Page 149 of Magical Mayhem

Every time his shadows darkened, he turned toward Keegan. Every lunge angled closer to him.

“No,” I hissed, forcing the flames higher, but Malore broke through again, his claws stretching, his shadow-body surging toward the steps.

And then…

“Not my daughter’s mate, you don’t.”

The voice was rough, steady, and so achingly familiar.

“Dad!”

Frank barreled through the chaos, torch in one hand, his other arm glowing faintly with the remnants of the bulldog curse that had dogged him for years.

He wasn’t shifting, not fully, but the strength was still there, in the set of his shoulders, in the stubborn bend of his jaw.

He didn’t hesitate. He flung himself straight into Malore’s path, the torch blazing as he drove it into the shadow’s chest. The fire hissed, Malore roaring as smoke exploded from the wound, his form buckling back.

“Get away from my family!” my father bellowed.

“I am your family,” Malore roared.

“Never,” my dad whispered as the Silver Wolf struck again, tearing into Malore’s leg, dragging him down.

My fire wrapped tighter, flames roaring higher.

For a breath, it looked like we had him surrounded, pressed on all sides.

But Malore’s shadows surged again, a gale blasting outward, flinging my father back, snapping the Wolf’s grip, scattering my fire into sparks. He rose, massive and snarling, his eyes locked on Keegan.

I stumbled, catching myself, my chest blazing with heat. “Dad, stay back!”

But he didn’t. He staggered to his feet, torch still in hand, his face set. “I didn’t raise you to do this alone, Maeve. We fight together.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I forced my fire forward again, my veins screaming. “Then stand with me, but don’t let him near Keegan!”

The Silver Wolf growled, her silver light blazing as she circled Malore again. My father planted himself at her side, his torch raised like a sword. Together, they pressed him back, step by step.

And still Malore’s gaze cut toward the steps. Toward Keegan, trembling, caught between man and wolf, his hazel eyes fighting against gold.

“Maeve,” Keegan rasped, his voice breaking. “Don’t let him…”

Malore lunged.

The courtyard shattered under the impact, his claws slicing through fire, through silver light, through torch flame. He struck straight for Keegan, his shadowed body blazing with fury.

I screamed, pouring every ember of the Flame Ward into one last surge. Fire exploded from the ground, a torrent of molten light that wrapped around him, burning his storm-flesh, searing his memories, igniting the very air. The Silver Wolf lunged with me, her jaws tearing, my father’s torch slamming down in one final strike.

For a moment, Malore faltered.

And then the skies changed.

The storm above cracked open, not with lightning, not with shadow, but with light.

I looked up, breath frozen, as the clouds split into ribbons of gold and white. Shadows shrieked, recoiling, scattering like ash in the wind. The skies themselves were answering, but not to me.

Across the courtyard, clusters of midlife witches had gathered. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands linked, their eyes glowing with something I couldn’t name.

Their wands blazed, their charms burned, but it wasn’t spells they were crafting. It was something older, something deeper.