30. Malachi

30

MALACHI

Moments Earlier

The polished mahogany conference table gleams under the soft lighting, contrasting with the tension crackling in the air. I sit at its head, my gaze sweeping over my pack. The scents of cedarwood and amber—my own pheromones—fill the room, mingling with the unique scents of each alpha present. Something feels off tonight, like the calm before a storm.

“Gentlemen,” I begin, my voice steady despite the unease churning in my gut, “let’s discuss our upcoming security protocols for?—”

A simultaneous buzz cuts through the room, harsh and jarring. Four phones light up at once, casting an eerie blue glow across concerned faces. My heart stutters, and a chill races down my spine. We’ve only used this group alert once before, when…

Quinn’s voice, usually playful, is tight with worry as he breaks the sudden silence. “It’s Aria.” His fingers fly over his tablet. “A red heart. She needs us.”

My mind races, but years of military training kick in. I force my voice to remain calm, even as my instincts scream to act. “Quinn, location?”

“On it, boss,” Quinn responds, his brow furrowed in concentration. The soft tapping of his fingers fills the tense silence. “Got her. Sending coordinates to our phones now. I also initiated my custom emergency protocol. It’ll scramble any surveillance within a two-block radius around the salon. You know, just in case our friend Noah has eyes on the area.”

Dash leaps up, knocking over his chair with a loud clatter. His usual carefree demeanor is gone, replaced by a simmering rage that surprises me. “I knew that bastard was trouble. I should have said something sooner.”

Zane’s eyes flash dangerously, his intense gaze locking onto Dash. The air crackles with alpha pheromones as aggression rises. “What do you mean sooner? You knew something?”

I raise a hand, silencing the brewing argument. Now isn’t the time for infighting. “Not now. Aria needs us. Move out.”

We rush to the garage, falling into a practiced formation. The smell of motor oil and leather fills my nostrils as I slide behind the wheel of our SUV. Zane takes shotgun, his body as tense as a coiled spring, while Quinn and Dash pile into the back.

“Quinn, contact Omega Guardians for backup,” I order, the engine roaring to life. Gravel crunches under the tires as we peel out of the driveway. “Zane, brief me on everything we know about Noah.”

Zane’s eyes narrow as he pulls out his phone, scrolling through recent intel. “Noah’s been moving in the shadows for months, setting up contacts in the black market. He’s linked to at least three suspected omega trafficking rings in the area, but nothing solid enough to pin him down until now. He’s been one step ahead of everyone, Malachi, including us.”

As Zane speaks, his voice low and controlled, I grip the steering wheel tighter. The leather creaks under my hands. How did I miss this? I should have been more vigilant.

“It isn’t your fault, Malachi,” Zane says, as if reading my thoughts. His hand lands on my shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from the usually stoic alpha. “We all dropped the ball on this one.”

I nod grimly, pushing down harder on the accelerator. The engine’s growl matches the fury building in my chest. “We’ll make it right. Aria’s safety is our top priority.” I look at him for a millisecond. “We won’t fuck this up again.”

The drive feels agonizingly long, though in reality, it’s mere minutes. The city blurs past our windows, streetlights creating a dizzying pattern. Dash’s leg bounces nervously in the back seat, a constant rhythm that grates on my frayed nerves.

“Hey,” Dash says suddenly, his voice lighter than the situation warrants, “remember that time we had to rescue Quinn from that bachelorette party? This can’t be worse than that, right?”

Despite everything, I feel a small smile tug at my lips. Leave it to Dash to find humor even now. “Let’s hope not,” I mutter, catching his eye in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think I could handle seeing you in a feather boa again.”

The tension in the car eases slightly, and I’m grateful for Dash’s ability to lighten the mood.

As we screech to a halt outside the salon, the tires smoking on the asphalt, I catch sight of Aria through the window. She’s backed against a wall with Noah looming over her. My vision blurs red for a moment, my alpha instincts roaring to protect what’s mine.

The scent of fear—sharp and acrid—hits me as soon as I step out of the car. It’s so strong, I can almost taste it, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to charge in immediately.

“Remember,” I growl to my pack as we approach the door, the bell jingling ominously, “Aria’s safety comes first. We don’t know if he’s armed or has backup.”

They nod, falling into formation behind me. I take a deep breath and center myself. The cool night air fills my lungs, clearing my head for a moment. Then, channeling all the authority of an alpha protecting his mate, I burst through the door.

