34. Malachi

34

MALACHI

The energy at the Red Door feels electric. The music pulses through the walls, and the laughter and chatter of the crowd fill the air. I stand by the VIP bar on the second floor, waiting for our drinks. My shoulders are relaxed, but my mind is a scrambled mess as I scan the room for any sign of Aria. She said she was on her way with a friend, and a part of me regrets not insisting on picking her up myself. As the leader of this pack, her safety is my responsibility, and the thought of her being out there alone gnaws at me.

I can't help but glance at every woman with pink hair or an elven face. She's wiggled under my skin, and I feel wrong without her by my side.

I should have picked her up.

I glance at the stage, where Dash's band, Silver Strings, is performing. Dash is in his element, his carefree, playful nature shining through as he strums his guitar and sings into the mic. The crowd loves it, and I can't help but smile at my friend's infectious energy. He's literally the alpha version of a golden retriever—until he pauses, holds up his hand, and winks at the crowd before he rips off his shirt.

I just shake my head and turn away as the crowd erupts.

Quinn is engaged in an animated conversation with a group of fans near the catwalk overlooking the stage. His eyes light up as he talks, his hands moving expressively. "So there I was, trying to explain quantum mechanics to a five-year-old. You can imagine how well that went," he says, earning a round of laughter.

I honestly don't think a single one of them has any idea what he's saying. Okay, maybe the guy wearing a periodic table shirt.

Zane, on the other hand, leans against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes scanning the club. A few people cast glances his way, drawn by his resting bitch face, but he seems lost in thought, oblivious to the attention.

Logan Pierce is the only one holding down our table. There's something almost endearing about his eagerness to fit in. His attempts at charm are a bit clumsy, but sincere. He laughs a little too loudly at jokes, his eyes constantly darting between pack members as if afraid he'll miss something. It's clear he's trying hard to make a good impression, and I find myself oddly touched by his efforts.

Catching my gaze, he holds up his hand and smiles, beckoning all of us to him. At the same time, the bartender hands me my glasses and pitcher of beer, which I grab and take over to our VIP table, given to us by Dash.

Clearly, he has big rock star dreams.

I join them, taking a seat and pouring beers for everyone. Logan leans back in his chair, exuding relaxed confidence. "Here's to opening night," he says, raising his glass with a grin.

We all clink glasses, and the mood around the table feels light and convivial. I have no idea what any of them are talking about because the music is so damn loud, so instead, I watch Logan's actions—how he leans in and makes eye contact, how he encourages the others and boosts them up. Logan's charisma shines as he engages each member in conversation, sharing stories and jokes that make him seem like one of us.

I reach out through our pack bond, feeling the unique signatures of each of my brothers—Zane's ever present caution, Quinn's analytical curiosity, Dash's vibrant energy. They're all there, a comforting tapestry of familiar emotions that grounds me even here. We don't know Logan, which is the whole point of this hangout, even though I hoped Aria would also be here. Dash seems to really like Logan, who appears to be the closest to his age. That's the primary reason I want to give this a thought—not necessarily a chance, but consideration.

While Zane and I have always been close, and Quinn seamlessly blended with us, Dash has always been the odd man out. He'll never admit it, but I feel it. I can feel his desire for a friendship closer than what he has with us.

I'm not even upset about it. Hell, I should be the one giving him that connection he so desires, but I also realize it's more than that. He needs to connect with someone on his level, and I won't ever be that for him.

"So, Quinn, tell me more about that quantum mechanics fiasco," Logan prompts, a twinkle in his eye.

Quinn chuckles, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Well, the kid thought I was talking about magic, so I just went with it. I mean, quantum mechanics is basically magic, right?"

The table erupts in laughter, and even Zane's lips curl into a rare smile. Logan then turns to Zane, his tone curious. "Zane, you've been pretty quiet. Have any interesting stories to share?"

Zane shrugs, his gaze distant. "Not much of a storyteller," he says, but the intensity in his eyes hints at countless untold tales.

Logan doesn't miss a beat, seamlessly shifting his attention. "Malachi, how about you? You have to have some good stories from your travels."

I sit back, my shoulders relaxed. "Nothing too exciting, just the usual pack business and keeping everyone in line," I say with a small smile.

Logan nods, his eyes sharp and assessing. "Must be a lot of responsibility. Keeping the pack together, I mean."

"The bond keeps us together," I hedge. Dash may like Logan, but I'm not about to give him complete access to us and our bond. Logan doesn't blink as I give him my answer. My gut is telling me to hold my cards close to my chest. It's not because I think Logan is a bad guy, but a pack bond is sacred and binding. We must, above all else, remain unified.

