Milo
A GASP SLIPPEDfree as Milo’s eyes shot open with shock. Pressing a hand to his chest, he gulped in air, startled by the vision that had stolen his peaceful sleep. They were coming faster and more intense than ever, making less sense each time.
Weston standing with his hands outstretched, blood on his fingers.
The sensation of being weighed down by a heavy, bulky beast, while feeling close to death.
A hazy image of a man in a dark room, throwing items in a rage, screaming in pain, while suffering such a deep emotional pain it resonated through Milo’s chest.
The trio of images were startling, without the realisation he was having more visions with more individual scenes than ever. Months ago, he would only see one event in a vision, waking with the sensation of something important having slipped through his fingers. Now he felt like every image was vital to his future, while unconnected to his life in some obscure, distant way.
Before the images could fade, not waiting for his breathing to calm, Milo grabbed the journal from his bedside table and began scribbling notes. Every sense he’d registered, every small element went into the journal as it had for generations to describe the vision in the greatest detail. There was no way to know what might be important.
The fact Weston looked horrified, that the blood was small in volume but wet and bright, clearly fresh.
Perhaps that the beast weighing him down felt like a mid-size m’weko or kalou big cat, larger than a lithe fox-like caly but not as wide as a b’tarobear. The fact he’d felt inhabited in his own body had been startling, as he rarely saw events from his own life. Yet, he’d been young and injured, so he imagined the event happened within the next few years.
What had startled him awake was the gut-wrenching pain and emotional turmoil of the third vision. The rage of their rampage through the room, the pain of a betrayal unclear in their mind, and the flutter of an unrequited love. Being closely connected to a vision had never happened before, and Milo didn’t know what it meant except that his gift was growing.
By the time he’d written everything he could remember, Milo set the journal aside, surprised his fingers were shaking.
“Mikha?” A hand brushed his back, and Milo couldn’t fight the instinct to turn and take comfort from the touch. “Bad dream?” Keon asked, as Milo laid his head against a strong shoulder.
“A vision,” he admitted, grateful he could admit that. He didn’t need to hide anything from Keon. There was no one he could trust more, and no one who would understand better. “It…frightened me, I think.”
“You think?” Keon brushed fingertips up the length of his arm, inviting Milo closer without forcing the contact. Which was exactly the care he needed, after a terrifying ordeal and a vision that left him reeling.
He hummed, searching for the right words. “I’m not sure the emotion was mine, but that was how I felt, when I woke up. Like…I’d frightened myself. That might have been their emotion, butIdefinitely felt unsettled by the strength of their emotions,” he said, seeing no better way to explain. He’d never had to find the words to describe his visions to another person before, but he liked how invested Keon was.
This was what a real mating should be. Sharing secrets. Sharing their lives, loves, their hopes and dreams, even the nightmares that plagued their sleeping hours. Perhaps especially those.
“That sounds…complex,” Keon remarked, speaking slowly and with care, considering the matter as he spoke. Already thinking through the problem, in search of a solution, an explanation, or a meaning.
“Yes.”
A kiss grazed his temple, and Milo let himself accept the comfort of moving closer. “It sounds like your gift is growing, getting stronger,” he added, which mirrored his own thoughts. “You should keep a note of when things change, in case it correlates to something in your life. Maybe they’re more intense when you’re well rested, when you’re happy, or when you’re in pain,” he theorised, giving the matter more weight than Milo had.
But he was right. It was likelysomethinghad triggered this change in his gift. If not a positive trigger, then a negative. Milo just couldn’t pinpoint what it might have been, though perhaps finally escaping his father and the constant fear and stress of having Thatcher in his life was enough.
“I’ll do that.” As Keon said, if he kept a diary of his life, as well as the vision journal, he might find a connection, and finally make sense of something he’d never been taught much about.
Snuggling closer, chin tucked against Milo’s hair, Keon took a slow, steady breath, sounding tired again. “Whatever you need, mikha. Just remember, you’re not dealing with this alone, anymore. I’m here, even if all you need is someone to help you sleep, or hold your hand while you figure things out.” He drifted a vague kiss over the shell of Milo’s ear, sending warmth through his shattered emotions. “We’re mates now, and that means we’re a team. Always.”
“Thank you,” Milo whispered, laying a hand over Keon’s arm, which slid around his waist, grateful for his proximity and the comfort of his words. It was everything he needed to hear.
Their night together had been world-changing, already. He’d never intended to confess he was in love. Love wasn’t something a Vihaan, especially a m’weko normally even considered. But for days now, Milo had felt the emotion creeping deeper into his heart, making it impossible to deny, and this cemented that feeling.
He loved Keon. Loved him as a man, as a m’weko, as an Alpha. Everything about him was perfect to Milo.
Chapter Thirty-One
Keon
MORNING BROKE WITHsunshine and a refreshing wind. The scent of woodsy clover filled his lungs. Milo’s soft skin was pressed to his. Nothing between them but air, nothing covering them but a thin sheet in the bed they’d shared for hours before falling into sleep.
The smell of coffee permeated the air. Five seconds of peace, then a smash forced his eyes open. Keon blinked, realising Weston must have returned from his date with Leo, and gone straight to bed. Was he hungover? Except, Weston hadn’t drunk anything since the celebration, having left early with Leo. Had Haley dropped a mug while multi-tasking and listening to her vintage cassette tape player she’d found in storage? No. Haley would have been singing.
Something ate at his insides, warning of danger. Throwing aside the sheet, he slipped from his bedroom. Weston’s scent radiated fear and panic, but not from the direction of the kitchen to the right of his bedroom door. This scent came from across the hall. Not to the left, on the other side of the dining room, where Weston’s room sat, but Haley’s bedroom.
