Chapter 46: Chapter 46

Millan’s mind is racing, picturing every incriminating item he’d stacked into that backpack.

This is not good.

“Stop!” Colton repeats, a little out of breath.

Silence falls, every one waiting for Colton to explain the interruption.

“I have information about the Rogue that the Council should know about before proceeding with the ritual.”

Millan swallows with difficulty, mouth suddenly parched.

If it weren’t for Weston, he’d be running half way to the next border already. But he’s in too deep now.

The only way he’s leaving is if he gets thrown out.

Which might happen sooner than expected.

Millan swallows again. He’d kill for a glass of water right about now.

Colton opens the bag, taking out the medicines Millan had stolen on his first week in the pack, holding them up for everyone to see.

“These were stolen from us. While you were deciding to make him a permanent part of our pack, the Rogue was stealing from us the whole time!”

What hurts Millan the most in that moment isn’t the numerous gasps and bewildered stare surrounding him. No.

What hurts the most is Weston’s expression of pure shock combined with the pain in their bond.

The pain which he isn’t sure is emanating from Weston or from himself.

It’s unbearable and almost brings him to his knees. He wants to look away from Weston’s hurt expression, but he can’t.

“Millan?” The confusion in Weston’s voice is heartbreaking.

Weston feels betrayed. Millan opens his mouth to try and explain that this was a long time ago.

At least it felt like it. He tries to explain that it was only when he thought he’d be forced to leave.

But nothing comes out.

“Is that what you were doing every morning?”

Millan's heart drops. Weston’s voice is barely a whisper, but in the unnatural silence befalling them, it carries more than Millan would like.

“This whole time,” Weston continues, “you were stealing from us? Were you planning on leaving again?”

“No!,” Millan hears himself say, not nearly as loudly as he’d wanted to be.

No, Weston has it all wrong.

Millan is horrified, the scene unfolds in front of him, but he’s not certain if he’s still there.

Everything looks blurry and horribly slowed down.

Everybody’s eyes are on him, shocked, judgmental, suspicious eyes. Flashes of friends turning their backs on him, of his father’s cold gaze bring tears to Millan's eyes.

He knows he has to explain himself, but he is choking, his throat is closing up and it’s getting harder to breathe.

He knew this was too good to be true, he knew this newfound happiness was bound to be ripped right out from under his feet.

“Are you saying this isn’t yours?” Colton brandishes the backpack a little higher, “It reeks of your scent.”

Millan's heart is beating too fast and unnaturally hard in his chest.

“No, it is. It’s mine, but-, “ Millan croaks out.

Colton cuts him off, “And isn’t it filled with stolen items? Items that belonged to this pack.”

Millan gulps. He doesn’t know how he’s still standing when the ground feels so shaky all of a sudden.

“Yes, it is. It’s… but-, “ Millan is about to explain that it was only during the first days of his stay, that his situation was different at the time, but Colton cuts him off again.

“Are we really going to let a thief into our home? And if he’s capable of this crime, who knows what else he’s prepared to do to serve his own agenda!”

Millan looks wide eyed at Weston, trying to find some sort of reassurance.

He only sees doubt and pain.

Millan closes the few meters separating him and his soul mate and tries to reach out to him, but Weston recoils.

“Weston, please.” Millan hates how small and quiet his voice comes out.

“Were you planning on leaving? Were you planning on leaving me?”

Millan is shocked that Weston would think that and the dejection the Head Alpha’s face floored him. But if he’s being honest with himself, he knew that he left that backpack there for a reason.

And he wanted it to be there. He wanted to have a backup plan in case things didn’t work out.

He realizes then how much he’s been keeping a distance from everyone, how much he’s been pushing people away out of fear of losing them.

This stupid self-preservation act is now coming back in Millan's face full force.

He should have been more open. He should have been more honest with Weston, he should have told him how much he loves him and how much he wants this.

He wants to be part of this pack.

He wants to build a home here.

He wants to grow old here.

How pathetic that he’s only realizing this when he is on the verge of losing everything.

“Weston, please. I don’t want to leave anymore, I promise.”

Millan hates the tears in Weston’s eyes. The doubt in their bond.

He reaches out again and this time, to Millan's relief, Weston doesn’t move away- doesn’t reject his touch.

Millan's hand brushes Weston’s cheek, the Head Alpha leans into the touch ever so slightly, enough to give Millan hope.

“Weston, I love you. The rest is-”

“-just background noise?” Weston’s eyes are searching Millan's, as if waiting for confirmation.

