Dominance bullshit to appeal to Thatcher’s superiority complex.
Two of Farley’s guards walked Thatcher into the room, where they waited with cups of tea or coffee, presenting a unified front.
Farley stood and greeted him more warmly than he deserved. “Thatcher! Welcome.” He gestured to the chair with its back to the door to stop him spotting the two guards hovering, ready to step in if he stormed out or tried to drag Milo away.
“I was told you wanted to speak to me about my son,” Thatcher announced, glaring at the guards. “Have you found hi—” He stopped abruptly when he found Milo sitting on the sofa. As Thatcher took a step toward him, a guard dropped a heavy hand to Thatcher’s shoulder, a reminder to sit and behave. A quick response to Milo shrinking away from his father.
Keon cleared his throat once Thatcher was seated. “I explained your situation to Alpha Farley, this morning. I was lucky to find Milo last night, unscathed but frightened by the storm,” he said, playing on the frightened pup image Thatcher had offered.
He’d wondered how the man expected him to react when he discovered Milo wasn’t a ‘child’, coming to the awful conclusion Thatcher had hoped no one would find Milo. Ridding him of a disabled child who ruined his image, the unwanted burden of a gay son, and he’d get to pin it on Keon.
“Someone did try to kidnap him, I’m afraid,” he said, having agreed on the best course with Farley. They couldn’t let him know Milo had willingly left until the paperwork was official. “A man from your pack, who considered Milo his property. Milo, what was his name?” he asked, offering a discreet wink to the m’weko who stared with wide eyes.
Clearing the shock from his face, Milo replied, “Cerbus.”
“Cerbus,” Keon repeated, as if he’d known. “He claimed you promised him the chance to mate Milo. I imagine the man misunderstood the situation and assumed, after the challenge went south, he was entitled to take what you promised.” He was convinced Thatcher had made a deal, for Cerbus to brave murdering Milo’s true mate. “We can’t prove his involvement, due to the trauma Milo experienced escaping, but the Meskli agrees we must find a way of protecting Milo into the future.”
Thatcher’s jaw twitched, eyes darting between them with concern.
“We found a solution,” Keon added, pausing to take a sip of tea to let him sweat.
Farley focused on Milo. “Lad, would you please leave the room? I’m afraid this is Alpha business and the rules must be adhered to, though it concerns your future,” he said, following protocol, and the deal they’d made to keep Milo from hearing anything to hurt him.
It warmed his heart when Milo looked to Keon for guidance. He winked, silently promising this was planned and nothing had changed. “Why don’t you take a nap in my bed?” he suggested, a flush rising on Milo’s cheeks. Realising this visit had been crafted to piss off Thatcher, put him in his place, and remind him whose land he stood on.
If it hinted at Keon’s intentions, fine.
Milo gathered his crutches, struggled to his feet, and bobbed his head respectfully to Farley. He stepped past Weston and behind Keon’s chair to escape, avoiding leaving by Thatcher’s side of the room. The ghostly trail of fingertips across his neck proved Milo understood their decision, and left Keon shivering, wondering how those fingertips would feel against more sensitive parts of his body. A thought he swatted away, for a more appropriate time.
Milo was barely beyond the door when Thatcher growled, “What is this?”
The accusation wasn’t unfounded, but Keon wouldn’t dignify the question with an answer. “I’m in need of a mate. My true mate betrayed me and is about to be relocated. As it seems Milo isn’t safe in his pack, and his true mate is dead, this would be a perfect opportunity to settle the challenge to our mutual advantage.”
“Oh?” Thatcher cocked an eyebrow.
“Alpha Farley has suggested we fulfil an old tradition. Milo has agreed, on the stipulation you give your consent, to abide by the union of our packs by marriage,” Keon continued, setting his teacup on the coffee table. “Milo is of age, isn’t he? He’s the right age and gender to be my mate. He’s of equal status, meaning our union would settle the issue of the stolen item. Though I don’t know what it is or where it may be, Milo would guarantee, if found, it was returned to you.”
All he needed was to be given the right to mate Milo, and the safety of his mother and sister. Anything else was a bonus. “Of course,” Keon added, and Thatcher frowned, “for Milo to be happy, I’d want his sister and mother to join our pack. To secure his place in the pack, and show he has roots beyond a union.”
Thatcher glanced to the rear of the house, where Milo had retreated and scrunched his nose. “Milo is also inclined that way. You can have him.” He squared his shoulders and tossed out, unconcerned, “I’ll bring the girl and her mother in a day or two.” The casual disregard grated on Keon, and explained why Milo was worried about their fate. “What about this item your brother stole?” Thatcher demanded, redirecting to what he wanted. The book.
“I’m sorry. If you can’t tell mewhatit is, I can’t search,” Keon reminded him, seeing no reason to admit he knew. “Not long after his raid on your pack, my brother died and no one discovered this sacred object you speak of. It’s possible he hid it and its location went to the grave with my brother.”
Thatcher huffed in frustration. “A book. Ancient and bound in leather. You’ll know it’s mine, as it can’t be opened by anyone but the family blood.”
Keon wondered if it demanded heecha blood. If Thatcher had none, he would be desperate to get his hands on it to force Milo or his mother to read it. But putting the book into Thatcher’s hands would render Milo useless. Though, that implied Simeon had found the bookopen. Had he read a page to discover its worth, or was it enough Thatcher was desperate to reclaim it?
“Fine.” Keon kept his thoughts private, but would discuss it with Milo. “I’ll search and,ifwe discover a book, it will be returned to you on the day of our mating ceremony.” Returned, but if he had his way, he would deliver a faked copy, supplied by Milo, to keep Thatcher in the dark. Or, ideally, ashes.
With one last look at Farley, who remained silent, Thatcher wet his lips. “How do you feel about this, Meskli? Mating two men, when one is Alpha, is highly irregular. You condone this?”
The man was tedious. Did he think Keon would suggest it, with Farley in the room, if he hadn’t cleared it with the Meskli?
“I’m sitting here,” Farley snapped, of the same mind. “What do you think?”
Keon rubbed his nose to hide his smirk, as the guards escorted Thatcher from the house. “I’ll tell Milo,” he said, rising from the armchair. He wanted to tell Milo alone, in case he’d overheard anything or had questions. “Will you be staying for dinner, Farley?”
The Meskli blinked out of a stupor. “Yes. Thank you,” he replied, though a part remained troubled as he focused on his cup of tea.
