“I’m not a whore to be sold to the highest bidder,” she snarled, clearly no love lost between her and her father.
Keon liked her strength and resilience, how aware she was of her position and that Thatcher cared nothing for her welfare or Milo’s. Despite how Thatcher treated her, she was feisty and willing to defend herself. An attitude that would benefit her, in moderation, around the rest of the pack.
When Thatcher caught her long blonde hair in a fist, twisting it around his hand, Keon’s anger sizzled but he remained frozen. He couldn’t act yet. The girl was Thatcher’s daughter and his responsibility, duty, and a member of his pack. It made sense why Thatcher had delayed delivering her. The Meskli had wanted to oversee the exchange of Milo’s family, but the weather had forced his hand and Keon had promised to handle Thatcher. He would need to handle him more harshly than he’d intended. One young girl and no sign of Milo’s mother meant he’d broken another bargain.
Keon glanced at Weston, who stood tense, clutching his notebook. He flicked his finger to give Weston the signal to document this for the records. Weston’s anger morphed into determination, and he snapped open his notebook to start writing.
Across the room, Thatcher hissed at the girl he called Haley, too low for Keon to hear. He could guess, though. Warnings to behave. Threats to her brother or mother. Anything to make her comply.
Wherever her mother was, she’d done a better job of taking care of this girl than she had of Milo. At five foot five, Haley was slim and wore clothes that would mortify any father: a skirt halfway to her knees, matching a jumper cut off above her navel. Probably the fashion in Dnara, but at fifteen, her clothing choices wouldn’t be welcome in Vihaan. She was legs and attitude, blonde hair to her waist, a braid to the right where she’d woven in rainbow threads.
Haley would be an interesting addition to the pack.
“Thatcher,” Keon called, sick of the easy anger displayed across the room. Thatcher was used to physically and verbally dominating people, and Haley snapping when it was used against her. This conversation could go on forever.
Thatcher raised his gaze, belatedly realising what he was doing, and who had witnessed his behaviour. Eyes blazing, he unwound his fist from Haley’s hair and gave her a shove. Though she stumbled, she glared at her father.
Keon offered a hand to Haley, a physical show of her welcome. “I’ll explain soon, but I won’t hurt you,” he said, waiting for her to take his hand. He gestured for her to stand by Weston, who had paperwork requiring her signature, to say she’d willingly left her father’s pack to join his. While Weston spoke to Haley, explaining what they needed and why, Keon held Thatcher’s gaze. “Where is Milo’s mother?” he demanded, refusing to let Thatcher break more promises.
Thatcher snuffed and sneered. “She disappeared on the journey here.”
Keon had the unfortunate feeling he was telling the truth.
When Weston broke the glare and stepped to Thatcher’s side to ask for his signature, Thatcher gave it with barely a blink. Signing away his parental rights to Milo and Haley, agreeing to their move to a new pack. Exactly what Keon wanted. “Don’t worry?” Thatcher glanced at his guard. “?if we find the blasted woman, you can have her.”
Keon raised an eyebrow. Did Thatcher intend to hunt her and return her body rather than the living woman? “You can leave, and take the rest of your pack with you,” he ordered, hoping to never see him again. “If you find Milo’s mother, you’d better deliver her without a mark.” He stepped into Thatcher’s personal space and held his gaze. “If I find you’ve hurt her, or claim she’s been killed in an accident, I’ll have Farley sentence you to death quicker than you can beg for mercy.”
Thatcher grunted and whispered, “The Meskli won’t protect you forever.”
Keon lowered his voice in warning, brushing at Thatcher’s shoulder. “You’re a traitor to your people, your pack, and to your family. You’re a disgusting piece of shit, and I would love nothing more than to wipe you off the face of the earth.Thatis what Farley is protecting me from,” he warned, retreating a step. “Be grateful I’m on a leash, and get off my land.”
*
Milo
“FEELING BETTER?” KEONhanded him a mug of strong tea, and Milo smiled, grateful for the tang of cinnamon on his tongue.
“Yes,” he replied, tongue tripping over the honesty. But he’d sworn to be honest about his condition and needs. Lying wouldn’t help, and there was no reason to feel ashamed anymore.
Exhaustion had been beating at his brain for so long, Milo couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t tired. Discovering Keon’s pack had no doctor had been startling, but there had been supplies and books left behind by the last to hold the position. Research revealed he had a stronger case of chronic fatigue than expected.
Sipping his tea, he watched Keon move a pile of papers off the coffee table to a drawer in the bookcase by the wall. Those were the new pack laws, brought out last night for a final check before Farley left. Keon had asked Milo for his opinion. It had been overwhelming, and breathtaking, but Milo was proud to say Keon had covered the important topics while leaving space for growth in the future.
That trust had been poorly placed, and it was time for Milo to confess. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Keon hummed interest, then crossed to the sofa to sit beside him, cradling a cup in one hand.
Turning sideways to face him, Milo wanted to do this face-to-face. He couldn’t bear for Keon to hate him, but couldn’t go into a mating with lies hanging over his head. “When I told you how I came to the bunker, I didn’t tell the entire truth,” he said, shaking his head before he’d even finished. “No. I blatantly lied.”
Keon raised an eyebrow but sipped his tea without comment, giving Milo time to explain.
“I told you I found the bunker through my gift,” Milo continued, laying claim to his most misguided lie. “That wasn’t true. I…was told by my father to gather what information about you I could to help Usher best you in the challenge. As soon as he returned from your meeting and the Meskli was called, he insisted I act or let Usher die.”
Feeling tongue-tied, Milo explained how angry his father had been, how Thatcher had manipulated him, and his fear for Usher had made him obey. He spoke of the kind border guard who offered advice, and hiding in the bushes outside this house until he saw how badly injured Keon had been.
When his words rambled, and Milo felt panic rising at the thought of Keon casting him out for his lies, a strong hand gripped his, cutting off his train of thought and leaving nothing but warmth behind.
Dipping his head to regain eye contact, as Milo had looked away in shame at some point, Keon smiled. “You think I didn’t know?” he said, shattering his ability to think clearly. “Mikha, I’m sorry if this comes as a surprise, but you can’t lie. You get this twitch at the side of your eye, and the pulse in your neck strains.” The words were spoken kindly, with an apology that wasn’t necessary. “Besides,” Keon smirked, eyes crinkling with amusement, “the guard told me we’d had a ‘drifter’ pass through, who might need shelter. He mentioned your crutches, and since they’re pretty distinctive in Vihaan?” He shrugged, the admission all Milo needed to realise his lie had never been a lie. Keon had known all along.