Millan nods and feels an instant relief of tension in their bond.

“Okay.” Weston whispers and brings Millan in for a quick kiss.

As if sealing an agreement. Assuring Millan he’s got his back.

Millan stifles a sob out of pure relief.

Weston is here. He believes him. His alpha believes in him.

Weston takes a step back and addresses the confused crowd of werewolves, anxiously waiting for their Pack Alpha to bring order back.

“Thank you, Colton, for your concern. You can go back to your position for the ritual.” Weston takes the backpack from him harshly and doesn’t spare him a look, keeping his eyes on the gathered werewolves in front of him. “Everyone, I’m going to ask for your patience. I will have a word with the Council and we will make a decision regarding this new development.”

Malakai, Grant, Amara and Amir don’t skip a beat. They all break from the crowd to follow their Alpha.

Weston takes Millan's hand, tightly holding him as if he is afraid that the omega will suddenly make a run for it. He leads them all into the forest, away from prying eyes and ears.

Millan glances back and is met with a set of angry, malicious eyes. Colton’s.

Colton’s fury sends chills down Millan's spine. He gulps and turns away, entering the forest walls where he’ll, no doubt, have to answer for his actions.

At least now, with Weston’s hand holding his, he doesn’t feel so alone.

*****

If it weren’t for Weston’s comforting scent and presence at his side, Millan wouldn’t be able to walk at all.

Even now, it’s baffling how his legs are still working, robotically following the Council into the somber and dark forest.

He is hyper aware of the way he is fretting, constantly rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans.

How is he going to get out of this one?

Normally, he’d be thinking of retrieving his bag and running away. But, probably for the first time in his life, running is the last thing he wants to do.

He wants to stay. With Weston.

Actually, he needs to stay.

He wouldn’t survive alone again, knowing what he’d be giving up this time around.

He keeps imagining the Blayne Pack turning its back on him the same way his family had, the same way Caleb and Aaron had, not by choice since his two friends had been Alpha Commanded by his father, but it still hurts the same.

Experiencing that with this pack would be too much. It would break him. You’d think Millan could get through anything after years of loneliness, but this, for sure, would be the end of his sanity.

Weston lays a warm and gentle hand on Millan's shoulder, right at the base of the back of his neck, thumb rubbing gently, effectively stopping the spinning wheels of Millan's agitated mind.

He lets some of the worry escape his body, focusing on the regular rubbing of Weston’s thumb on his nape.

As soon as they’ve entered the forest deep enough for the pack to be out of earshot, Amir turns to the other Council Members.

“This is totally absurd! Millan hasn’t done anything wrong! The last few mornings, he wasn’t stealing, Weston. He was with me! If anything, it’s Colton who should be in question here! He snooped around in Millan's things for fuck’s sake, he’s the one who stole! I say we get back to the ritual and banish Colton while we’re at it. We should-”

“Okay! Slow down, Amir, would you?” Grant interrupts, “We know how you and Weston feel about the omega, but we have to think of the pack first regardless of personal feelings. That’s why the Council exists; to counter personal interests like these. If Millan has stolen from us, we need to act accordingly.”

Grant’s stoic posture that is highlighted only slightly by the dim moonlight has never been more intimidating to Millan. He looks at Amara and Malakai and both nod in agreement, postures just as statuesque and imposing.

Millan gulps, Amir’s worried eyes not helping his nerves settle one bit.

“Weston, could you pass Millan's bag over, please?” Malakai’s deep and authoritative voice resonates through the eerily quiet forest.

Weston nods and complies, face passive, but never breaking his reassuring contact with Millan. To the omega’s dismay, Grant, Amara and Malakai’s expressions remain unreadable as Malakai opens the bag and slowly uncovers every single item, laying them down on the stump of a tree in front of him where they conveniently stopped and stood around.

Omega recoiling in shame and panic, eyes wide, arms crossing, uncrossing, hands grabbing the hem of his shirt, arms crossing again, Millan doesn’t know what to do.

Painkillers, antibiotic cream, bandages, canned foods, rope, a knife, a poetry book, maps, wallets, money, amidst all of the stolen goods, a hoodie Millan recognizes very well.

A hoodie that smells like rain and leaves.

A hoodie that smells like home.

Before Millan can start to plead his case in front of three very grave faces and an apologetic Amir, Weston’s slow dragging voice echoes quietly from beside him, eyes transfixed on a single item,

“You stole my shirt.”