Keon hoped he choked on the next words. “Traditionally, we learn our true mate after the age of sixteen. I discovered mine when I was thirteen,” he said, relieved Weston insisted it was ‘surprising’, not ‘rare’ as he’d thought. “This led to complications, and an insight into my true mate’s character. Having spent the last eight years observing them, I can promise I willneveraccept them as my mate.”
In an instant, whispers and voices questioned, eyes darting to find the culprit, conferring with neighbours. Vega’s eyes burned from across the crowd. Keon met them without hesitation.
“It’s my duty to take a mate who can stand beside me, be equal in strength, power, and status. A mate worthy of the title Alpha-Consort,” he recounted, in case Vega had forgotten. “My true mate fails to uphold the laws and duties the title demands. I have informed Weston I’ll be choosing my mate within the next eight months. When I’ve made my choice, I’ll keep you informed of the courting schedule.”
Watching the reactions proved interesting. Some grew concerned, suspicious. Vega bristled with unrestrained anger. Keon logged the hostile faces and harsh words, filing the owners’ names for future reference. Likely Simeon’s friends or loyal supporters.
Keon raised his voice above the din, and the crowd hushed. “I don’t intend to rush my decision. I’ll choose the right mate to make my rule strong and lasting. Tradition dictates blindly accepting the mate the Fates have chosen for us, but I’m willing to break tradition to do what is best for this pack.
“Thank you for coming.”
Keon didn’t wait. Propriety meant waiting to let every member of his pack leave first. He had neither the patience nor the time to waste on pomp and ceremony. Leaving the flock of bickering children to argue amongst themselves, Keon walked home. It was time for his pack to learn who was in charge.
Keon wouldn’t be pushed around. His brothers had learned not to underestimate him, and it was the pack’s turn. They needed to learn a sharp tongue could cut deeper than an expertly wielded blade. They could cut with their actions, but Keon’s words would leave a legacy. One he intended to free the oppressed and downtrodden of Vihaan. Starting with his pack.
Chapter Two
Keon
KEON WAS DONE. Done being Alpha for another day. Done playing a role he couldn’t fulfil. Yet. He planned to force the role to fit him, not break his spirit by becoming the Alpha the pack expected. Every task took time, and he was fast losing patience.
Weston walked by his side to the house where Keon had lived his whole life. He should have taken Grier’s old house, the official Pack-House, but it felt disrespectful considering who had killed the man. With three bedrooms, two living areas, a vast kitchen and dining room, two studies, and a ballroom-sized greeting room for the Council of Elders, when they visited, it was everything an Alpha needed. Except home.
Home was a tiny house with a half-dozen rooms, each smaller than the last. His parents’ bedroom was smaller than the platform he’d stood on to give his speech. Enough to house a double bed, a wardrobe, and an en-suite bathroom. Simeon’s room had once been the same size, divided in two when Teowulf was born. When Keon arrived, his parents surrendered the smallest room, the larder, to their youngest son. Barely fitting the single bed and stack of shelves at the end of the bed, it had been his home for years.
He couldn’t imagine leaving the house. Despite the conveniences, the luxuries of Dnara, and the wonders, the indefinable feeling of ‘home’ meant more than anything money could buy.
Which meant leaving Grier’s home empty. He hadn’t earned the Alphaship, nor the right to invade the man’s home, and he had no family to inherit the impressive house. Keon would need to meditate on a better fate for the building.
“Are you coming inside, Alpha?”
Weston’s voice broke the litany of depressing thoughts. He found the man waiting on the porch, front door open.
“I’m going for a walk, West. I need to clear my head,” Keon admitted, needing time to decide how, and when, to tell the pack he was gay, as it required careful consideration. More, to decide how to say the Fates had granted him a male mate.
No one knew Keon was gay. His mother and father had known. He thought Teowulf had suspected, before he died. Leaving Weston the only Vihaan in the pack who knew a secret which could tear his pack apart. His fate depended on how the Meskli reacted. The man was an old family friend, but Keon didn’t know how he would feel about a gay Alpha.
Wasn’t that an oxymoron?
Keon had two duties: to protect and guide his people, and to provide an heir. He couldn’t, if it involved mating a woman, but couldn’t abide a life with Vega either.
Hard decisions waited. He needed time alone, and space to think clearly.
Past his house, into the woods, Keon found the well-worn path of his childhood. The one used to escape Simeon’s bullying, Teowulf’s passive aggressive quips, his father’s lectures about Dnara. The path he’d run, seeking an escape when his mother died. When his brother died. The path he’d taken the night he cast off the grief of losing his father. The path led into the trees to a clearing where he lay crying after Teowulf followed their mother into death a year later.
Now there was no one left to grieve. Every member of his family was gone. Dead and buried on Vihaan soil. Memories lay hidden amongst the trees, and Keon felt lighter for being near the soil. At home.
He missed Drew and Lorcan, sweet Delaware and Selly. The gruff but loveable Rylee and Martim. He missed his frat brothers, but couldn’t deny his heart belonged in Vihaan. He wished it hadn’t taken so long to realise.
Stopping at the side of the stream leading to the clearing, he crouched and dipped his fingers into the cool water. Letting the ripples wash over his skin, tickling sensitive nerves. Remembering the good days.
When Teowulf had waded deep and splashed Keon with water. When Simeon had skinny-dipped and goaded Keon into joining. The laughter, the arguments. Simeon swearing when Keon had slipped from his grasp. Uttering his first swear word when Teowulf had tackled him and got them soaked. How they’d laughed, soaking wet, and trudged from the river to lie on the grass and dry in the sunshine.
With few good memories of his brothers, that day was precious. A long, lazy day in the sunlight, shaded by the canopy of trees, laughter ringing out around a night fire, his brothers tormenting Keon with horror stories deep into the night.
Tears hazed his vision, as he raised green eyes to the sun, feeling its heat. Closing his eyes, he let the tears slip over his eyelashes and basked in the memories of this place. When the sun passed beyond the tree canopy, Keon opened his eyes and tried in vain to regain composure.
Lying in the long grass, he vowed to steal an hour to clear his head.
