Beast Within: The Syndicate's Fated Mates

The city lights shimmered like fireflies in the dark, blurring past as the sleek, jet-black limousine cut through the empty, dim road. The only light came from the streetlamps, spaced wide apart, casting a warm amber hue.

“I do not understand why you are so stubborn, Osborn.” A rugged-looking man in a black tuxedo, a scar running over his left eye, spoke in a deep, masculine voice.

“If I am stubborn, then what does that make you, Father?” the man in the backseat retorted.

He adjusted the cuff of his right sleeve with his left hand, casual, before smoothing out his tuxedo. “I just have to meet her and get it over with, right? And then you’ll leave me alone?”

The rugged man cackled. “You are a part of the Frost family whether you like it or not, Osborn. The Northern Wolves never leave their pack—they die with them.”

Osborn scoffed. “So now I am a part of the pack?”

He looked down and chuckled softly, his sleek black hair following the movement. “That’s ironic. As far as I recall, I was treated as an exile. For simply being born from a mistress. Your mistress.”

The rugged man gritted his teeth and looked back from the passenger seat, his blue eyes staring daggers into the young man. “You are the rightful heir, the future Alpha of our pack, Osborn.”

Osborn slowly looked up and nodded, his blue eyes meeting his father’s. “Because my brother died years ago in that stupid gang war of yours, right? And now I’m the only son you have left.”

His father sighed deeply and settled back in his seat. “If your brother were alive, he’d be the one marrying the beautiful heir of the Eastern Wolves. But since he’s gone—”

Osborn cut him off. “And since he’s gone, that responsibility falls onto my shoulders. Is that it?”

“Why are you so against this arrangement?” the rugged man asked, sighing.

“The heir of the Richters is not some common girl. She’s highly sought-after for her beauty, intelligence, and elegance. You’ve seen her in the pictures I sent to your email, haven’t you?”

“So that’s how you treat women? Nothing more than a checklist to be fulfilled? No wonder my mother left you.”

The rugged man’s fist clenched tight, knuckles paling, bones pressing against skin. “Not another word from you, young man. You do what I say, and that is final—or I’ll send another pack to chase you down to the deepest depths of the earth.”

Osborn stayed silent, arms crossed, eyes on the window, watching the city lights blur past.

The gentle ambience of a refined restaurant filled the void. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling cast a warm glow that put the patrons below at ease, mirrored by the candelabras sitting at the center of each table, each draped in beige cloth.

Each time a silver fork made contact with a porcelain plate as the guests sliced their steaming steak, the clear juice oozing out, the clink bounced off the pristine walls, etched with golden floral silhouettes.

“They are taking quite a while,” the man said, lazily swirling a champagne glass, the red liquid swirling with the motion of his hand.

The woman beside him looked at the young woman dressed in an elegant, silver satin slip dress. Her chestnut hair fell in soft waves, styled in a goddess braid, bangs falling softly over her face as she gazed out the glass pane, watching the stars twinkle in the distance while the moon hid behind dark clouds.

“Are you alright, Mila?” she asked gently.

The young woman nodded, her gaze landing back on the two figures across from her. “Of course, Mother.”

The woman smiled softly. “Do not worry, sweetie. The head of the Frost family has reassured us that their heir is well-behaved and will treat you well.”

Mila shook her head, opening her soft hazel eyes, and offered a reassuring smile. “You do not need to reassure me, Mother. As the heir of the Richters, it is only right that I take on this responsibility.”

But before they could continue, a young man with faded blonde hair, wearing a grey tuxedo, approached Mila and gently took her hand. “Mila, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, kissing her knuckles.

“I do not remember inviting the heir of the Southern Wolves,” the man across the table said, draining the contents of his champagne glass.

The young man laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners before opening fully again. “Such hostility, Mister Richter. The Southern Wolves are only here for dinner, that’s all.”

His green, piercing gaze landed back on Mila. “It just so happened my eyes fortunately landed on a goddess I couldn’t resist greeting properly.”

