hood movie, bows across their back, leather protections on the shins, forearms, chest, and head. Trusting. Waiting for an Alpha to appear, without a single arrow nocked, no sword drawn, no m’weko hovering in anticipation of retaliation.
Amateurs.
Keon would have sentries at the perimeters, a half dozen as m’weko, another dozen with bows, arrows, and swords, ready to attack at the slightest provocation.
These men shared an uneasy glance, and two left formation. They paused halfway, waiting for his permission. Though their Alpha was an arrogant bastard, these two knew better.
The guards faltered mid-step as soft feet hit the earth. As none of his senses warned of danger, Keon remained unblinking, steadfast, pleased when Weston stopped on his right. His Beta raised a hand to brush through his hair, briefly flashing two fingers, signalling two guards trailed behind. Good. Remaining at a respectful distance, as Weston preferred.
What a clever Beta.
“Who is in charge?” Keon barked, startling the well-trained guards.
