Chapter 225
Malrik POV
Zebulon exhaled a long, weighted breath, the kind a man releases only after carrying a truth too heavy for too long.
“Everything unraveled after Fiji,” he began. “Tavrix vanished. My cousin might’ve been private, withdrawn even but he wasn’t violent. He left home to escape the Moonchild extremists. He wanted peace, not blood.”
His eyes lifted to mine, shadowed and hollow.
“Orielle might’ve had it in her,” he said quietly, “but not Tavrix. The destruction in Fiji wasn’t him. When he disappeared… it didn’t add up. So I started digging.”
He leaned forward, breath hitching.
“And the deeper I dug, the more I uncovered Roarke’s secret.”
My blood went cold, though my face stayed unreadable.
“He’s been using Moonchilds in illegal experiments,” Zebulon rushed on, words tumbling out as though they burned his tongue. “Trying to extract the compulsion gene. He wants control and immunity to it. He’s not protecting Moonchilds. He’s harvesting them.”
Silence slammed into the room. The air shifted, like we’d stepped sideways into a different story a story we’d been inside all along without knowing it.
I didn’t answer.
What could I say?
It sounded like a dystopian nightmare science fiction horror spilling into reality. And yet, Zebulon didn’t sound delusional. He didn’t sound like a man scrambling for excuses. He sounded like someone who still couldn’t believe the truth he’d found.
My disbelief wavered just for a heartbeat.
He saw it and pressed harder.
“You think I’m the villain?” His voice dropped low, steady. “Roarke is your nightmare dressed as an ally. The man you trust is playing god. And if he’s still at it, you haven’t seen the worst yet.”
I glanced at Cassian.
At Quillan.
No one moved.
Because the question wasn’t just whether Zebulon was lying.
It was what if he wasn’t?
“You attacked his home,” I said, stepping closer. “You came for us in the woods when I went to see him.”
Zebulon blinked, genuine confusion flickering. “I did no such thing. I’ve been hunting that bastard for weeks. If anything, he wanted you to think he was the victim. He’s not a free man, Everston.”
I shook my head.
“The wolves who came for him told me not to interfere with council business. Said it was official orders. The council sanctioned the attack on his house and on us.” My eyes narrowed. “You think I’m stupid?”
That made him laugh loud, mocking, grating.
“You are,” he said between the laughter. “Apparently.”
The sound crawled under my skin. He leaned forward again, chains groaning with the motion.
“No wonder the bastard likes you.”
I clenched my fists. I wanted to hit him but I didn’t. Barely.
He smirked, sensing the restraint.
“I already told you Roarke’s head of security at the council. You think he doesn’t still have loyalists? Think, Malrikarion.”
My frown deepened.
“He set it all up,” Zebulon continued, voice gone cold. “The attack. The damage. The whole near-death act. Even what happened with you in the woods it was his play. All of it.”
His eyes drilled into mine.
“How else do you make a man trust you if you don’t throw yourself into the fire just enough?”
I stayed silent.
“Look at you,” he said softly. “Completely convinced he’s innocent. But ask yourself would you be, if none of that had happened?”
I looked at Cassian, then Quillan.
No one spoke.
Because he’d asked the question we were all thinking.
What if this had all been orchestrated from the start?
“But someone wielded compulsion,” I said finally, voice steady. “He was injured badly. He hadn’t eaten in days. I was the one who reached out to him.”
Zebulon nodded slowly, almost pitying.
“After he planted the seed,” he said. “By feeding you just enough information. Enough fear. Enough usefulness to make you come to him. It’s classic misdirection.”
He leaned in.
“It’s called mind games, Alpha Malrikarion. You should know this. Especially by now.”
Quillan’s fists tightened. I could see it the flicker of violence in his eyes. One more second and he’d break Zebulon’s jaw again.
I lifted a hand. Not yet.
Silence spread across the room.
We were all thinking the same thing, and none of us liked it.
Because what if?
Zebulon’s gaze stayed on us, disturbingly calm. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped lower.
“Where is Roarke right now?” he asked.
I hesitated only for a moment.
“My home,” I said.
Zebulon stared at me. Then laughed not mocking this time, but bitter. Hollow.
“You fool,” he breathed out sharply. “You’ve handed him everything he’s been waiting for all these years.”
My chest tightened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
His smile vanished.
“You’ve brought a Moonchild experimenter one of the most manipulative men in the council’s history into your home. Into your inner walls. Near your mate. Near the heir of Mancini blood.”
He leaned forward, eyes locking on mine.
“And now… he doesn’t need to chase power anymore.”
His voice was a knife.
“He’s inside it.”