MATED TO THE BEAST ALPHA BROTHERS
Chapter 44: The blade of malakar

Chapter 44: The blade of malakar

"You’re late."

Helen’s voice sliced through the heavy silence, her golden eyes sharp with suspicion.

Lyra hesitated at the threshold, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

She had practiced this moment in her mind a hundred times, but standing here....under the cold scrutiny of Helen and Layla....her carefully woven lie felt like it was unraveling before she even spoke.

Layla sat sprawled on the velvet chaise, swirling a glass of dark wine between her fingers, amusement curling her lips. "She finally decides to crawl back, after disappearing like a coward."

Helen folded her arms, stepping forward. "Where the hell have you been?"

Lyra forced herself to meet her gaze. "Haelyn had me."

The amusement drained from Layla’s face.

Helen’s eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"She captured me," Lyra continued, voice tight. "Kept me locked away for months, trying to break me, to turn me against you."

Layla clicked her tongue. "And yet, here you are. A survivor, aren’t you?"

Lyra swallowed.

"I escaped."

Helen stared at her for a long moment, then slowly stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.

"Then prove your loyalty."

Lyra stepped in, suppressing the unease creeping up her spine.

Helen turned to the dark oak table in the center of the room, lifting a black velvet cloth.

And there it was.

The Dagger of Malakar.

A relic of nightmares.

A weapon cursed to consume not just life, but existence itself.

Its blade was obsidian, runes carved into its hilt glowing with eerie red light.

"You know what this is?" Helen asked.

Lyra’s throat went dry.

"Yes."

Layla smirked. "Then you know what you need to do."

Lyra hesitated. "And if I don’t?"

Helen tilted her head. "Then we’ll know where your true loyalties lie."

The threat was clear.

And the choice was already made for her.

Lyra reached for the blade, feeling the weight of her doom settle in her palm.

"Put it through his heart." Layla whispered.

Lyra clenched her jaw.

One way or another, someone was going to die.

As Lyra turned to leave, the air behind her shifted....a ripple in reality itself.

A whisper slithered through the room, curling against her ear like cold breath.

"You’re already dead, Lyra."

Her body froze.

Helen and Layla didn’t react.

Because they hadn’t heard it.

She spun around, but....nothing.

Nothing but shadows.

Nothing but the dagger in her trembling hand.

And the realization that she was walking into something far worse than death itself.

"Look at that."

Lyra barely had time to react before a rough hand trailed down her arm, fingers lingering where they had no business being.

Malcolm.

She stiffened, her grip tightening around the dagger hidden in her cloak.

"You’ve been gone too long, Lyra," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "We were starting to think you’d abandoned us."

His hands weren’t idle.

They traced along her waist, slow, deliberate....testing how much she’d let him get away with.

Helen and Layla made no move to stop him.

They simply watched.

"You always were Archer’s favorite," Malcolm continued, his lips nearly grazing her skin. "Shame he won’t be around to protect you this time."

Lyra’s jaw clenched.

Don’t react. Don’t show fear.

"Don’t damage her, Malcolm," Helen finally sighed, waving a lazy hand. "She’s still useful."

Layla smirked. "For now."

Malcolm chuckled but....reluctantly....let her go, stepping back with a smirk as if he’d already had his fill of fun.

Lyra swallowed the bile rising in her throat, refusing to let them see how rattled she was.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left.

The moment she stepped into the dimly lit corridor, Lyra quickened her pace.

The dagger was heavy in her cloak, but the weight of their eyes had been heavier.

She needed to get out.

She needed to.....

A hand caught her wrist.

She gasped.

Tiago.

"Where are you rushing off to, sweetheart?"

Her pulse slammed against her ribs.

He was leaning casually against the wall, blocking her path.

But his grip wasn’t casual.

It was possessive.

"Tiago, let me go," she hissed.

"Tsk." His fingers traced the inside of her wrist, grazing her pulse. "You seem tense."

"You seem desperate," she shot back, yanking her arm away.

Tiago chuckled, but his gaze darkened.

"I’d be careful if I were you, Lyra."

"Or what?"

He leaned in, lips ghosting over her ear.

"Or you might find out just how much I enjoy breaking pretty things."

A chill slid down her spine.

But she didn’t break.

Instead, she forced a smirk.

"Funny," she murmured. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

Tiago’s eyes flashed.

For a second, she thought he might strike her.

Then,

"Run along, little snake," he murmured. "For now."

And just like that, he let her pass.

Lyra didn’t waste a second.

She walked.

Fast.

Then ran.

By the time Lyra reached Haelyn’s domain, her hands were shaking.

But she couldn’t stop now.

Not when she was so close.

The heavy doors loomed before her.

She pushed them open,

And there she was.

Haelyn.

Seated on a throne of dark mist, her fingers lazily tracing patterns in the air, her gaze distant....but knowing.

The Faceless Wraiths loomed in the shadows, silent as death itself.

Lyra swallowed.

"I brought it."

She pulled the Dagger of Malakar from her cloak and tossed it onto the cold marble floor.

Haelyn didn’t even glance at it.

"I want my freedom."

Haelyn finally turned her gaze to Lyra.

Her lips curled.

"Your freedom?"

Lyra’s chest tightened.

Something was wrong.

That wasn’t Haelyn’s voice.

Not entirely.

It was layered.....ancient, haunting.

Like multiple voices speaking at once.

"Yes," Lyra forced out. "I did what you asked. Now let me go."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then,

Haelyn stood.

With slow, deliberate steps, she descended from her throne, stopping just inches from Lyra.

She tilted her head.

"You still don’t understand, do you?"

Lyra’s mouth went dry.

"Understand what?"

Haelyn reached out....and tapped Lyra’s chest.

Pain exploded through her body.

Lyra screamed.

She staggered back, clawing at her chest, where the black widow curse writhed beneath her skin, burning, pulsing, spreading.

"I never said you were free, Lyra."

Her vision blurred.

Her breath hitched.

"You..."

Haelyn’s smile was slow.

Cruel.

"You’re still mine."

And as Lyra collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath..

The doors slammed shut.

Outside, the wind howled.

Somewhere, deep within the council halls, the elders’ meeting had begun.

Their voices rose in desperate argument, each one fighting over one terrifying question....

"How do we kill Haelyn before it’s too late?"

And in the shadows, a new enemy listened.

Smirking.

Waiting.