22. Malachi
MALACHI
Something shifts the moment the anchor breaks. I don’t see it. I don’t hear it. But I feel it.
It moves through the pride like a tremor under the skin—subtle at first, then sharper, like something long buried is clawing its way back to the surface. I stand in the rail yard, watching Juniper steady herself after the surge, but my focus fractures outward beyond this place.
Toward my people. Toward the bond that ties us together. And it doesn’t feel wrong.
I suck in a slow breath, letting my senses stretch along the invisible lines that connect me to the pride. Usually, it’s background noise. A constant hum of instinct, emotion, presence.
Lately, it’s been… distorted. Fractured. Like listening to a song played through broken speakers. Now?
Now there are gaps. Clear spaces where the static used to be.
“What is it?” Dominic asks.
I don’t answer. I’m too busy tracking the shift, following it through familiar signatures.
Caleb.
His temper has been riding too close to the surface for days. Quick to snap. Quicker to escalate.
Now? It settles. Not completely. Not perfectly. But enough. Enough that I know this isn’t coincidence.
“It worked,” I say finally.
Juniper looks up at me, still catching her breath. “Yeah. I told you it would.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Her brows pull together slightly. I take a step closer, lowering my voice.
“They’re changing.”
Understanding flickers in her eyes.
“The shifters,” she says.
I nod once.
“The ones who’ve been… off.” I glance toward the tree line, toward the distant sprawl of Ironwood Ridge. “Some of them just snapped back into themselves.”
Dominic lets out a low whistle. “That fast?”
“Not all of them,” I add. “But enough.”
Enough to matter. Enough to prove this isn’t just theory. This is war.
By the time we make it back into town, the tension is already spreading.
It’s in the way people move—hesitant, uncertain, like they’re waking up from a dream they don’t remember falling into.
I pass two members of the pride near the main road. They’re arguing. Not unusual. But this?—
This is different.
There’s confusion threaded through the anger. Disorientation. One of them shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it, muttering under his breath.
“I don’t—I don’t know why I said that.”
The other one stares at him, wary. “You’ve been like that all week.”
“I know, but—” He scrubs a hand down his face. “It doesn’t feel like me.”
I don’t intervene. Because this?
This is exactly what Juniper described. Subtle influence. Distorted instinct. And now?—
Now it’s cracking.
“Malachi.”
Dominic’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I turn to find him holding his phone out toward me, expression tight.
“Council’s trying to reach you.”
Of course they are. I take the phone, already knowing I’m not going to like whatever’s on the other end.
The message is short. Direct. And exactly as irritating as I expected.
Cease all unsanctioned magical activity immediately. Report to the council for review. Noncompliance will be considered a violation of territorial law.
I stare at the screen for a long moment. Then I hand the phone back.
“Tell them no.”
Dominic blinks. “Just… no?”
“Just no.”
Juniper huffs a quiet laugh beside me, but there’s no humor in it.
“They felt it,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply. “They did.”
Which means one of two things. Either they know exactly what’s happening?—
Or they’re about to find out.
“Malachi,” Dominic says carefully, “they’re not going to let this go.”
“I’m not asking them to.”
I turn, scanning the street again, watching my people. Watching the shifts ripple outward.
“They’ve had weeks to step in,” I continue. “Weeks to notice something was wrong.”
“And they didn’t,” Juniper says.
“No,” I agree. “They didn’t.”
Which means I’m done waiting for permission. We barely make it back to the pride house before the next complication arrives. I feel him before I see him. Wolf.
The scent hits first—sharp, wild, edged with tension. It cuts through the familiar comfort of lion territory like a blade.
Dominic stiffens beside me. “We’ve got company.”
“I know.”
The front door opens before we reach it. Arlen Torres stands on the threshold like he owns the place. He doesn’t. But he carries himself like someone who’s used to being listened to anyway.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair pulled back loosely at the nape of his neck. His eyes lock onto mine immediately, assessing.
Calculating.
“Malachi,” he says.
“Arlen.”
We don’t shake hands. We don’t need to. This isn’t a social call.
“You felt it,” he says.
Not a question.
I nod once. “You too.”
He steps inside without waiting to be invited. Dominic mutters something under his breath that I choose to ignore. Juniper, on the other hand, watches Arlen with open curiosity.
“Who’s this?” she asks quietly.
“Alpha of the Grey Hollow pack,” I reply.
Her brows lift slightly.
“Ah.”
Arlen’s gaze flicks to her, sharp with interest. “And you are?”