He nods as though he understands, but I'm not sure he does. Can any outsider ever truly grasp the depth of a pack bond? Especially for an alpha without a pack. I try to pick up the emotions from my pack, seeking their silent input, but the club's energy interferes, creating a cacophony of sensations that muddle our connection. The crowd's excitement bleeds into our bond, and Dash's performance on stage causes pulses of exhilaration that overshadow the others' more subtle reactions. Luckily, he is finishing up on stage. When he joins us, I'll get a better idea of how they all feel once we are together.

Even so, I catch fragments of emotions—wariness from Zane, a spark of curiosity from Quinn, and adrenaline and excitement from Dash. All their emotions swirl together into one overwhelming sensation I struggle to sift through.

I take a slow sip of my drink, watching Logan interact with my pack. Adding another alpha isn't unheard of, it could even strengthen us. But as the leader, I need to be sure. My instincts are usually sharp, but tonight, they feel…muffled. The weight of leadership settles heavily on my shoulders as I consider the potential risks and benefits of allowing Logan to be closer to our pack.

"A pack bond isn't just some mystical connection," I state, my voice carrying the weight of leadership. "It's a promise, a shared purpose. Each of us would lay down our lives for the others without hesitation. That's not something you can fake or force." I leave the statement hanging, an unspoken challenge for Logan to prove he understands the gravity of what he is asking about.

"Why haven't you joined a pack?" Zane blurts out, his beer untouched.

Logan leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he considers Zane's question. "I've always been a bit of a lone wolf, I suppose," he says with a wry smile. "I never found a pack that felt like the right fit."

Zane's eyes narrow, his posture stiffening slightly. I feel his suspicion radiating through our bond. He's always been the more suspicious of us. Zane's eyes narrow, his body tensing like a coiled spring. "Convenient, isn't it?" he says, each word sharp as a blade. "Most alphas would kill for a pack. But you? You've been drifting solo all this time, and suddenly we're your golden ticket? What's your angle, Logan?"

I watch the exchange carefully, noting the subtle shifts in my packmates' demeanors. Quinn is still curious, glancing between Zane and Logan as he absorbs every word. A flash of Jane's face crosses my mind, reminding me of how easily we were fooled before. Never again, I think, pushing away the warmth I feel around Aria. Better to keep my guard up, no matter how right she feels.

Logan meets Zane's gaze, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before he masks it. "I… It's not that simple," he says, his usual smoothness faltering. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. "Being alone was easier than risking rejection, you know? But seeing you guys, how you are with each other…it made me realize what I've been missing."

His words sound sincere, but I can't shake a nagging feeling of unease. Zane's skepticism hasn't wavered, but that's no surprise. Quinn's mind is racing, likely analyzing every nuance of Logan's response.

"Finding the right pack is important," I say carefully, drawing Logan's attention, "but it's equally as important for the pack to find the right new member. Trust and compatibility go both ways."

I let the statement hang in the air. As I watch his reaction, I silently urge my packmates to remain cautious. There is more to Logan than what meets the eye, and until we know more, we need to guard our secrets carefully.

"I do have a question." Logan finishes his drink and leans back. "You don't have an omega."

"We don't." I shift uncomfortably.

"Why not?" he asks.

I glance at Quinn, who avoids my gaze—interesting—then to Zane, who just glares at Logan. "We are registered with Scent Synergy," I say carefully.

He nods slowly. "Never registered myself." He shrugs.

"We are also courting someone," Quinn tells Logan as though he is gearing up for an argument.

Logan raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Quinn's statement. "Courting someone? That's a big step for a pack. Who's the lucky person?"

I clear my throat, drawing Logan's attention and interrupting anything Quinn or Zane may have to say. "We are exploring some potential changes to our pack dynamic," I say, deliberately keeping my words vague, "but it's still early days."

Logan raises an eyebrow, intrigued by my cryptic statement. "Sounds interesting. Any specifics you can share?"

I exchange a quick glance with Quinn, feeling his caution through our bond. "Not really," I reply, my tone casual but firm. "As I said, it's early in the process. We prefer to keep these matters private until things are more concrete."

Quinn leans forward, his expression neutral. "Every pack has its own way of handling growth and change. We are just taking our time to ensure any decisions align with our pack's needs."

Logan nods slowly, his gaze moving between us. "I see. Well, I hope whatever you're considering works out for the best."

Zane remains silent, his eyes narrowed slightly as he observes Logan's reaction. I can sense his approval of our discretion.

I offer a noncommittal smile, steering the conversation in a different direction. "Enough about pack business. Tell us more about your travels, Logan. You mentioned you've been a lone wolf for a while. Any interesting stories from the road?"

