Chapter 47: Chapter 47

Of all the things, Millan did not expect Weston to get stuck on that. Surprise takes over his current existential crisis.

“Uhm… I… well… Sorry.” Is all Millan can think to say.

“Why?” Weston is still looking at the shirt in wonderment.

“Huh?” Millan glances at the other Council Members.

The annoyance radiating from Grant is palpable, Amir’s lips are tugging upwards and Malakai seems to be repressing a grin of his own.

“Why?” Weston repeats, leaving Millan a little bewildered at the turn of events.

“Umm, I don’t- I’m not too sure, really. I just… I am just-”

“Nesting.”

Everyone turns towards Amir at the same time.

An omega typically starts nesting when they’re ready to have pups or are already expecting them.

Millan's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

It’s only one shirt! Surely, this doesn’t count as nesting!

“Nesting…” Weston repeats, whispering mostly for himself, not leaving his state of awe.

“What? No, I- that’s not it! I don’t nest, I’m not nesting. I just thought it smelled good- or… I mean, I don’t- that’s not- no. No, Amir, I’m not... Besides I- why are you focusing on a shirt when I stole wallets for fuck’s sake.”

Sure, switch the attention to something worse you did, that’s a great idea and while you’re at it, why don’t you just punch yourself in the face too? That’ll surely help, Millan pondered disappointingly at himself .

Weston is beaming.

Why is Weston smiling like that?

Millan is grateful for the darkness hiding his face which is surely redder than a tomato judging by how hot it feels.

“You think I smell good and you’re nesting.” Weston smiles crookedly, a spark of happiness radiating in their bond.

It’s an odd feeling when minutes ago, Millan was ready to be swallowed whole by the floor.

“I-”

“I think you smell good too.” Weston says, smirking.

Well, okay then. That’s good to know, Millan wondered.

Millan can’t help the small smile making its way on his lips and as if he can’t stop himself, Weston plants a soft and gentle kiss on his forehead.

Amara coughs uncomfortably.

“So. He DID steal from us. We should probably get back to that?”

Grant huffs, rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, clearly glad that the feely touchy moment between the two soulmates is over.

“I think we should hear from Millan before we make any kind of decision.” Malakai says, voice slightly softer than before.

Weston’s hand slides from Millan's shoulder to his waist, pulling him closer.

Millan takes in a breath, overwhelmed by Weston’s surge of affection in their bond seconds ago.

“It’s true that I have stolen from you… Obviously.” Millan pauses, eyes trained on the floor, uncertain of where to go from there.

Weston’s hand on his waist squeezes lightly in encouragement.

“But I never had any intention to…” Millan sighs cutting himself off, licking his lips nervously.

When his gaze meets Amir, desperately searching for guidance, the latter opens his mouth as if to speak, but thinks better of it and closes it again.

Malakai had asked for Millan to speak. Not Amir nor Weston could plead his case for him.

Standing there in front of powerful werewolves, Millan realizes it might be the first time in a long while, if not ever, that someone in a position of authority gives him a chance to tell his side of the story.

Well, except for Weston, but the fact that they’re soul bonded kind of undermines that a bit.

Looking at the open curiosity on Amara’s face and the patient, calm demeanor of Malakai’s posture, Millan thinks it might also be the first time he’ll be really heard too.

He clears his throat and stands up straighter.

He can do this.

He has to.

“I was fourteen when my pack turned its back on me. My parents, my family, my friends, my teachers, my doctor, everyone I had ever known. I had nothing, only the clothes on my back and this stupid label; Rogue.”

The word tastes like bile in Millan's mouth. He hate that word, hates the way people spit it into his face to convey how disgusted they are of him, how insignificant Millan is to them.

“I was rejected by my own people and everybody I’d ever meet since then would know and act accordingly.”

Weston holds onto him tighter, a tang of guilt coming from him in their bond. Millan remembers what Weston had said before even meeting him.

“His own pack didn’t want him”.

Millan swallows with difficulty before continuing.

“Being exiled is…” Millan blinks a sudden surge of tears away, “It’s easily the most painful thing I’ve ever gone through in my life.”

Millan tries to control his breathing but the simple mention of the worst day of his life brings tears he can’t blink away this time. He hopes they aren’t too visible in the moonlight and wills his head to stay up high.

“The Head Alpha of my previous pack was also my father and so, he’s the one who conducted the Banishment Ritual.”

Amara gasps, Malakai looks at Millan in horror and Grant’s frown is subtle but visible.

Millan ignores their reactions, still trying to hold himself together and get through this.

“It was like my father reached into my chest and clawed my heart out. It hurt so much, I was…” Millan shakes his head, unable to find the right words for the physical and psychological pain associated with that exact moment.

He wipes at his tears and tries to take a hold of his breathing again.

