17. Milo
— ? —
Milo
I’m still awake, how could I sleep with her warmth beside me, her scent on my sheets, her soft breathing filling the room?, when my phone vibrates on the nightstand.
Voice message. From Cassius. My beta.
I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her, and pad across the room to listen.
“Milo.” Cassius’s voice is tight with controlled panic.
“We have a situation. The spies - they overheard something. The family call. Your mother’s voice carried, and she said-” A long pause.
“She called Lindsay your mate. Not the goddess’s named partner.
Your fated mate. It’s loose now. Spreading through the compound den to den. Everyone knows.”
The floor drops out from under me.
“The council’s been notified. They’re calling an emergency session. There’s talk of old laws being dusted off, motions to bar Lindsay from the ritual-” His voice goes lower. “And whispers, Milo. Questions about whether a boy-king so easily led deserves the crown at all. Call me back.”
The message ends.
I stand in the darkness of my bedroom, phone in hand, and watch Lindsay sleep.
She looks peaceful. Tangled in my sheets, her hair spread across my pillow, her lips still slightly swollen from my kisses. She has no idea that while she was lying in my arms, the world was shifting beneath us.
Mate.
The word my mother let slip. The truth I’ve been guarding since the moment I first caught Lindsay’s scent in that library aisle.
The mate bond is sacred among lycans, a connection that transcends choice, woven by the moon goddess herself. To find your fated mate is the rarest of gifts. To have that mate be human, to have her named by the goddess as the key to your ascension ritual-
It should be cause for celebration.
Instead, it’s become a weapon.
I dress quietly and move to the window, staring out at the darkened campus. Somewhere across town, the Ashevale compound is buzzing with this news. My people, the pack I’m supposed to lead, are learning that their king’s heart belongs to a human woman.
Half of them, I know, will see it as a sign. The goddess’s will made manifest. A blessing.
The other half, the council, the traditionalists, the ones who’ve always thought me too young, too modern, too willing to bend ancient laws, they’ll see weakness. Vulnerability.
An opportunity.
I call my family.
The video connects immediately, splitting into two frames. My mother’s face appears first, Genevieve, still elegant even at this hour, but with shadows under her eyes that speak to sleepless worry.
Then Isla, my sister, fierce and furious and already dressed for battle despite the late hour.
“Milo.” My mother’s voice cracks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think - the spies-”
“Mother.” I keep my voice gentle despite the fear coursing through me. “Tell me what happened.”
“It was the call. The girl’s family called, and I was in the background when you handed her the phone-”
“I handed her the phone?”
“At the end. When she was saying goodbye. I was walking past and I didn’t realize-” She presses a hand to her mouth. “I said it. Out loud. ‘His mate.’ I was just so happy, and it slipped out, and I didn’t know the spies had compromised our communications-”
“How bad?” I ask Isla.
My sister’s expression is granite. “Bad. The council called an emergency session within twenty minutes of the leak. Elder Thorne is drafting motions as we speak.”
“What kind of motions?”
“A resolution to bar ‘the unproven outsider’ from the ritual. Citing ancient law about human contamination of sacred rites.”
“That law hasn’t been invoked in three hundred years.”
“They’re invoking it now.” Isla leans closer to the camera.
“But that’s not the worst part. There’s talk, Milo.
Quiet talk, but spreading. About whether a king who hides his mate bond from the council can be trusted.
About whether a leader who lets emotion compromise his judgment deserves to lead at all. ”
The words hit like physical blows.
I knew this was coming. Knew that my decision to keep the mate bond secret would have consequences. But I’d hoped for more time. Time to prepare Lindsay for what she’d be walking into, and to shore up support among the pack.
And time to tell her the truth.
“What’s the council’s timeline?” I ask.
“They’re pushing for a session before the ritual. Days, not weeks. You’ll be summoned to appear, and soon.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then they’ll take it as admission of guilt. Proof that you’ve chosen a human over your pack.”
I close my eyes. The moonlight through the window is cold and indifferent.
“The pack - how are they responding?”
“Split.” My mother has composed herself, her voice steadier now. “The younger wolves are excited. They see the mate bond as proof of the goddess’s favor. A human chosen as both ritual partner AND fated mate? To them, it’s romantic. Destined.”
“And the older wolves?”
