Page 27 of Keeper of All

“Your mom’s cooking? You mean I’ll be meeting your family?” Ekon's eyes widened.

Stopping and turning so he was facing his mate, Mao cupped Ekon’s jaw with both hands. “I’m not the only brother mated to a lost boy,” he said softly. “Mom is going to love you, I can promise you that.”

It was as if every animal Ekon’s body held was watching him, but Mao didn’t look away. He had nothing to hide. Finally, Ekon nodded, and slipping his arm around Mao’s waist, indicated he was ready to start walking again. “You’ve got a plane trip to fill me in on your family,” he said quietly. “I don’t go anywhere unprepared.”

Mao could understand that—it was a safety aspect more than anything else. “Be prepared to loosen your belt, and not for the sexy reasons we’ve enjoyed so far. Mom’s cooking is the best in the world. You’re going to love it.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ekon

He listened intently to Mao talk throughout the flight, asking questions wanting to know what a “real family” was like. An observer by nature, the Thalassa family was the first he’d spent any time with. They were more complicated than a pixel challenge to find that one tiny pixel that didn’t fit. That didn’t mean they didn’t work together, they did, just dominating personalities got in the way, usually Alexi and Markov, Victor too.

The stories Mao told him were more like fairy tales when he had none of his own to compare to. His mom sounded like a made-up person. The only truly generous soul Ekon knew was Marvin. The way Mao spoke about his mom, she was similar, if his mate wasn’t exaggerating.

“Did you get into trouble for blowing a hole in the middle of your mom’s garden?” he asked, chuckling at Mao’s first attempt at using explosions.

Ruby red color invaded Mao’s golden skin as his head tipped and he laughed uproariously. “Trouble… heck,” he spluttered through his laughter, “I couldn’t sit down for a week.”

Ekon’s brows drew together in a frown unsure why his mate thought that was funny. Then what did he really understand about families?

We’ll have to learn.

He considered how he could do that when he had no template to follow. No instructor to drum in how to do things right.

Mao’s smile dimmed. “You won’t need a template. You just be yourself, Ekon. It’s all you’ll ever need to be.” He shifted forward in the plush leather seat opposite Ekon, taking hold of his hands. Rough skin tickled as thumbs stroked over the pulse at his wrist. Their gazes locked, and there was the truth. “Mom and Dad, fuck my brothers too, will give you a crash course in family whether you want it or not,” he grumbled and Ekon’s lips twitched at how Mao wasn’t pretending.

The grumpy expression at thoughts of being pestered to be social had Ekon grinning. “I’m sure I can handle a crash course.”

“You keep believing that,” he muttered, eyes alight with amusement despite the put-out tone.

“Excuse me,” the flight steward murmured in a cultured voice, “we are preparing to land, you need to buckle up.”

Ekon hated this part of flying, and though he wanted to hold on to Mao’s hands, he let go and did as bid.

He glanced out the window and was surprised by the lush green rain forest beneath them. It seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.

Paraguay in the past had been a flying visit in and out with no reason to linger once the assassination had been carried out. Before the concern at not seeing a landing strip became an issue, Ekon saw it.

He peered closer. Was that thin strip of land big enough to put the jet on?

Mao’s delighted chuckle brought his attention back to his mate. He looked relaxed, lounging, watching Ekon with an alertness that spoke of the intelligent cat hidden beneath skin. “It is. I instructed the pilot to use this airstrip as it’s closer to my family home.”

The bump of the wheels ten minutes later proved Mao right as they glided effortlessly to a stop and close to a battered-looking Jeep.

A genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips while releasing the seatbelt before they were told to. Ekon was up and striding to the door, the steward muttering something unintelligent as his booted foot tapped impatiently at having to wait for the guy to open the door.

“In a hurry?” Mao asked with some amusement, moving at a slower pace, retrieving the pack holding the journals Ekon hadn’t wanted put in the hold. He couldn’t explain it, and Mao didn’t ask him to. They were so in tune with each other since the magic explosion, Ekon did wonder if they’d really need to speak aloud again.

“As much as I’m not a talker, I do like listening to you”—Mao’s dark eyes twinkled with a wicked glint—“speak.”

That wasn’t what he meant, and they both knew it when Mao sent a replay of the night before of the noises Ekon made when Mao had his tongue in his ass.

Stop it. I do not want to walk off the plane with a hard-on. Aloud he said, “You never said Conrad was picking us up?”

“Thought it might be nice for you to see a friendly face.” Mao shrugged it off, like it was nothing.

Ekon placed a hand on the back of Mao’s neck and angled his head to steal a kiss. Except one taste was never enough, and when Mao’s lips parted against his and their tongues got reacquainted, time slipped away.