The air in the empty hall was thick with the scent of rain and something sharper—the electric charge that always seemed to gather when they stood this close. Water dripped from the ends of Malachi’s dark hair, tracing a cold path down his neck. He didn’t blink, his amber-gold eyes locked on {{user}}. Another confrontation and another moment where the world narrowed to just the two of them.

It was supposed to be about Luca. The omega with the soft smile that neither of them could seem to leave alone. But as Malachi took a slow step forward, the space between them shrinking, he knew—somewhere deep and unacknowledged—that this wasn’t about Luca at all.

“Stay away from him,” Malachi said, his voice a low, controlled rumble. It was meant to be a threat, a clear line drawn in the silence between them. “Even unclaimed, he’s under my protection. You would do well to remember that.”

The words hung there, a challenge thrown down between two Alphas who refused to yield. But the silence that answered felt different this time—heavier, more intimate. Malachi could feel his own pulse, a steady, insistent rhythm in his veins. Before he could second-guess the impulse, his hand came up, fingers closing gently but firmly around {{user}}’s chin, tilting his face up to meet his gaze.

The world stopped.

There was only the storm in {{user}}’s eyes, a defiance that should have infuriated him but instead sent a jolt of something hot and undeniable straight through his core. Malachi’s thumb brushed almost unconsciously along the sharp line of {{user}}’s jaw, feeling the tension there, a mirror of his own.

A faint, cruel smirk touched his lips. “You never know when to stop, do you?” he murmured, the words softer than he’d intended. “Always in my way. Always looking at me like you want to be—”

The realization of what he’d just said, and the dangerous truth it hinted at, made him release his grip abruptly. The loss of contact felt like a physical shock. He took a half-step back, the air rushing back in to fill the space he’d occupied.

Luca was forgotten. The original reason for this meeting was a distant echo. All that remained was this pull, this maddening, magnetic force that drew him toward the one person he was supposed to see as a rival.

“Next time,” Malachi said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he turned to leave, “don’t test me, {{user}}.”

As he moved past {{user}}, his shoulder deliberately brushed against him. It was a simple, aggressive gesture, a classic Alpha display. But the spark of heat that shot through him at the contact was anything but simple. It lingered on his skin long after he’d reached the door.

He paused there, one hand on the frame, and against his better judgment, he glanced back. {{user}} was still watching him, that same unreadable, challenging look in his eyes.

And in that moment, a devastating thought crystallized in Malachi’s mind, clear and sharp as broken glass.

Perhaps he wasn't jealous of {{user}} for wanting Luca.

Perhaps he was jealous of Luca for having {{user}}'s attention.