The scene before me makes my blood boil. Noah has Aria by the wrist, his stance menacing, but it’s the look in Aria’s eyes that truly strikes me—determination mixed with fear, and underneath it all, relief at seeing us. The smell of her distress, like burnt oranges, fills the air.

Noah turns, his ice-blue eyes narrowing as they meet mine. His lips curl into a sneer, revealing teeth that seem too sharp and predatory. The scar along his jawline, usually hidden, stands out starkly in the harsh salon lighting. Everything about him screams danger, from the coiled tension in his muscles to the cold calculation in his gaze.

“Let. Her. Go.” The words come out as a growl, my alpha voice resonating with power. I feel it vibrate in my chest and see it ripple through the room as both Aria and Noah react.

Noah’s grip on Aria loosens, but he doesn’t release her. His eyes dart between us, assessing the threat. I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he calculates his odds. “Well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with false amusement. “The cavalry’s arrived.”

I can feel my pack behind me, tense and ready for action. The air is thick with competing pheromones—Noah’s threatening scent of pine and smoke, Aria’s distressed orange creamsicle, and our collective protective musk. It’s a dizzying cocktail, and I have to focus to keep my head clear.

“I won’t ask again,” I say, taking a step forward. The floorboards creak under my weight, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. “Release her. Now.”

Noah’s eyes narrow, a hint of uncertainty flickering across his face before his arrogant mask slips back into place. “Or what? You’ll attack me in broad daylight? In front of witnesses?” He gestures to the street outside, where a small crowd of onlookers has begun to gather. “That would be quite the scandal for the oh so respectable Alpha Malachi, wouldn’t it?”

His words give me pause, and I feel a flash of frustration. He’s right. We can’t afford a public spectacle, not with the delicate political situation we’re navigating with the mayor and Omega Guardians, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him walk out of here with Aria.

I take a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain level. “You’re outnumbered, Noah. Whatever you’re planning, it ends here. Let Aria go, and we can discuss this like civilized alphas.”

Noah laughs, a harsh sound that makes Aria flinch. The movement draws my eye, and I notice the way he’s gripping her wrist. There will be bruises there tomorrow, and the thought makes my jaw clench.

“Civilized? Please.” Noah’s voice drips with disdain. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, Malachi. This goes far beyond your little pack.”

Before I can respond, I hear sirens in the distance. Omega Guardians, right on time. The wail grows louder, cutting through the tension in the room. Noah hears them too, his expression darkening.

“This isn’t over,” he snarls, finally releasing Aria. She stumbles, and I have to physically restrain myself from rushing to her. Noah backs toward the rear exit of the salon, his eyes never leaving mine. “You can’t protect her forever, and when you slip up, I’ll be there.”

With that, he’s gone, disappearing out the back door. The bell jingles again, a cheerful sound at odds with the heavy atmosphere he leaves behind. Every instinct screams at me to chase him and end this threat once and for all. My muscles coil, ready to spring into action, but Aria’s soft whimper pulls me back to reality.

I’m at her side in an instant, gently taking her into my arms. She collapses against me, her whole body trembling. I can feel her heart racing and smell the lingering fear in her scent. “You came,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion.

“You’re pack, Aria,” I state, my voice low and firm, “and pack means no one gets left behind.”

As the rest of the pack gathers around us, forming a protective circle, I realize that everything has changed. The threat is real and far larger than we imagined, but looking down at Aria, feeling the strength of my pack around me, I know one thing for certain—this pack isn’t just a team, it’s a force of nature. Noah has no idea what he’s unleashed.

As we make our way back to the car, the night air carries the scent of change. Zane keeps a protective arm around Aria, his usual stoic expression softened by concern. Quinn’s fingers fly over his phone, no doubt setting up additional security measures, while Dash scans our surroundings, his body tense and ready for action.

I catch Aria’s gaze, seeing the mixture of fear and gratitude in her eyes. The line between pack safety and personal desire blurs with every passing moment. How long before I’m forced to redraw it?

The engine roars to life, a growl that matches the determination in my heart. Noah has made his move. Now it’s our turn to show him what a real pack can do.

As we drive away from the salon, leaving the wail of sirens behind, I make a silent vow. This isn’t just about weathering a storm. It’s about becoming the storm Noah fears.