Just then, Dash bounds over to the table, his energy infectious as always. "Hey, guys. Did you see the show? It's a damn shame Aria had to leave."

I tense slightly at the mention of Aria's name, my senses immediately on alert. A pang of worry shoots through me. I should have insisted on picking her up. What if she's in trouble? Dash's excitement is clouding his usual discretion, but I can't shake my unease about Aria's absence.

"Oh? What happened to Aria?" Logan asks, leaning forward with sudden interest. His eyes seem to light up at her name. "She sounds special. How long have you known her?" His gaze flicks between us, as if searching for something specific in our responses.

Dash just shrugs, grabbing a pretzel. "Something came up, I guess. No biggie." I silently will Dash to stop there, but he freaking continues, oblivious to my concerns. "I'll just catch up with her later at home."

Fuck.

Logan's eyebrows shoot up, a mix of emotions flashing across his face too quickly to read. "She lives with you?" he asks, his voice oddly strained. He seems to catch himself, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "That's…nice. Must be great to have someone like that around."

"It's a temporary arrangement," I interject quickly, trying to downplay the situation. "Nothing unusual about friends helping each other out."

I shoot Dash a warning look, hoping he will pick up on my discomfort through our bond. To my relief, I feel a flicker of understanding from him.

"Right, yeah." Dash nods, finally catching on. "Just crashed on the couch for a bit. You know how it is."

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but his phone chimes, cutting him off. He glances at it, his expression flickering between emotions too quickly for me to read. "Sorry," he mutters, pocketing the device. "Just…old ghosts." He laughs, but it sounds hollow, forced. I can't help but wonder what demons he's running from. "Anyway," he continues, his tone suddenly light, "sounds like you guys are close."

I force a casual shrug, even as my mind races. We've revealed too much already. I need to steer this conversation away from Aria and our pack dynamics before Logan pieces together more than we want him to know.

"Close enough to help out a friend in need," I say, keeping my tone light. "Let's not bore Logan with our domestic arrangements. How about another round?" I gesture to our empty glasses, hoping to change the subject.

Logan's gaze darts between us, his smile a touch too wide, his laugh a beat too late. There's an eagerness in his eyes that borders on desperation, as if he's trying too hard to fit in. His smile is all charm and warmth, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Another round sounds great," he says, his tone light but somehow hollow. "Next round is on me."

As Logan heads to the bar, I exchange quick glances with my packmates. Through our bond, I sense a mix of emotions—Dash's lingering excitement, Quinn's curiosity, and Zane's simmering suspicion. We need to be more careful with our words.

When Logan returns with a tray of drinks, he seems eager to steer the conversation in a new direction. "So tell me more about how you all met. It's not often you see such a tight-knit group."

I take a sip of my drink, buying time to consider my response. How much should we reveal about our history? I set my glass down, meeting Logan's gaze with a measured look. "You know how it is in our world," I say, my tone casual but guarded. "Paths cross and connections are formed. We found we worked well together and shared similar values. Over time, those connections deepened into something more."

Quinn nods, picking up on my cue. "It wasn't any one moment, really. More of a gradual realization that we were stronger together than apart."

"Yeah, man," Dash chimes in, his usual enthusiasm tempered by a glance in my direction. "Sometimes the right people just find each other, you know?"

Zane remains silent, but I feel his approval through our bond. We've given Logan an answer without really revealing anything specific about our pack's formation or individual histories.

"Interesting," Logan muses, his eyes moving between us. "Sounds like fate brought you all together."

I shrug, offering a noncommittal smile. "Fate, circumstances, mutual benefit—call it what you will. In the end, what matters is the pack we've built."

"All right." Logan nods, poking his tongue in his cheek. "Shots and beer all around," he begins to grab shots from the tray he got with our drinks.

Dash begins to hand out shots, and Logan pours beer while the DJ begins a new set.

"To Clarke pack," Logan says, raising his glass. "I can't wait to get to know you guys even more." He throws back his shot, and we all follow suit.

As the night progresses, a subtle change comes over me. My reactions seem slightly delayed, and the lights appear a touch brighter than before. I attribute it to fatigue and the drinks, but as the hour wears on, an unusual lethargy settles into my bones. There's something off about how quickly it's affecting us all.

Zane coughs and sputters, his face going red. Logan immediately claps him on the back, a look of concern crossing his features. "You all right there, buddy?"

I watch the two of them closely, my senses on high alert. Zane isn't one to lose composure like that, especially after a simple shot. Through our bond, I feel a surge of surprise and discomfort from him, quickly masked but unmistakable.

Logan's hand lingers on Zane's back, the gesture seemingly friendly, but something about it sets my teeth on edge. Why is he so quick to offer physical comfort to someone he barely knows, and why does Zane allow it?

