18. Malachi
MALACHI
Something is wrong. I feel it before I understand it. The bond snaps tight in my chest—sharp, sudden, violent in a way it hasn’t been before. Not the steady pull I’ve gotten used to since last night.
This is different. This is distress. My body reacts instantly. I’m already moving before the thought fully forms.
“Malachi—” Dominic starts.
“Juniper,” I cut him off.
That’s all I need to say. He’s moving with me a second later. The connection pulls hard, directional now—focused, like a thread stretched too tight, leading straight to its source. The council building. Of course it is. My jaw locks.
“She went without us,” Dominic mutters.
“Yes,” I say.
Not surprised. Not pleased. The bond spikes again. Stronger this time. Urgent. My lion surges forward, fully awake now, reacting to the signal with instinct instead of restraint.
Mine. In danger.
I don’t argue with it. Not now.
“Get the others,” I say.
Dominic nods immediately, already pulling his phone out. “On it.”
I don’t slow down. By the time we reach the front of the council building, several pride members are already converging behind us, drawn by Dominic’s call and the tension radiating off me.
Good. Because subtlety is no longer an option. I push through the front doors without stopping. The moment I cross the threshold, I feel it. Magic. Layered. Structured. Watching. My lip curls slightly.
“Alpha Reyes,” a voice calls.
I don’t stop walking. A council member steps into my path anyway. Mistake.
“You can’t just?—”
I don’t even slow down.
“Move,” I say.
He hesitates. That’s all it takes. I push past him, not violently, but with enough force that he stumbles out of my way. Dominic falls into step beside me.
“You want me to handle the talking?” he mutters.
“No.”
Because I’m done talking. Another council member steps forward, this one older, more composed.
“Alpha, this is highly inappropriate?—”
“Inappropriate,” I repeat, my voice dropping.
The bond spikes again. Pain this time. Sharp. Immediate. My control snaps tight around it.
“Whatever you think this is,” the council member continues, “you need to?—”
“She’s in your archives,” I cut in.
Silence. But it’s enough. Because I see it. The flicker. Recognition. They know.
“She entered unauthorized areas,” another voice says from behind him. “If she triggered protective wards?—”
“You mean the trap you set,” I say.
“We don’t?—”
“I’m not asking,” I cut in again.
My lion presses forward harder now, the pressure building in my chest, pushing against restraint. Dominance hums just beneath the surface. Control. Barely.
“Stand down, Alpha Reyes,” the older man says, his tone sharpening. “You are not authorized to interfere with council operations.”
The bond flares again. Juniper. Struggling. Contained. That’s it. I’m done.
“No,” I say.
And this time?—
I don’t hold it back. The shift hits fast. Not full transformation. But enough. Power surges through me, muscle tightening, senses sharpening, my presence expanding outward with noticeable force.
Dominance rolls through the room like a shockwave. Every shifter behind me straightens instantly. Even the humans feel it. The council members step back. Good.
“Move,” I repeat.
No one blocks me this time.
Dominic exhales quietly beside me. “Subtle.”
I ignore him. The bond pulls harder now, guiding me down the hallway, toward the lower levels.
Toward her. Every step sharpens my focus.
Every second stretches. She’s still there.
Still fighting. And something else. The magic.
Structured. Closing in. We reach the archive doors.
They’re sealed. Of course they are. I don’t hesitate.
“Break it,” Dominic says.
Already planned. I place my hand against the door, feeling the wards embedded in it—dense, layered, reinforced. Not designed to keep people out. Designed to keep something in.
My jaw tightens.
“Juniper,” I murmur under my breath.
The bond answers. Faint. But there. Alive. Good. I focus. Not on the structure. On her.
On the connection. The bond flares. And I push. Power slams outward, not refined like hers, not delicate—but strong, direct, overwhelming. The wards resist. Then crack. The door bursts open.
The room inside is wrong. The air is thick with magic, pressure pressing in from all sides, the structure of the trap fully active now. Juniper is at the center. Of course she is. Fighting it.
Holding it.
Dahlia is with her, braced, tense, trying to maintain position. My vision narrows. Everything else disappears.
Mine.
I move.
“Malachi—” Juniper starts.
“Stop talking,” I say.
Not harsh. Focused. Because I can feel what she’s doing. Holding the structure from collapsing inward. Holding it from locking completely.
“Don’t break it,” she says quickly. “It’ll?—”
“Adapt,” I finish.
She goes still.
“Yes.”
I step closer. The magic reacts immediately, tightening, shifting toward me. Good.
“Then let it,” I say.
Her eyes sharpen. “That’s not how?—”
“Trust me,” I say.
The words land heavier than anything else I’ve said. Because I don’t say them lightly. And I don’t say them often. Silence. A beat. Then?—
She adjusts. Not fully releasing control.
But shifting. Allowing the structure to react to me.
The trap focuses. On me. Exactly what I want.
My lion surges forward, not fighting the pressure this time—pushing into it.
Claiming space. Dominating the structure the only way I know how. Force. Presence. Control.
The magic strains. Juniper moves with it. Precise. Sharp. She finds the weak point the moment it forms.
“Now,” she says.
I don’t hesitate. I push harder. The structure fractures.
Juniper tears through the break instantly, her magic slicing clean through the weakened threads.
The trap collapses. Silence crashes in. The pressure disappears.
Juniper stumbles slightly. I catch her before she hits the ground.
The contact sends a sharp pulse through the bond—strong, grounding, real.
“You’re okay,” I say.
Not a question. A statement.
She exhales slowly. “I was handling it.”
“Not alone,” I reply.
Dahlia snorts softly from behind us. “Glad you made it, lion.”
“Next time,” I say quietly, “you don’t go without backup.”
She almost argues. But she doesn’t. Not this time. Good. Because we don’t have time for that. Footsteps echo behind us. Council members. Of course. I turn slowly, placing myself slightly in front of Juniper without thinking. The older man from before steps forward.
“This is a violation of council authority?—”
“You set a trap,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change.
“We have protective measures in place for unauthorized access.”
“That wasn’t protection,” Juniper says, stepping beside me now. “That was containment.”
A flicker again. Gone just as quickly.
“You triggered restricted wards,” he replies smoothly. “That is not our responsibility.”
My jaw tightens.
“You expect me to believe you don’t know what’s happening in your own archives?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
Too easily. Too clean. Wrong.
Juniper steps forward slightly. “There are ritual diagrams in this room. Large-scale. Control-based.”
Silence. Then?—
“We manage many forms of magical research,” he replies.
Deflection. I feel it immediately. So does she.
“They require a bloodline anchor,” she continues. “A specific one.”
Another flicker. Smaller this time. But still there. Interesting.
“You’re making assumptions,” he says.
“No,” she replies. “I’m making connections.”
The tension thickens. But something is off. Not just denial. Not just control. Something deeper. Wrong.
I study the room. The people. The magic. And there it is. A feeling I don’t like. At all.
This isn’t just a cover-up. This isn’t just political maneuvering. There’s something else here. Something beneath it. Something they’re either hiding?—
Or don’t fully understand themselves. I look at Juniper. She feels it too. I can tell.
“Let’s go,” I say.
The council member frowns. “You can’t just?—”
“We already did,” Dominic mutters behind me.
I don’t wait for permission. I turn and walk out. Juniper stays with me. This time?—
She doesn’t argue.