⊰ 125 ⊱ To Hold the Line

⊰ 125 ⊱ To Hold the Line
| Malachi |

The King’s recorded voice echoes through the throne room, damning and undeniable: “The elimination of remaining contenders will proceed as planned. Make it look like factional violence. By morning, Tarlac will be the only viable candidate…”

Chaos erupts instantly.

Some operatives lunge for the transmission equipment, others move to eliminate witnesses. The remaining contenders scatter, their security details clashing with Silent Order forces. The careful choreography of political theater dissolves into the brutal reality of open warfare.

The sound of ripping fabric fills the air as wolves begin to shift—bones cracking, muscles reforming, human forms giving way to something far more deadly. The throne room becomes a battlefield.

I catch sight of Tarlac and Julia near a side exit, already in motion. Smart—they know which way the wind is blowing. Better to flee while they can than die for a conspiracy that’s already crumbling. They slip through the chaos like shadows, abandoning their former allies without a backward glance.

My own shift comes instinctively, clothes tearing away as my wolf emerges. Around me, the battle rages in growls, snapping teeth, and the wet sound of claws meeting flesh.

Elijah’s wolf moves deadly beside Jax’s form, the two of them fighting in perfect coordination. They push toward the main cluster of Silent Order operatives—not to escape, but to engage. To hold the line while the truth spreads beyond these walls.

I start toward them, ready to join the fight, when I see it happen.

Three Silent Order wolves converge on Elijah at once. He takes down one, wounds another, but the third gets behind him. Silver teeth sink deep into his neck, finding the vulnerable spot between spine and skull.

My brother’s wolf form goes rigid, then collapses.

No.

The sound that tears from my throat is pure anguish—part howl, part roar. I surge forward, but more enemies block my path. Around me, the battle continues, but all I can see is Elijah’s still form on the blood-soaked marble.

Jax fights on alone. But he’s surrounded, outnumbered. I watch him take down two more operatives before a blade finds its mark. He staggers, keeps fighting for another few seconds, then falls beside my brother.

Malachi! 

Rook’s mental voice cuts through my grief-stricken rage. 

Get out of here! Now!

I turn to see Rook’s massive white wolf tear through two operatives, his eyes blazing with every bit the Alpha authority he possess.

Go! Make sure Tarlac didn’t circle back to your family!

The thought hits me like ice water. Tarlac and Julia fled, but what if it was strategic? What if they’re heading for the safe house while we’re trapped here?

I fight my way toward the emergency exit, leaving my brother’s body behind. Every instinct screams at me to stay, to avenge him, but Rook is right. If Tarlac goes after Penelope and Elio...

The streets blur past as I race through the city in wolf form, using back alleys and shadows to avoid detection. My heart pounds with more than exertion—with terror that I might be too late, that I might lose everything in one horrific day.

The safe house comes into view, and I slow my pace, scanning for threats. No signs of battle. No scent of intruders. The building stands quiet and peaceful in the morning light.

I approach, every sense alert for danger. Movement at the front door catches my attention—Anika, weapon raised, ready to defend. Her eyes widen when she recognizes me, and I see her tap Landon’s shoulder. Both guards tense, ready to shift and attack what they assume is a threat, but then they see it’s me.

Recognition flashes across their faces. Anika nods once and steps aside, though her expression is questioning—I’m back too early, and alone.

I push through the front entrance without shifting, my massive wolf form filling the doorway. The familiar scents of home wash over me—Penelope’s honey and lavender, Elio’s sweet baby smell, the lingering traces of morning coffee.

I find her standing by the window in the main room, Elio secure in his wrap against her chest. She’s patting his back gently, swaying slightly in that universal mother’s rhythm. When she hears me enter, she turns, her face lighting up with relief and love.

“You’re back,” she says softly, and for a moment—just one perfect moment—seeing them safe and whole fills me with pure relief.

They’re okay. My family is okay. Whatever else happened, I didn’t lose them too.

But then reality crashes down devastatingly.

Elijah is dead. 

My brother—the one who always had the answers, who should have been king, who died holding the line so others could escape—is gone. We didn’t always get along, fought more than we agreed, but he was still my brother. Still family. Still the boy who used to sneak into my room during thunderstorms when we were young.

The grief hits like a tidal wave I’m not prepared for, stealing my breath and buckling my legs. I collapse onto the floor, my wolf form curling in on itself as sounds I barely recognize tear from my throat—whimpers and whines of loss so profound it feels like something vital has been ripped away.

Penelope’s voice cuts through my anguish, confused and frightened. “Malachi? What’s wrong? What happened?”

She’s beside me in an instant, one hand still supporting Elio while the other reaches out to stroke my fur. Her touch is gentle, tentative, trying to offer comfort for something she doesn’t understand.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she whispers, her voice thick with worry. “You’re okay. We’re all okay.”

But we’re not okay. We’ll never be okay again. Whatever victory we have achieved tastes like ashes, and the price we paid was too high.

I press closer to her warmth, seeking the only comfort that matters now, mourning a brother who gave everything so that my family could have a future.

“Shh,” Penelope murmurs, not understanding but trying anyway. “I’m here. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

If only it were enough to fill the hole where Elijah used to be.