"I'm fine," Zane rasps out, his voice rough. He shrugs off Logan's hand, but not before I catch a flicker of…something in Logan's eyes. Satisfaction? Curiosity? It's gone too quickly for me to be sure.

"That must have been stronger than we thought," Logan says, his tone light but his gaze sharp. "Maybe we should slow down?"

I force a casual chuckle, even as my mind races. "Good idea. We aren't all seasoned drinkers like you, Logan."

He just laughs my comment off.

As I take another sip of my drink, I notice a subtle change. There's an odd aftertaste, barely perceptible but definitely there. I furrow my brow, trying to place it. Is it just cheap liquor or something else?

"Everything all right, Malachi?" Logan asks.

I force a smile. "Yeah," I lie. "Which bar did you go to?"

"The VIP," he replies, pointing to the bar not ten feet away.

Time seems to stretch and warp, each minute feeling longer than the last. The music, once a steady beat, now pulses erratically, sending jolts through my body. Lights flare and dim in nauseating patterns, and voices around me blend into an indistinguishable hum. A creeping sense of wrongness settles over me, my instincts screaming a warning I can't quite comprehend. My vision swims, the edges of my sight blurring and pulsing. Sounds become distorted, as if I'm underwater, and my skin prickles with an unnatural sensitivity. I blink rapidly, trying to dispel the creeping fog that's invading my mind, but it only seems to thicken with each passing second.

Our pack bond, usually a comforting presence in the back of my mind, now feels like a tangled mess of confusion and fear. I reach for it instinctively, seeking the clarity and strength it usually provides, but it's like grasping at smoke. The disorientation seeps through our connection, amplifying our collective unease and clouding our judgment.

I try to rally my thoughts and piece together what's happening, but it's like trying to catch smoke. Something's wrong, but I can't quite grasp what it is. My limbs feel heavy, and my reactions are delayed. I should be alarmed, but even that emotion feels muted.

"I think…" I start, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. "I think we should call it a night."

Logan nods, swaying slightly. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I'm feeling pretty buzzed myself."

We stumble out into the night, the sudden shift from the club's stuffy interior to the crisp outdoor air feeling like a physical blow. The world tilts and spins, streetlights blurring into streaks of color. I lurch forward, my hand grasping desperately at the rough brick wall, seeking any form of stability in this suddenly chaotic world.

Through the haze, I notice Logan swaying, his movements slightly off but not as uncoordinated as ours. He reaches out to steady Dash with surprising precision. "Whoa," he says, his words only slightly slurred. "Think we all might've overdone it a bit." His eyes dart between us, a mix of concern and something else I can't quite place in my foggy state.

Zane catches my eye, his gaze clouded but suspicious. He noticed it too. Logan's drunkenness seems…off somehow. It's too controlled, too convenient.

"Whoa, steady there," Logan says, slurring his words, but his grip is firm as he helps Quinn stay upright. "Maybe we should call a cab?"

I shake my head, trying to clear it. "No, we'll be fine. Just need a minute."

Logan's demeanor shifts subtly. The drunken sway lessens, his eyes sharpening. "Come on, Malachi. You're in no state to get home on your own. Let me help."

Logan's movements catch my eye. There's something off about them, but in my hazy state, I can't quite put my finger on what. His words slur, but there's a strange clarity in his eyes that doesn't match his apparent intoxication. A sense of unease settles in my gut, like pieces of a puzzle I can't quite see are trying to fall into place. Something feels wrong, but the fog in my mind makes it impossible to grasp what. I try to voice my concerns, but my tongue feels heavy and uncooperative.

"I can drive," Logan offers, pulling out his keys. "I didn't drink as much as you guys."

Every instinct I have screams in protest, but my body won't cooperate. I see my packmates nodding, relief evident on their faces at Logan's offer. I want to shout, to tell them it's a trap, but I can't form the words.

"No," I croak out, my voice weak even to my own ears. "We'll call…call someone else."

Logan's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Don't be stubborn, Malachi. I'm just trying to help."

"You're drunk." I slur.

For a moment, I don't think he is going to listen, until he says, "You're right, let me call a ride. We can wait in my car. It's just over there." He points to a corner of the parking lot.

As he guides us toward his car, his grip on my arm tightens. The fog in my mind thickens, but one thought cuts through clear as day—we're in danger, and I can't do anything to stop it.

Suddenly, a chilling realization cuts through the fog in my mind. The odd taste in our drinks, our unusually severe symptoms, Logan's apparent immunity—it all clicks into place.

We've been drugged.

I lock eyes with Zane one last time, seeing my own fear and suspicion mirrored in his gaze, and then the world tilts, and darkness closes in.