Keon couldn’t resist the urge. He let his fingers drift to the shaved hair at the crown of Milo’s head and lightly scraped nails over the tender skin. Milo rolled his neck into the contact, lifting green eyes to his, cautious, yet warm and dangerously open. “We want you to be safe and happy,” Keon said, needing to make his intentions clear. “I would give you sanctuary, without the mating. You can change your mind, right to the day of the mating. As a member of my pack, you have the right and freedom to do what will make you happy, as long as no one else gets hurt.”
Milo’s lips twitched, but he bit the corner to prevent it from showing. “You wouldn’t be disappointed with me?” he asked, posture screaming he wanted to look away, but his eyes remained locked. Head dipped in an attempt to shy away from how vulnerable the question left him.
Thatcher had left more than physical scars on Milo. Keon needed him to understand he wasn’t making a grand sacrifice in accepting the first person to cross his path.
A bruise on the side of Milo’s neck marked porcelain skin. A dominating bite from his m’weko, especially from Alpha to subordinate, remained the one weapon in their arsenal to leave lasting marks.
Dipping his head, Keon grazed his teeth over the bruise and closed his eyes to Milo’s stuttered breath. It wasn’t all the contact aroused. He nosed at Milo’s jaw to control his erratic hormones.
His body was responding to Milo’s attraction, acceptance, and his scent. A heady mixture speaking to his inner m’weko, and the Alpha who needed a reliable mate. No one was more suitable than an Alpha’s son, merging two packs who needed guidance. Having rejected Vega and maintained the distance between them, he’d broken the mental bond, allowing his m’weko senses to search for another mate.
They’d agreed on Milo. He wouldn’t feel the intense possessiveness and dominance with a new mate without claiming him, but biology couldn’t be ignored. With Milo’s presence, his scent screamingClaim me,his human and m’weko showing acceptance, Keon struggled to fight the sexual attraction that rose when a m’weko was ready to claim a mate.
But he wasn’t yet an animal at the mercy of his hormones.
Milo’s breathing was unsteady, an aphrodisiac to m’weko.“No, for the record,” Keon confessed, meeting green eyes. “I would never be disappointed with you as my mate,” he promised, resisting the intense urge to kiss Milo to brush a thumb over his lips. “As tempting as your lips are, I’ll enjoy courting you.”
Milo’s eyes filled with naked adoration. “Are you sure, Alpha? You don’t intend to wait for your true mate?” he whispered, respectful for the proximity.
A sensible question, leading to another consideration. “I’ve already refused him. He can’t be what I need in a Consort, or in a mate.” He would explain when he had Farley’s reassurance about Vega’s future. “Have you sensed your true mate?”
Milo’s demeanour morphed from thoroughly seduced to guilty in a split second. “He died. In the raid.”
Shit. “Did my brother kill him?”
Milo shook his head. “No. Another man in my pack, Cerbus.” He hung his head and shrugged. “He’d been bothering me, asking my father to mate me, but the thought disgusted my father. He refused and said I couldn’t takeanymale mate. Which was fine, because both men scared me.”
Keon was surprised by the vehemence of the confession. The shudder Milo gave suggested the Fates had fucked them, when it came to giving worthy mates.
Milo shook his head with wry amusement. “My true mate, Hamond, was violent. What my father would call a real m’weko. Most of the men of Thatcher’s pack are the same, including Cerbus,” he elaborated, body lilting to lean against Keon for mental and emotional support. Which he was happy to provide. “He used the raid to kill Hamond, thinking it would clear the way. I convinced my father to refuse, and I’m glad to be rid of them.”
Leaving home, planning an escape, being treated like a burden, and getting caught in the storm was a lot for one night. Keon understood how he would be mentally and physically exhausted. Finally safe, he could let his body rest.
“As am I.”
*
THE SILENT ROOMlulled Milo to sleep in his arms. He didn’t seem to notice when Keon stood, lifted him, and manoeuvred them to lie on the sofa, Milo sprawled across him. Milo snuggled closer and appeared to sleep peacefully.
Farley and Weston returned an hour later, Weston spared them an unconcerned glance and hustled into the study, leaving Farley standing over them.
“Not a word,” Keon warned, letting the Meskli sit to share what Milo had said.
“As his father, Thatcher should have protected him,” Farley disapproved, sinking into the armchair and tapping fingers against the arm. “I checked the old traditions, and one precedence will suit us. An Alpha who wasn’t born to the role can requestanymate he wishes, from any pack, if it will secure his position and unite two packs on the brink of war. This situation qualifies perfectly.”
Of course it did. Farley was a sneaky bastard who loved using traditions to get his way. Keon had no arguments. “A tradition? Why not a law?”
“They wouldn’t make it a law, in case Alphas abused the right,” Farley said, smiling when Weston walked in carrying a tea tray. “Created for situations like yours, where an ordinary m’weko was made successor. Useful in cases where children proved unfit for the role, or they didn’t have children, as in Simeon’s case,” he explained, as Weston poured tea and passed Farley a cup.
Keon nodded his thanks when Weston placed his cup and Milo’s on the table. “How long can you oversee this?” he asked, sure the Meskli would need to return soon, or the Elders would fear he’d found trouble.
“Only another day.” Farley sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I’ve sent a guard to fetch Thatcher. He’ll be here soon. You better wake the lad,” he suggested, reasonable enough to realise this would be hard on Milo.
Keon hadn’t wanted to put him in this situation, but it needed to be done. For Milo’s peace of mind, and to prove Keon would take care of him. “Milo,” he whispered, brushing at the tightly shorn hair, adding a scrape of short nails. Milo snuggled closer but didn’t wake. “Your dad will be here soon.”
Green eyes opened in a flash and Milo raised a worried gaze. “Do you trust me? I won’t let him hurt you or take you away,” Keon said to fight the rising fight-or-flight instinct in those eyes. “If you go through with this, you’ll be mine. I won’t let you go.”
Milo closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. “Okay.” He sat up, ran a hand through his long fringe, and glanced at Keon. After another breath, he met his gaze to whisper, “I’m not normally this…fragile.” He paused and shrugged. “I’m…”
