“I asked him to tell me his age, and he said twenty. Making him of age to any pack withinE’Boolou…except Thatcher’s. Regardless of what Thatcher says or his pack laws dictate, the man in my bed is an adult.”
“He’d better be, if he’s in your bed.”
“Behave.” Keon shook his head, though he wouldn’t deny the thought had crossed his mind. “Not that I’d say no. He’s beautiful, and interesting. Extremely interesting,” he admitted, keeping the secret of Milo’s talents. He wasn’t sure he wanted Farley to know, yet. Uncertain what the Meskli would do, or what duty would require of Farley.
Farley’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
Yeah, me neither. Getting to know Milo may be the smartest decision he’d ever made.
Diverting the conversation to lighter topics, Farley told of his journey into Pequij, and Keon shared tales from his time in Dnara. When a click-clack interrupted them, an hour had passed. Keon hadn’t realised how worried he’d been. He took a sip of coffee and raised his head, nearly choking when Milo halted in the doorway, wearing his clothes. Clothes that would forever smell of clover and honeysuckle.
Milo ducked his head, but it was impossible to hide the hiss and wince following one step with his crutches. Each step into the living room was clearly more painful than the last. Keon left his seat, coffee abandoned on the table, and slipped an arm around Milo’s waist, without realising he meant to move.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, helping him remain steady to give the pain time to subside.
Leaning heavily against him, Milo whispered, “Yes, but I’m fine if I fight through it.”
Tough-guy shit wouldn’t work on him.No pain, no gainwas Simeon’s life motto, but it wasn’t Keon’s. If there was pain, he was doing something wrong and potentially harmful.
Pointing to his shoulders, he moved in front of Milo. “Hold on.” Milo unquestioningly pressed his hands to Keon’s shoulders, gasping when he kicked the crutches from under Milo’s arm to behind the sofa. With the obstruction removed, he steadied Milo towards the sofa, faster than any unwieldy crutch would manage, to sit in the space Keon had vacated. Belatedly he realised what a territorial Alpha he’d been to someone who wasn’t of his pack.
Keon opened his mouth to apologise, but no words came. Green eyes sparkled with amusement and gratitude, and he shivered to remember how nice it had been to have a warm body pressed to his for the short journey. The way Milo had surrendered—unfailingly, with utter trust—into his care. He fell onto the arm of the sofa, shocked and delighted. Mother help him, was he experiencing his first crush?
“Here you go.” Weston broke the silence, handing a cup of coffee to their guest.
“Thank you,” Milo responded, with a blush and perfect manners.
Weston returned to his seat on the sofa, glanced at Farley, and focused on Keon. Who was a terrible host.
Clearing his throat, he gestured to Weston. “This is Weston, my Beta,” he explained, watching them exchange polite nods of greeting. He gestured to Farley and introduced the most important person in the room. “I don’t know if you’ve met. This is Alpha Farley, the Meskli. He’s an old friend.” He winked to offer reassurance, and Milo’s eyes widened with surprise. “Why don’t you tell us why you were wandering, during a storm?”
Bobbing his head in silent acceptance, Milo sipped his coffee, placed the cup on the coffee table, and shifted from shy to decisive, straightening his posture. “Alpha Keon,” he said formally, pausing to wet his lips, “I request sanctuary in your pack.”
Huh. Keon shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “Granted.”
Apparently Milo expected a fight, staring in shock.
“No use worrying,” Farley advised, calm and casual despite the situation. As every Meskli needed to be. “Keon isn’t one to mince his words. Tell us why you need it.”
Milo lifted his cup and sipped. He spoke softly, gaze averted as he explained, “Thatcher is my father, but my mother is not his true mate, nor his current mate. They had an affair, and I was the result.” He worried at his bottom lip as his gaze drifted into his thoughts. “Years later, his mate died, and my mother assumed she would ascend to the position of his new mate, with a daughter to secure her position. She was wrong. Thatcher maintained their affair, but took another mate. Usher’s mother.
“The woman had been his mistress for years, and he wanted to acknowledge Usher, his eldest son, as his heir. Usher failed to show aptitude for the duties of a Beta. On my seventeenth celebration, Thatcher saw I was better suited to the position, and demanded I take on the role.” With a shudder Keon presumed had nothing to do with being cold, Milo hunched and shook his head. Instinct had Keon placing a hand on his back to rub consolingly.
Milo took another sip of coffee. “When I refused to become Beta, Thatcher used my younger sister as a bargaining chip. He said she was useless, but if I obeyed, he would protect her and arrange a good marriage, when she’s of age,” he said, anger seeping through. “Eight months ago, Thatcher challenged a new pack neighbouring ours, in hopes of expanding his territory. He got what he wanted at the expense of my legs.”
Silence reigned as Milo sipped at his coffee, ashamed of acts he’d had no part in.
Unable to comfort Milo the way he wanted, Keon stood and grabbed his cigarettes from the side table. He lit one and took a deep inhale as he paced the space between the sofa and the side table. Across the room, Weston worried at his lip, discreetly chronicling every word for the official pack records.
Farley had told him of a new pack, barely twenty-strong, drifting from Katarina’s strict laws. Farley was confident their strong fighters were the reason Simeon had drifted south to convince the fighters to join him, for an attack on Thatcher’s pack.
The realisation hit unexpectedly. When he’d granted Milo’s request for sanctuary, Milo had become an official member of Keon’s pack. Which meant he was entitled to demand reparations from Thatcher for Milo’s injuries.
Scratching at his cheek, he asked the one question no one else voiced. “What exactly was the challenge, and the outcome?”
Milo met his gaze, jaw set with determination. “With both Alphas beyond the age of fighting, they chose their Betas as challengers. Which meant I was forced to fight to the death with the other Beta.”
Fuck. This beautiful, innocent soul had been forced to kill to satisfy Thatcher’s ego.
