Chapter Twenty-Three
My heart ceased beating as I waited for Malik to answer me.
He took one long, shaking breath, as if steeling himself against whatever horrors still haunted him from the past. I felt his pain and fear through our bond, as potent as thought it was my own. I'd give anything to take it away.
The breath caught in my throat. Six. He was six years old when he received the heinous injury that bisected his throat and cost him his voice.
Dread curdled low in my belly as the reality of Malik's words seeped over me. His uncle.
The ruined skin at his throat shifted as his throat bobbed, and his gaze searched the ceiling above, refusing to meet mine. He decided to start with me and Roman. I guess he thought our deaths would weaken my father. But he didn't expect my mother to fight back so hard...
I looked up at him, studying the scars that I'd seen countless times in a new light. Malik received them from a pack member— a family member— who thought he had to kill a six year old child in order to rise through the ranks.
Now that I knew the truth, I saw the distinct ridges of claws marring the ridges on his face. I saw where the flesh had been reattached and where it had been forced to regrow over time. Where two claws caught purchase on his throat and tore through the critical voice box.
"Your mother?" I whispered, my voice a hoarse husk of itself. I already knew the answer.
He shook his head. She was gone before help arrived, but she took my uncle with her.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I'm so sorry.
Malik blinked, as if scattering the dark memories. When his eyes met mine again, they held a strange combination of grief and peace.
Throughout the conversation, the swelling at the base of his manhood diminished enough for me to slide off of him. I shifted to the side, draping one leg over his hips while resting my ear on his chest, just above his heart. What about your father?
He gave a deep sigh. He grieved my mother for several years. And when it became clear I wouldn't heal, he renamed Roman as heir. It was for the good of the pack.
I physically recoiled at the insinuation. As if Malik's lack of a voice somehow made him not good for pack, when time and time again he'd proven himself a far more worthy leader than his younger brother. I opened my mouth to tell him this when he continued.
My heart clenched. And yet, Malik was still here, which meant...
"Roman refused?"
Malik dipped his chin in confirmation. I owe Roman my life. More than once, he stepped in and convinced our father of my worth before he could kill me.
A war of conflicting emotions churned in my chest. I couldn't wrap my head around this so-called version of Roman. The version that protected my mate rather than humiliated and degraded him.
"And?" I prompted, smoothing a piece of hair away from his brow.
With a deep breath, he continued. When the time came, I killed our father in Roman's name.
My eyes widened, betraying my shock. He plotted with Roman to kill their own father? Their alpha? Was it premeditated? A duel? A massacre? How it happened didn't matter. Malik killed his father...
Malik winced, ripping his gaze away from mine. I shouldn't have told you that. You must think I'm a monster. I'm sorry—
"I could never think you're a monster," I interrupted him, catching his cheek in my palm and turning his face back toward mine. "Never, Malik."
His throat bobbed again, but he said nothing.
"From what you've said, your father was the monster. He deserved whatever you did to him." Ferocity laced every word, and I realized with startling clarity that I meant it. I hoped he suffered in his last moments. I hoped Malik's father died a coward's death.
I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I was surprised, that's all." Some of the tension lining his shoulders slackened, and I felt his ribs expand and contract with a deep sigh. I didn't share in his relief though. My mind reeled at this new information.
"Malik..." I paused, chewing on my bottom lip. "Did you inflict the killing blow?"
His brow furrowed, but he nodded once. Yes.
My heartbeat quickened, and I immediately scrambled to a sitting position, tugging the bedsheets up to my hips.
You know what this means, don't you? I questioned, holding his gaze with some strange mixture of excitement and trepidation fluttering in my belly. Laws of succession state that, in the event of a coup, the one who inflicts the killing blow becomes alpha. It is your right—
Malik's features hardened. No, Aria.
I flinched. He'd never spoken to me so roughly. Clipped and final. Leaving no room for debate. Still, I tried. But—
"He doesn't deserve your loyalty!" I argued, the words bubbling from my mouth before I could stop them.
Heat flamed up my neck, anger consuming me.
Malik knew, better than anyone else, the darkness in Roman's heart. Roman was a disease that would fester and rot the entirety of the Intonat Nocte pack if his power remained unchecked. According to the ancient laws of succession that governed werewolf packs for centuries, the Intonat Nocte pack rightfully belonged to Malik.
He had the chance to take his place as alpha—to end Roman's reign of cruelty—yet he seemed determined to prove otherwise. And all because he believed he owed Roman his life?
My teeth clenched, but I wouldn't back down. Not yet. "He only saved you because he wanted to turn you into a weapon. He's said so several times since I arrived. He's selfish, Malik. He wanted to turn you against your father for his own benefit."
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn't say anything.
"He's cruel. To you. To me. To everyone." My voice became a whisper, the fight fading away as quickly as it came, replaced by quiet desperation. A plea. "You're the rightful alpha. It's your birthright, and the right you won when you defeated your father."
Conflict raged behind his gaze, and I physically felt his turmoil through our bond. My chest hurt at the intensity of it, extending for several long seconds. At last, his voice filled my head.