Mila slowly withdrew her hand from his palm. “Well, you already did. Now go on enjoying your dinner with the rest of your pack, Mister Vance.”

The young man laughed, amused. “So cold. Just Kendrick is fine, Mila. We’re not strangers.”

Mila remained silent, staring at Kendrick with indifference, until he backed away, raising his hands in mock defeat.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone…” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets and turning around.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “…for now,” he whispered, before walking away.

Awooooo! If you’re reading Osborn and Mila’s story on an unverified site, then you’ve been exiled. Come read it for free on official platforms, or binge advanced chapters directly on my main hub at Ream! Support the Savage Turnip by reading officially.

Not long after, three imposing men dressed similarly approached their table, bowing in respect.

“Please forgive us for failing to intervene,” the man in front said.

The man across the table raised his free left hand, gesturing them to stop. “It’s fine. We do not want to start a gang war between the Eastern and Southern Wolves, tonight or any other time, unnecessarily.”

“We don’t want unnecessary bloodshed,” the woman beside him added.

The man in front sighed softly. “Thank you, Mister and Missus Richter.”

The three turned away, returning to their seats.

Mila took out a neatly folded pink handkerchief with a small bulge, slowly unfolding it to reveal a makeshift ring fashioned from twisted paper, a tiny bead glued on top to resemble a diamond.

With her index finger and thumb, she idly rotated it.

...

..

.

“I don’t understand... why do you have to leave?” a young girl asked, wearing a pink, sleeved dress.

“Hey, it’s only for a while, Mila. We’ll see each other again soon,” a young boy in a white long-sleeved shirt replied, his voice laced with confidence as he adjusted the straps of his black suspenders.

Mila sniffled, but suddenly felt warmth wrap around her. “Magnus?”

“Once I come back, let’s get married,” Magnus said, his arms wrapped securely around her.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Mila said in a muffled voice, sobbing against the boy’s neck.

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “And don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Magnus grinned. “I’ve never broken a promise before~”

Mila narrowed her eyes, growling quietly as she stared at him.

Magnus chuckled, slowly releasing her, and held up his pinky. “Then how about we make a promise right now?”

Mila stared at his raised pinky and reluctantly raised hers. “Magnus...”

Magnus shook his head. “I’ll come back to you no matter what, Mila. I promise.”

Mila sighed deeply, wiped her tears with her free hand, and interlocked her pinky with his.

.

..

...

Sorry, if I couldn’t keep my promise... Magnus..., she thought to herself.

“Well, while waiting for your future husband, why don’t we talk about your progress in your studies abroad?” the man across from her said, breaking her thoughts.

Mila quickly composed herself, looking up as she neatly folded the handkerchief back in place, tucking the ring inside the pink cloth.

She offered a soft smile. “Where shall I start?”

Back in the limousine, the ringing of a phone inside the rugged man’s pocket broke the silence, replacing it with noise.

He sighed and slowly took it out while the driver beside him remained stoic, focused on the road.

He tapped the green button on the screen, answering with a completely different tone. “News?”

A masculine voice answered from the other side, laced with worry yet cold and professional. “Boss, the Southern Wolves are here. Should we drive them away?”

“How many are they?” Frost asked.

“Twenty, including their heir, Kendrick Vance,” the man replied.

Frost let out a deep sigh. “No, let them be. We cannot afford to cause a ruckus in that place—especially not in front of the Richter family.”

“Understood, boss,” the man replied before his voice cut off, replaced by silence once more.

He tucked his phone back into his pants before the driver spoke up.

“We’re almost there, Sir Frost,” the driver said in a monotone voice.

Frost nodded, glancing at the backseat where Osborn sat, arms crossed, gazing out the window, seemingly deep in thought.

“Osborn.” he started.

The young man didn’t reply, and Frost sighed before continuing. “I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. Do not be rude to your mate.”

“Don’t worry, I’m only rude to you,” Osborn replied flatly.

He looked away with a low, amused chuckle, his gaze landing back ahead.

To Be Continued...