“Anyway… Not only did I have this painful hole in my chest, but everybody could see through it. Everywhere I went, I’d be treated like vermin, a reject, a defective werewolf. And I don’t blame them. Something HAD to be wrong with me if I- an omega, of all things and only son of my father’s pack- was thrown out by the people who knew me best.”

Weston’s hand tightens on his waist again and he thinks it’ll certainly bruise if the alpha doesn’t ease up, but Millan couldn’t care less.

The contact is like a lifeline and he needs it more than anything else right now.

“The first weeks- no, the first months really, I cried myself to sleep every night. Eventually, I learned to be alone. I learned not to expect help from anyone and I learned how to fend for myself. I learned how to survive alone and, yes, that sometimes meant stealing money, food or medication, but I never took more than I needed.”

Millan sighs remembering the first time he’d stole food, how starved he was and how guilty his omega felt. Then, a thought occurs to him and he speaks more to himself than to the Council, eyes on the ground.

“Now that I think back on it, I wonder… Why did I not just… kill myself?”

Yep, Weston is definitely leaving a bruise now, he realized.

“It would have been easier to die, I wouldn’t have had to suffer through this nagging loneliness for the past nine years. And honestly, I think my father expected me to die one way or another. But I never even thought about it. I never considered it because there was this… stupid, incessant HOPE.”

Millan looks up again and notices unshed tears in Amara’s eyes. Her compassion brings a lump in his throat and he has to look away for fear of breaking down right here and now. He stills his gaze on the trees deep into the forest.

“Call me naive, but through all of it, I always held on to hope that I’d find a place where I belong, where I’d be accepted, where I’d feel safe and where I could… build a home again.”

At that, Weston leaves a quick kiss to his temple bringing warmth to Millan's whole body.

“When Andy found me, helped me, and brought me into your pack, of course I have the mindset of someone who had been on the run for years. But you were all so nice, and it made me sceptical. You see, I’m not someone who had been shown much kindness in the past, and definitely hadn’t experienced it that much. But you guys haven’t thrown me out and staying with kind people made me feel guilty, so I wanted to leave, told myself that I would just get what I need, then I would travel to the Eastern Border, even if I had to build a boat.”

Millan smiled a little remembering the memory. It felt so long ago. He was so adamant on leaving then. He also remembered how Weston were so freaked out seeing him in that library floor, with all those books about how to build a book, scattered around him.

“I’m not telling you all of this for you to pity me. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from. And…” Millan forces his gaze back on the Council Members, “I know I shouldn’t have stolen from you. I’m… deeply sorry. You were so kind to me from the start… I’m not going to make excuses for what I’ve done, I can only ask you to give me a chance. I’m not a thief, I was only trying to survive. I’m not defective either, I know that now. Now I know… I might be worth a chance, I just need you to believe that too.”

Silence is only broken by the wind rustling the leaves and the far away hoot of an owl.

Amara is wiping the tears Millan saw in her eyes before and Malakai clears his throat, but stays silent. Grant looks uncomfortable with his eyes trained on the ground, an unreadable frown on his face. Amir meets his eyes and gives him a small, teary smile.

Weston clears his throat and speaks firmly but quietly, respecting the moment’s solemnity.

“Before you make up your mind, know that wherever Millan goes, I go too. If he leaves, I leave.”

Millan's head snaps towards Weston, the honesty in their bond makes his eyes water and his throat constrict. Judging by the wideness of the other members’ eyes, they didn’t expect that either.

“Well… the wallets do smell human and not from our pack. Not that stealing from humans isn’t bad, but… you know.” Amara shrugs, “And nothing of real value was stolen.” She says while Malakai nods and takes over.

“Millan, it’s clear you had a rough start in life. I think you’re right, nobody ever gave you a real chance… I suggest we go on with the ritual tonight. Grant?”

Millan bites his bottom lip in anticipation.

Grant looks up from the floor, frown still in place.

“Stealing is stealing and the crime shouldn’t go unpunished.”

Millan's heart thumps faster and he gulps.

“But,” Grant continues, voice softer, “I agree that we should go on with the ritual and finalize this damn thing already. We can see about the punishment in the morning.”

Millan breathes in, only now realizing he was holding his breath. As the Council agrees with Grant and moves towards the clearance where the pack is patiently waiting, Millan stays glued on the spot, Weston still by his side.

“Mill? You ready?”

Millan turns to face Weston who’s smiling softly. Millan can’t believe it.

They’ll go on with the ritual as planned. He’ll be part of the Blayne Pack, he’ll belong.

Finally.

And he’ll be with Weston.

Weston who was prepared to leave his own pack to be with Millan. Weston who stood by him, a solid pillar he could lean on.

Millan feels his heart expanding for him, it’s almost painful, like his chest could implode. Millan connects their lips together in a sweet and quick kiss.

They beam at each other for a moment, basking in the amount of love in their bond before Millan nods.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”