“Juniper,” she says, not missing a beat. “The one fixing your problem.”
A corner of his mouth twitches.
“Good,” he says. “Because it’s not just mine.”
My attention snaps back to him fully.
“Explain.”
Arlen exhales slowly.
“You know how I told you that for the past month, my pack’s been… off?” He gestures vaguely. “Short tempers. Bad calls. Fights that shouldn’t have happened.”
“I do. Things are escalating here too.” Dominic mutters.
Arlen shoots him a look. “I’m not done.”
I lift a hand slightly.
“Let him talk.”
Arlen nods once, then continues.
“This morning, a few of them just… snapped out of it. Like a switch flipped.” His gaze sharpens. “Same time your little magical explosion went off.”
Juniper crosses her arms. “Not little.”
I almost smile. Almost.
“And now?” I ask.
“Now they’re asking questions,” Arlen says. “Questions I don’t have answers for.”
I hold his gaze.
“But you think I do.”
“I think you’re involved,” he corrects.
Fair.
I glance at Juniper. She gives a small nod. Tell him. So I do.
By the time I finish explaining the anchors, the room has gone completely still. Arlen processes it faster than I expect.
“Multiple points,” he says slowly. “Spread across territory.”
“Yes.”
“Feeding into instinct.”
“Yes.”
He exhales sharply. “That’s not localized.”
“No,” Juniper says. “It’s not.”
Silence settles again.
Heavy. Uncomfortable. Then?—
“How far?” Arlen asks.
Juniper hesitates.
“Farther than Ironwood Ridge,” she admits. “I don’t know how far yet, but if your pack’s affected?—”
“It’s regional,” he finishes.
Which means bigger than any of us wanted. I scrub a hand over my neck, tension coiling tight.
“This wasn’t meant to stay contained,” I say.
“No,” Juniper agrees softly. “It wasn’t.”
Arlen looks between us.
“So what’s the plan?”
I don’t hesitate.
“We find every anchor.”
Dominic lets out a low breath. “That’s going to take time.”
“Then we don’t waste any.”
Juniper steps forward, her expression focused.
“I can track them,” she says. “I can follow the magical residue.”
Arlen studies her for a long moment. Then nods.
“Fine. My pack will help.”
Dominic arches a brow. “That was easy.”
Arlen shrugs. “I don’t like my people being puppets.”
Fair enough. I glance between all of them, then make the call.
“Dominic,” I say, “start organizing patrol teams. I want coverage across the entire territory.”
He nods immediately. “On it.”
“Coordinate with Arlen’s pack,” I add. “Share information. Any anomalies, any disturbances—I want to know.”
“Got it.”
I turn to Juniper.
“You lead the search.”
Her eyes flicker—then steady.
“Yeah,” she says. “I will.”
Good. Because this? This only works if we move fast. If we stay ahead of whoever set this in motion.
And something tells me?—
We’re already running out of time.
By nightfall, the pride is moving. Not perfectly. Not smoothly. But moving.
Teams spread out across the territory, following Juniper’s guidance, checking every place that feels even slightly off.
The unrest hasn’t disappeared. If anything, it’s sharper now. Because awareness changes things. Confusion turns into anger. Fear. Questions. And I don’t have enough answers yet.
I stand on the ridge, looking out over the land that’s been mine to protect for years. It feels different tonight. Not broken. But not whole either. Like something underneath it all is shifting. Changing.
Juniper steps up beside me, quiet but impossible to ignore.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she says.
I huff a breath. “Comes with the job.”
She glances out over the trees.
“This is bigger than we thought.”
“Yes.”
“And we just kicked it.”
“Yes.”
A small, humorless smile tugs at her mouth.
“Good.”
I look at the determination in her expression. At the way she doesn’t hesitate, even when she probably should.
“You don’t scare easy,” I say.
She snorts. “I scare all the time. I just don’t stop.”
I nod once.
“Good,” I repeat.
Because we’re going to need that. All of it. I turn my gaze back to the dark stretch of forest.
“To find the rest,” I say.
Juniper follows my line of sight.
“Then we find them,” she says.
Simple. Direct. Dangerous. Exactly what we need. I exhale slowly, letting the weight of it settle. Every anchor we destroy weakens the spell. But it also sends a message. To whoever built this network. To whoever thinks they can control my people.
I bare my teeth slightly, a low, instinctive response rising in my chest. Let them hear it.
Let them know we’re coming. Because I’m not stopping. Not now. Not when we’re this close to the truth.
And definitely not?—
When the fight is finally starting to come into focus.