Milo
MILO BACKED AGAINSTthe wall, fitting his small m’weko form under the bottom shelf of the bookcase, afraid of the gleam of frustration in Keon’s eyes.
He hadn’t meant to cower and run away, but it had all been sudden. One minute dreaming of a vision, confusing and concerning:
Haley being attacked from behind and bleeding; a cruel man laughing maniacally; and an image of Usher running into an unfamiliar treeline, pausing to look back with obvious worry. Then a cacophony of images that made even less sense?a m’weko locked in a cage, covered in wounds; a large kalou cat he didn’t recognise prowling along tree branches, and a grove of barely grown trees with a man sitting crying beneath them?had startled him awake.
Confused by the foreboding vision, Milo hadn’t registered the true threat. Roused from a sleep induced by nourishing food and warm shelter, footsteps on the stairs inspired instant panic. Fear that Thatcher had sent Usher or one of the guards to search for and reclaim him had Milo reacting illogically.
He’d forgotten no one knew where he was, and this wasn’thissecret hiding place, such as he’d had when he was a child. A place where he could wait out Thatcher’s anger, shaking in fear of the beating that would come if he was caught.
Then Keon appeared and, for a second, he’d been relieved, then nervous, as Milo was still Thatcher’s son and in an area of Keon’s land he shouldn’t be in. What if Keon thought him a spy or assassin sent by Thatcher to strike while the Alpha was injured and weak?
Only, he now knew neither was the case. Despite Milo being familiar with naked men, both pre- and post-shift?something his shy pre-teen self had been forced never to react to when he realised he was gaoj?the sight of Keon was something else. Gorgeous didn’t begin to cover it.
He released a m’weko bark, warning Keon to stay away because he was afraid. But the beast kept moving closer, and Milo had to fight to remind his human brain this was Alpha Keon, someone he had seen being kind and fair even in the toughest situations.
But when Keon shoved his nose under the shelf to reach him, Milo couldn’t stop the instinctive fear that made his body shake, and he utilised his gift in a vain attempt to make contact. It had never worked before, but perhaps giving the Alpha a headache would make him retreat.
Don’t hurt me.
*
Keon
KEON FLINCHED, HITTINGhis head on the bottom of the shelf. He slunk onto his stomach and freed his muzzle from the confines of the shelf, staring in shock at the tiny m’weko with guarded eyes. He’d never known a m’weko to communicate with telepathy. m’weko spoke in sounds, body language, and scent, like most wolves in Dnara. This—if it wasn’t brain damage from his challenge against Usher—was unprecedented.
Was this the talent Thatcher spoke of?
Keon experimented by thinking the words and projecting them to Milo.No, little m’weko. I won’t hurt you. Come out. I’m the Alpha, and I need to speak to you,he explained, hoping it worked. To prove he wouldn’t be a danger, Keon retreated, waiting.
Milo’s green eyes watched him for a time, forcing Keon to remain frozen. The m’weko advanced, moved once, froze, and waited for a response. A second paw emerged, froze, and hesitated. In increments, the m’weko made progress, stopping to check Keon wouldn’t lash out between steps.
A long, slow process. Keon was starkly aware of time ticking by, unable to see or hear the storm to keep an eye on its progression. He didn’t have the patience to wait, without checking the weather.
At least this m’weko was Milo. He knew of no other m’weko this small, from his pack or Thatcher’s, who could communicate telepathically. Keon had assumed the mysterious ‘talent’ was intelligence and also presumed Milo was a child who had studied, but not…whatever this was.
Losing patience, Keon let Milo get close and lunged. A terrified whimper escaped as he tried to retreat, but Keon caught his neck in a grip no different from a mother catching an unruly pup. Aware Thatcher had said Milo was young, vulnerable, and not of age, Keon treated him as a child, pulling the pup from under the shelf and planting him into a bundle of blankets.
Pressing a paw to his head, he added,Stay.
Sure Milo wouldn’t run, Keon shifted, cringing when wet hair flopped into his eyes. He grimaced as he pulled on his wet clothes, and sat beside the pile of blankets covering Milo. With sure, steady hands, he lifted the m’weko into his lap and ran hands over his head and ears. Soothing with touch and positive contact. “You’re safe,” he whispered, keeping his voice low and comforting. “Before I tell you anything, you need to tell me your name and age. Nothing else. A name to call you by, and no more than two words to give your age, are we clear?”
To get through this, he needed to enforce discipline and authority. Keep it short. Milo’s m’weko relaxed under his touch, frightened green eyes tracking every move, and a voice in his head sighed.Milo,he said, confirming his identity.Twenty.
Huh. Much older than Thatcher implied. Twenty wasoverthe age of consent and maturity, most m’weko mated and united by their twentieth birthday. Why did Thatcher lie and say Milo wasn’t of age?
“I’m Keon,” he replied aloud, as his hands soothed. “Sit and snuggle with me. You need to calm down, and I’m freezing. You can be my blanket while we talk, but we can’t be long. The storm is rising and we’ll soon miss our chance to find shelter.” He continued the stroke of hands over a m’weko face, chest, and ears, smiling when Milo let loose a rumble.
Green eyes widened and Keon snuffed, realising the reaction had been instinctive and embarrassing. “You approve, huh?” he teased, adding more pressure as he swept his hands over tall ears. Milo’s eyes closed and he nuzzled closer, accepting their proximity. Knowing he was of age, Keon gave his situation more thought, letting Milo snuggle close to gain heat and comfort.
When he fulfilled the Alpha ceremony and accepted his place at the head of the pack, every m’weko responded to his pheromones, finding strength and comfort from his presence. He hoped it worked for Milo, because the kid was in trouble.
He let Milo sit close, absently stroking his fur, while Keon tried to reconcile what he knew from Milo and Thatcher’s lies.
*
Milo
