“Intriguing,” Farley admitted, sparing a smile for Weston, when he poured a glass of scotch. He accepted the drink and sipped. “We can’t bargain the book for the sister’s freedom, but youdidwin the challenge. You could demand the girl as your challenge rites?”
Keon scrunched his nose. “Wouldn’t I be obligated to mate with her?” he asked, sure Weston had mentioned that, with the implication he could use it if he found a suitable mate in Thatcher’s pack.
Farley shrugged, relaxing into his seat. “Not if you don’t specifywhyyou want her. If you exchange one life for another, demanding the girl in payment for Nelson’s death, it will negate expectations. As the lad?” He signalled to Milo, a dangerous glint lighting his eyes. “?is of age, Thatcher can do nothing to regain him. You are of age, aren’t you?”
The way he asked with confidence proved he’d been listening. Neither expected Milo to clear his throat and shake his head. “I’m twenty, Alpha. My father’s laws decree men become of age at twenty-five,” he explained, clarifying Thatcher’s obscure laws.
“Hmm. Women?” Farley wondered aloud.
“Eighteen.”
Keon guessed Farley’s raised eyebrow meant he felt the same disgust currently running through his head. “Typical predator shit. Make the girls young enough to be fertile, but the men old enough to keep the women available,” he reasoned, hating the archaic practice. While he wanted to rage at Thatcher, Milo looked worried about his sister.
He crossed to the sofa, touching the tip of fingers to Milo’s chin to lift green eyes to his. “While you’re on my land, you live by my laws. Meaning you’re of age, and you’re not leaving with that bastard.”
Milo smiled, bright and beautiful.
Farley cleared his throat. “You have another option,” he offered, between sips of scotch, a knowing, amused glint promising trouble. “Like you say, the lad is of age, according to your laws. He’s currently on your land. You won the challenge. You’re currently without a mate.”
The hint was hard to miss. Milo blushed, and Weston grinned, but Keon refused to raise his hopes. He wanted to knowexactlywhat Farley had in mind. Because he was tempted. Milo was beautiful, intriguing, and captivating when he blushed. He knew Milo found him attractive, so it wouldn’t be wrong.
“You could offer Thatcher a truce,” Farley continued, set on his plan. “You will find his ‘missing’ sonifyou can mate him, uniting your packs by marriage and settling the challenge to everyone’s benefit. Demand his blood family as a wedding gift. An old tradition, but it would see his mother and sister brought to your door, without fuss. If he’s ashamed, he’ll be glad to be rid of him.” Pausing, he offered a polite apology to Milo. “No offence to you.”
“None taken, Alpha.”
Mother, Keon was tempted.
Drew would tell him to take the opportunity. Milo wanted to escape Thatcher, Keon needed a mate, and they had bonded. What was the harm? They could pull off a coup, but would betray Milo’s true mate. Even if they had the Meskli’s approval and it was done to save Milo and his family from a tyrant, could he hurt someone the way Vega had hurt him?
It needed to be Milo’s decision. An informed one.
Keon stretched to the coffee table to ground out his cigarette, watching the young man who had walked into his life and changed everything. “What do you say? Want to pull off a coup?”
Milo cocked his head. “A coup?”
Nodding, Keon explained, “According to tradition, when two packs merge, an Alpha or Alpha-Consort with heecha blood has a blood-given right to rule.” Tapping his fingertip to Milo’s nose, he added, “You could make me the Alpha tobothpacks.”
While uniting with Milo would make him the Alpha of two packs and be afuck youto ThatcherandSimeon, it would also increase the number of m’weko adhering to his new laws.
It must be Milo’s choice. With consent and knowledge of the consequences. As easy as Farley made it seem, it would rock their world and challenge every tradition ofE’Boolou.
“You can do that?” Milo asked, gazing at Farley with naked respect.
“Of course. Tradition,” the Meskli claimed, using his favourite way to defy laws, because it was within his position as Meskli to know the loopholes and use them. “Of course, the same law demands a period of courting.”
Keon glanced at Milo, who flushed and avoided his gaze. “Are you willing to mate with me, Milo?” he asked, needing him to say it. He didn’t want to misunderstand longing looks.
When Milo lifted his head and met his eyes, Keon felt the spark of connection. The indefinable captivating uniqueness to Milo. Milo dipped his head in a shy, but clear, acceptance.
Farley jumped on the reply. “Excellent. I’ll leave you to talk, and double-check the requirements of the tradition,” he announced, discarding his empty glass onto the table. He rose and walked to the living room door, pausing, as his guards followed. “May I borrow you, Beta?”
Weston flinched. “I’d be honoured, Alpha.” He collected his notebook and hustled after Farley. He hesitated halfway, in what Keon hoped wasn’t a request for permission. “I’m happy for you both!”
Laughing at his joy and Farley’s rush to escape, realising they’d forgotten about the storm raging outside, he shook his head and let them deal with it. They’d remember when they opened the door to a blowing gale and sheets of rain.
They’d left him blessedly alone with Milo, who blushed and tried to hide behind the long fringe of his hair.
Sliding off the arm of the sofa, into the tight space beside Milo, Keon laid his arm over the chair, fascinated. How Milo hid behind the curtain of white hair, his safety net in a world that refused to understand or accept him. The way he nibbled his bottom lip, masking the pink with glistening rose red. Green eyes flicking to check on him, mark his proximity, steal a glance.
