Shadows Of The Pack (Aria and Knox) novel Chapter 83

In the grand chamber of "The Order," the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. After Eldrian's decision to release himself from the confines of immortality, it was finally time to choose the next leader. The one who would dedicate the rest of their lives to ensuring that balance and order is maintained in the realm.
As the council assembled, Eldrian's eyes scanned the room, his gaze settling upon the two prominent figures who stood at the center of this monumental occasion: Malachi, the fierce and ambitious Alpha with a wolf's heart, and Alaric, a centuries-old sorcerer whose wisdom and neutrality had earned him the respect of many.
The room was adorned with tapestries depicting the history of the supernatural realm, showcasing the delicate balance that had been maintained over the eons. The air was heavy with a sense of gravity, for the decision that lay ahead could shape the destiny of all beings in the realm.
Eldrian's voice resonated through the chamber, a soothing baritone that carried an air of authority. "Fellow members of The Order, we have come to a pivotal moment in our existence. My time as the leader has reached its conclusion. It is time for one among us to step up and guide our realm into the future."
Malachi's eyes remained locked on Eldrian, his gaze unwavering. Eldrian's gaze then shifted to Isolde, his eyes holding a gentle understanding as he acknowledged her presence. She stood by Malachi's side, her expression thoughtful, her eyes betraying the inner conflict she felt.
"I see before me two strong contenders, each with unique qualities that could shape our realm in different ways," Eldrian continued, his tone measured. "Malachi, a leader of wolves who seeks to reform our very structure, and Alaric, a sorcerer with knowledge and a heart that encompasses all species."
Isolde's heart tightened as Eldrian's words hung in the air. She knew the gravity of the decision before them, and the implications it held for her and Malachi. Her gaze flickered between the two contenders, her mind torn between loyalty and the greater good.
The room remained in a heavy silence, the tension palpable. Then, a voice rose from the council, a figure shrouded in shadows. "Eldrian's legacy is one of balance and unity. We must consider the path that serves not just our own kind, but all beings in our realm."
Isolde's heart sank as the weight of the decision pressed upon her. She looked to Malachi, whose jaw was clenched, his eyes ablaze with ambition that threatened to consume him.
Finally, Eldrian spoke again, his voice carrying the weight of his wisdom. "After careful deliberation, the council has made its decision. The next leader of The Order shall be Alaric."
The words hung in the air, the room hushed in the wake of the proclamation. Isolde's heart ached as she saw the flicker of disappointment cross Malachi's eyes, a storm of emotions raging within him.
Malachi's fists clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he struggled to contain his anger. The ambition that had driven him, the belief in his vision, had been thwarted in an instant. His breath came in harsh exhales, his chest rising and falling with the effort to control his emotions.
"Congratulations, Alaric," Malachi's voice was a seething growl, the veneer of civility barely concealing his frustration. He offered a curt nod before turning on his heel, his steps echoing as he stormed out of the chamber, his departure a tempestuous finale to the tense proceedings.
The room remained in a heavy silence, the air still charged with the emotions that had unfurled within its walls. Isolde looked at Alaric, her eyes apologetic as she caught his gaze.
Alaric's lips quirked into a knowing smile, his eyes carrying a mixture of understanding and empathy. "This decision was not made lightly, Isolde," he said gently. "We must always strive for what is best for the realm as a whole."
Isolde nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of the choices, "I understand. I will talk to him."
With one final respectful nod at Eldrian, she turned around, taking the same path with Malachi.
Carefully stepping into Malachi's room, Isolde's heart raced, her footsteps echoing softly against the cool stone floor. The silence that hung heavy in the air was punctuated only by the faint whisper of curtains rustling against the gentle breeze that drifted in through an open window. Her gaze settled on his tall figure, his silhouette framed against the moonlit night outside.
Malachi stood there, his back to her, his stance tense as he stared unseeing at the expanse beyond the windowpane. The moon's glow bathed him in a pale light, casting shadows that danced across his chiseled features. His silence seemed to echo the storm of emotions that churned within him.
Breaking the stillness, he finally spoke, his voice low, "Did you really give me your support?"
Isolde's heart skipped a beat, her throat tightening with apprehension. The weight of his question hung in the air, demanding a response that she knew could shape the course of their relationship. A part of her yearned to lie, to placate him and protect their connection. But she could see in his eyes that he sought nothing less than the truth.
The words stumbled from her lips, her voice wavering with conflict. "Malachi, I—"
"Don't lie to me, Isolde," his voice cut through her attempt at evasion. His words held a somber finality, as if he had already deciphered the truth.
Her gaze fell, and she took a hesitant step forward, her heart pounding within her chest. "Malachi, I love you," she admitted softly. "But The Order, it was... it was alright the way it was. We didn't need a change so drastic."
He remained silent, the tension in the room palpable as he absorbed her words. Then, with a fluid motion that defied his size, he turned to face her. The moonlight highlighted the strong contours of his face. His eyes bore into her, a blend of longing and betrayal swirling within their depths.
Without a word, he stepped closer until he stood directly in front of her. The space between them felt charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. His fingers, tipped with claws, traced a feather-light path down her cheek, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. His breath brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.
He leaned in, his lips mere inches from her ear. "I needed your support, Isolde," he whispered. The warmth of his breath caressed her, a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to permeate the room.
She looked up at him, her eyes locking onto his gaze. His eyes flashed, a brief glint of his inner wolf, and a sudden surge of fear gripped her heart.
Before she could react, his hands were on her, his fingers wrapping around her delicate throat. The suddenness of his action left her gasping, her pulse quickening as her heart raced in her chest. His touch was firm, his grip a reminder of his strength, but he didn't squeeze. Not yet.
His voice, tinged with regret, reached her ears. "You and I would have made great leaders, Isolde." His words hung in the air like a melancholic lament, a reflection of what could have been.
As his claws dug into her skin, Isolde's gasps became more pronounced, her breaths ragged as she struggled to find air. Panic and confusion warred within her, the pain in her throat a stark reminder of the danger that Malachi, consumed by his emotions, posed.
"Malachi, you're hurting me," she managed to croak out, her voice strained as her hands instinctively reached up to grasp his wrists. She tugged, attempting to loosen his grip, but his fingers remained resolute.
He seemed deaf to her pleas, his gaze unyielding as he stared down at her. "I loved you, Isolde," his words were a tortured admission, his voice laced with a mix of sorrow and anger. "I trusted you."
The claws, already embedded in her skin, dug deeper, and Isolde's vision began to blur at the edges. The world around her seemed to tilt, the air growing thin as a wave of darkness threatened to pull her under.
"Malachi, please," she begged, her voice barely audible as she teetered on the brink of consciousness.
"You betrayed me, Isolde," his words were a bitter accusation, his grip unrelenting as his eyes bore into hers, their once-familiar warmth replaced by a chilling emptiness.
The room seemed to spin around her, her struggle to breathe growing more desperate with each passing second.
As Isolde's vision dimmed further, the edges of her consciousness beginning to fade, she clung to the last remnants of her strength. Her world had narrowed to the sensation of his grip and the rapid beating of her heart. With a final surge of effort, she rasped his name one last time, her plea a whisper lost in the abyss that was swallowing her.
"Malachi…"