A tear trailed Milo’s cheek, in proof of how deeply it affected him. “The Beta clawed me,” he said, hand moving to his lower spine, probably the site of the wound. “He severed something. I don’t know if it was a muscle, a nerve, or damage to a disk. I was paralysed from the waist down and carried to the pack doctor.” Milo dragged his gaze to his cup of coffee. “He was useless. He bandaged the wound to stop the bleeding, but didn’t understand the injury. I diagnosed a potential spinal injury and told Thatcher I needed complete bed rest for a month,” he admitted bitterly, justifiably angry about his injury, the cause of it, and the lack of medical care.
“When the month was over, my daily exercises helped, and some sensation returned. I shifted every day during my recovery, staying as m’weko for hours. I endured hours of physiotherapy, as I’d read in the books from Dnara,” he confessed, the shame disproportionate to his excellent self-care.
Keon was impressed by the extent of self-torture he’d endured to help his recovery. Few people would willingly suffer while already in unbearable pain.
Milo took a deep breath, curling his hands around the coffee cup. “I have nerve damage in my extremities, something humans call neuropathy. A dying or miscommunication of the nerves to the brain,” he explained, swiping his wrist under his nose in proof the tears wouldn’t stop. “I’ve pushed as far as I can, without proper medical attention. My father is afraid to ask for help, because it makes him look weak.
“I was studying medicine from Dnaran books. I know I’m at a critical stage. If I continue without medical care, pushing my legs and nerves beyond their capacity, I may do permanent damage—” He paused with a hiccup, then whispered, “And I may never walk again.”
Chapter Nineteen
Keon
KEON PUFFED ONhis cigarette as he paced, imagining a thousand ways to make Thatcher suffer the same pain he’d put Milo through. Preferably laying him at Milo’s feet, using a sharp but dirty knife to cut him from chin to navel, and plucking his spine one nerve at a time, snapping every muscle over long, excruciating hours.
“You should have come to me.” Farley patted Milo’s knee. “But you were a prisoner to your father. Now you’re safe, we can take care of you.”
It wasn’t enough for the burning rage in Keon’s stomach, threatening to bubble over into a scream.
“I’ll need to know everything, if we grant you sanctuary and have it officiated,” Farley added, lending his vocal weight in a way Keon hadn’t considered.
To have his approval was monumental, as he never interfered in pack business unless called for or the laws governing every pack inE’Boolouwere violated. Thatcher had been careful not to cross the line. While he didn’t want Milo to relive every awful moment he’d experienced at Thatcher’s hands, a part of Keon was relieved when he talked. Prepared to spill his soul if it meant escaping the man who made his life a misery.
Keon had never been more proud.
“Thatcher is ashamed of me.” Milo swallowed nerves or his emotions. “My father keeps me hidden from the pack, though I fulfil most of the Beta duties. I have special talents,” he admitted with reluctance, “and my father uses them to his advantage, while using my sister to keep me obedient. Except, my mother left during the preparations to come here.”
The way Milo slipped from his use of Thatcher’s name to ‘my father’ spoke volumes. He’d started the process of separating his father from the monster Thatcher had become, but wasn’t ready to cut ties yet.
“Without her, my sister is trapped in Thatcher’s care, fifteen and without me to protect her. Incapable as I am of rescuing her with my injuries, I knew I needed to find help. I snuck out during the challenge, but everyone wasatthe challenge.” Milo sipped his coffee and offered an unexpected smile, meeting Keon’s gaze. “I knew I must speak to you to ask for your help.”
Laughing at his misfortune, he faltered, uncertain. “I get sensations, through my gift. I could sense the bunker, when I was at the podium for the challenge. I knew I could safely hide, until I could find you. I never expectedyouto findme,” he confessed, eyes flashing with genuine affection drifting into sadness. “Once I knew who you were, I was scared you would be angry. Would hurt me.” Which explained why he’d hidden under the shelf.
“Why?” Keon took another puff of his cigarette to calm his frayed nerves and growing frustration with Thatcher. Why, when men found something good and pure, did they corrupt it? First Aniel, Simeon, and Vega, now Thatcher.
Milo hung his head and tapped a finger against the rim of his cup. “Before my accident, Alpha Simeon attacked our pack. He came without warning and my father panicked, sending the women and children to safety. I was made to fight, and hoped to use the raid as a cover to escape my father, but I couldn’t leave without an important item,” he said, glancing at Farley, aware this involved him. “My great-great-grandmother, on my mother’s side, was a prophetess, descended from the heecha. My mother has vague spiritual recognition, and I…I can speak in the mind.”
Farley gasped, realising the importance of the revelation.
Sharing Weston’s obvious confusion, Keon lagged a couple steps behind. The heecha were an ancient people, who protected and cared for the soul. Which explained Milo’s telepathy.
“My father is ashamed of me and tries to use my gift to compensate for my infirmity, but it’s unreliable.” Milo shook his head and took another sip. “My ancestors have always kept detailed documentation of our gifts, and prophesies made by our family. In a book Alpha Simeon discovered during his raid,” he confessed, a knowing glance speaking volumes.
Keon knew what was coming, and why Milo couldn’t stop crying, racked with guilt. When his story was done, and the time was right, Keon would assure him he had nothing to apologise for. Thatcher was the monster.
“My father never knew it existed. He found Simeon in my room, holding the book. While they argued, I shifted, stole the book from Simeon, and ran into the woods,” he explained, laughing at his audacity. As Keon would have. “I gave the book to a soldier I trusted, who escaped during the raid. He told me he would bring it to this pack, because you have a close connection with the Meskli.
“He never returned. I have no idea where he hid it, and Ineedto reclaim it. If my father finds it, he can use the information to attack other packs. It contains details about minds I’ve connected to, and prophesies to help him claim other packs.”
Milo nibbled his bottom lip. “I’d hoped to sneak my sister out, during the raid, but I was injured and unable to reach her in time. My father blamed Alpha Simeon for the loss of the book, but I fear he suspects my involvement.” He met Keon’s gaze, nothing but sorrow in beautiful green eyes. “I’m sorry. I never thought he would threaten your pack. I was sure he’d consider the book lost when Alpha Simeon died.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Keon promised, though it didn’t matter. If Milo hadn’t stolen the book to protect it, Simeon would have taken it and kidnapped Milo, once he knew of his gifts. Turning to Farley, he took a drag of his cigarette and thought it through. “This complicates everything.”
“Yes.”
“Alpha.” Milo faced Farley, body language suggesting it took courage to look him in the eye. “Can you save my sister? I understand my actions caused the death of an Alpha and I should be punished.” He dipped his head to Keon in sympathy. “I am sorry about your brother. If you refuse me sanctuary, I’ll understand, but my sister is innocent.”
Keon frowned at the idea of Milo leaving. “No, you’re not going anywhere,” he argued, unable to split his focus when more urgent matters needed his attention. Not if they hoped to resolve it before Thatcher braved the storm. “What do you think?” He focused on the Meskli who had the answers and the power.
