Chapter Twenty-Seven
Keon
Two Weeks Later: Early November
“ANYTHING?” KEON ASKED, pacing the rear patio, chewing the end of his pen.
Weeks after Eliseo left for Dnara, no word had come through the doorway. What was the delay? The frat house was prepared to help, doing the internet searches, Facebook checks, and hacking needed to find them. Yes, those people needed time to answer messages; the newspaper articles needed time to circulate, with travelling involved for anyone who wanted to come home.
None of that explained why Keon hadn’t had a single report from the team. Every time he asked, Weston remained silent, moving on to other business. The pack was constantly busy, containing over a hundred members, Haley was acting out, he was settling into life with Milo by his side, and Keon would never forget one of the men on their list was Weston’s lost love.
This time, he took longer to answer than usual.
Keon stopped pacing and found his Beta standing on the patio, unsure. “Well?”
“The team sent word of their return, Alpha, but we have a problem,” Weston said, ramping up Keon’s anxiety. “More than half of the exiles have returned. A few remain in Dnara, with your approval. However, Eliseo will not return.”
“Okay?” He prodded his Beta for more information, wondering if it was nerves or he was delaying on purpose. “Why?”
Weston cleared his throat. “Your theory was correct. The storm we had ravaged Dnara, but they got through safely,” he said, ruling out one cause. “While meeting an exile, Eliseo protected him from a mugging and was injured. He must remain in Dnara to recover. Your friends are caring for him, but he’s been deemed unable to travel for perhaps three weeks, after sustaining a concussion and a broken arm,” he explained, feigning calm though Keon knew he was worried.
As long as Eliseo was safe and being cared for, he was in the best place. “Fine. Eliseo is smart to stay behind and send his team home. The guys will take good care of him,” he said, pleased Weston had broken the news first. “Let’s give them a proper welcome.”
He hoped Leo was in the group of exiles who had returned.
As they walked, he gave Weston a distraction, in case of bad news. “We should have a celebration tonight. The exiles are home, the pack is functioning like a family, and it’ll be the first chance for Yosi to inform Gale of his mating,” he said, thinking through the important details. “He’ll need a distraction, because I’m not sure how Gale will take the news.”
“No,” Weston agreed, knowing the family history well. “Though he seems progressive, it may be a different story when it comes to family.”
“Precisely.” It would also be the first time the team met his new mate. If they came to the house for a debriefing, Milo would have no chance to escape. “Pass the word around that people have come home. Ask for food donations for a feast,” he suggested, mentally running through what he wanted done and whether they had time.
Weston scribbled into his notebook, rarely out of his hands, adding to the list.
“Make sure everyone knows the feast will be tonight, around seven. They can arrive when and if they like, because we’ll have enough food to go around,” Keon said, calculating if he had time to go hunting for a taele, a massive boar-like animal to feed twenty people. He didn’t think he’d find two this close to a change in season, but if he could find one it would be enough.
Keon resolved to ask Milo to join him. “We’ll need music. A live band or a musician,” he added, wondering if his Beta could think of someone.
“Oh!” Weston chirped, meeting Keon’s intrigued gaze. “I happened to overhear Haley mention that Milo plays the guitar. His father never returned his instrument, but I believe we have one in storage. Teowulf’s.” The cautious eyes said he wasn’t sure if he should mention Teowulf, but he should because it was nice to remember the good times.
“Good,” Keon approved, eager to hear Milo play. “I’ll ask when we return. We’ll make this a real family reunion. Not like I know what that is, but we’ll do our best.”
Weston shook his head, happy to let the matter lie.
*
Milo
“PLAY THE GUITAR?” Milo blinked at Weston, wondering who had spilled the secret. It had been two years since he’d played, and his guitar was long gone. His father had destroyed it, insisting no Beta needed such distractions.
Taking a seat beside him on the sofa, where he’d been studying the old pack medical books, Weston smiled, looking amused by his reticence. “I think the Alpha would enjoy hearing you play if you were willing. His elder brother, Teowulf, traded for a guitar in Dnara, and it’s in very good condition.”
Nodding, Milo accepted that made sense, and if Keon was interested in hearing him play, it wasn’t a bad idea. It would be a nice way to thank him for all he’d done for Milo, a pleasant surprise from mate to mate. “I’ll take a look at the guitar and see if I can remember any tunes. But it’s been a long time and my fingers…” He hesitated, suddenly remembering the problem of his uncoordinated fingers, how often he dropped things because of a weak grip. Could he even play a guitar now?
Weston clasped his raised hand as Milo stared at it in dismay. “As you say, there is no harm in letting you test your memory with Teowulf’s guitar. If you decide not to play, perhaps you would be willing to sing for us? Keon can hardly carry a tune, but heisfond of music,” he said, reassuring and comforting.
Grateful he understood Milo’s concern and wouldn’t make a big deal of whatever decision he made, he took this chance. Whether he failed or succeeded, it didn’t really matter. What counted wastrying, and giving himself the opportunity to discover if he could reclaim a beloved past-time stolen from him. If he could give himself that gift on a night when there was so much to celebrate and rejoice, Milo would count himself lucky.
“Okay.” He smiled, realising what a task he’d set. While fear was predominant, terrified he’d fail and remember all he’d lost with his injury, there was hope for a potential success.