“Suspicious. Fearful.” She pauses. “You have to understand, Milo - for generations, the mate bond was considered too sacred to risk on humans. The idea that one of us could be fated to someone outside the pack… it challenges everything they believe.”
“Lindsay didn’t choose this,” I say quietly. “Neither did I.”
“I know.” My mother’s eyes are wet. “That’s what makes it so beautiful. And so dangerous.”
Isla cuts in, practical as always. “What’s your plan? The council will demand answers.”
“I don’t have answers. I have a woman I love who doesn’t even know she’s my mate yet.”
Silence on both ends of the call.
“You haven’t told her?” Isla’s voice is sharp. “Milo-”
“I was trying to protect her. The ritual is already overwhelming enough without adding fated mate to the equation. I wanted her to have time to adjust.”
“Time’s up.” My sister’s expression softens slightly. “You have to tell her. Before the council does. Before she hears it from someone else.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
But the thought of telling Lindsay, of watching her face as she processes that our connection isn’t just chosen, it’s cosmic-
“She’s going to think I lied to her.”
“Did you?”
“I omitted. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” My mother’s question is gentle but pointed. “When the omission is this significant?”
I turn away from the window, looking back at the door to my bedroom. Behind it, Lindsay sleeps, unaware that the ground is shifting beneath us.
“I’ll tell her,” I say. “Before the council drags us both into that chamber. She deserves to hear it from me first.”
“And after you tell her?” Isla asks. “What then?”
“Then we face whatever comes. Together.”
“You sound very certain she’ll stay.”
“I have to be.” My voice cracks slightly. “The alternative is unthinkable.”
We talk for another hour, low and urgent, about which elders might be turned and which old loyalties still hold. By the time we disconnect, the first gray light of dawn is touching the horizon.
I stand at my window and do the math I’ve been refusing to do.
In the best case scenario: I tell Lindsay she’s my fated mate. She accepts it. We face the council together. The ritual proceeds. I ascend. We live happily ever after in the complicated intersection of human and lycan worlds.
In the worst case scenario: The revelation is too much. The pressure from the council, the hatred from pack traditionalists, the weight of being not just a participant in a ritual but a fated mate, she breaks under it. She leaves. The ritual fails. I lose my crown, my pack, and the woman I love.
And there are a thousand scenarios in between. Each one colored by variables I can’t control. The council’s machinations. The pack’s prejudices. Lindsay’s own strength, which I believe in utterly, but which has never been tested like this.
The angst I’ve been pushing back for weeks finally crashes over me.
I haven’t been fair to her.
I told myself I was protecting her by keeping the mate bond secret, but really, I was protecting myself. From the conversation, from the risk of losing her. From seeing the moment when she might decide that this, all of this, is too much.
Now the choice has been taken from both of us.
The whole pack knows she’s my mate before she does.
Half of them want her gone.
And I have precious little time to tell her everything and convince her to stay.
I turn from the window and walk to my bedroom door. Push it open quietly. Look at her sleeping form in my bed.
She’s rolled onto her side, one hand curled under her chin. The sheets have slipped, exposing the curve of her shoulder. In sleep, she looks young and vulnerable and utterly unaware of the storm heading our way.
I love her.
The realization isn’t new, but the force of it, standing here in the predawn darkness, knowing what’s coming, goes through me and takes my breath.
I love her, and I’ve been lying to her, and tomorrow everything changes.
I cross the room and slip back into bed, pulling her against me. She murmurs in her sleep, pressing closer, and the trust in that unconscious movement makes my chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair. “For what’s coming. For what I haven’t told you. For every way I’ve failed to prepare you.”
She doesn’t wake.
“But I’m going to fight for us.” My arms tighten around her. “Whatever the council throws at us, whatever the pack thinks, whatever ancient laws they drag up - I’m going to fight. For you. For us. For the future we deserve.”
Outside, the sun begins to rise.
And in the Ashevale compound, I know, the council is gathering.
They want to take her from me, to use our love as evidence of my weakness, my unsuitability for the crown.
They don’t know what they’re dealing with.
I’m Miles Draven. The youngest king in Ashevale history. The man who would burn worlds for the woman in his arms.
Let them come.
I’ll be ready.
But first, first I have to tell her the truth.
The thought terrifies me more than any council ever could.