Luna. Chapter 177

(Rayn's POV)

The memory of exiling Malachar was seared into my mind like a brand. Even twenty-two years later, I could recall every detail of that terrible morning.

I'd given him twenty-four hours to leave our territory. Instead, he'd spent those twenty-four hours making one final attempt to contact Isabella.

Elena had called me at dawn, her voice shaking with rage and fear. "He's been outside Isabella's apartment all night. Just standing on the street corner, staring up at her windows."

I'd driven there immediately, finding my brother exactly where Elena had described. Motionless on the sidewalk, his eyes fixed on the second-floor apartment where the woman he claimed to love was hiding behind drawn curtains.

"Time's up," I'd told him.

"She knows I'm here," Malachar had said without looking away from Isabella's windows. "She's been watching me through the curtains for hours."

"She's been afraid of you for hours."

"She's been thinking about me for hours. About everything I said to her. About how different her life could be if she chose correctly."

The delusion in his voice had been absolute. Even after everything that had happened, he still believed Isabella was conflicted about her feelings.

"Malachar, she's never going to choose you. Not now, not ever. You need to accept that and move on."

"You don't understand women like I do, Rayn. Isabella is special. Powerful. She needs a mate who can match her strength."

"A mate who tries to control her mind with magical artifacts?"

"A mate who's willing to do whatever it takes to make her happy."

The circular logic had been maddening. In Malachar's twisted worldview, violating Isabella's free will was actually a form of love.

"Get in the car," I'd said. "I'm driving you to the bus station."

"I'm not leaving without saying goodbye to Isabella."

"Yes, you are."

For a moment, I'd thought he was going to fight me right there on the street. His hands had clenched into fists, and I'd seen the familiar blue flicker of magical energy around his fingers.

Then Isabella's front door had opened.

She'd appeared on her apartment steps wearing a bathrobe and an expression of absolute determination. "Malachar, I need you to hear something."

"Isabella, don't—" I'd started to say.

"No, this needs to be said." She'd walked down to the sidewalk, stopping just out of his reach. "I will never love you. Not in this lifetime, not in any other lifetime. What you're feeling for me isn't love, it's obsession. And if you really cared about my happiness, you'd want me to be with the person who makes me feel safe and cherished."

Malachar had stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language.

"You don't mean that."

"I do mean that. And if you don't leave me alone, I'll spend the rest of my life making sure every woman in the supernatural community knows exactly what kind of person you are."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The threat had been devastating because it was so precise. Isabella had understood that Malachar's ego couldn't survive being publicly exposed as a rejected stalker.

"Isabella—"

"Goodbye, Malachar. Don't contact me again."

She'd turned and walked back into her building without looking back. And I'd seen something break in my brother's eyes.

Not his obsession. That had remained intact. But his hope that she might eventually come around.

"She'll regret this," he'd said quietly.

"No, she won't."

"When her life with you becomes ordinary and predictable, she'll remember what I offered her. Passion. Intensity. A love powerful enough to change the world."

"Malachar, get in the car."

The drive to the bus station had been silent except for his occasional muttered comments about Isabella's "temporary confusion" and my "inability to satisfy a woman like that."

At the station, I'd bought him a ticket to a city three states away and handed him two thousand dollars in cash.

"This is it," I'd told him. "Don't come back. Don't call. Don't write letters. If I hear you've made any attempt to contact Isabella or anyone in our family, I'll turn you over to the authorities."

"For what crime?"

"Attempted murder. Magical assault. Stalking. Take your pick."

He'd looked at me with something that might have been pity. "You think you've won, don't you?"

"I think I've protected the woman I love from someone who wanted to harm her."

"Isabella doesn't know what she wants yet. But she'll figure it out eventually."

"Malachar—"

"This isn't over, Rayn. It's just postponed."

Those had been his last words to me. "This isn't over. It's just postponed."

At the time, I'd assumed he was talking about his feelings for Isabella. That he'd need time to get over his rejection and move on with his life.

Now I wondered if he'd been talking about something else entirely.

A plan that extended beyond winning Isabella's love. A revenge that could encompass our entire family.

The bus had pulled away with Malachar sitting in a window seat, still watching me with that same calculating expression he'd worn while stalking the woman he claimed to love.

And I'd made the mistake of feeling relieved that the crisis was over.

Twenty-two years later, I understood that the crisis had never ended. It had just gone underground, growing and festering until it was ready to resurface.

The question now was whether we'd be strong enough to handle what Malachar had become during his decades of exile.

And whether I'd made the right choice in showing mercy to someone who'd never deserved it.

Because if the recent attacks on our family were connected to my brother, then my decision to exile him instead of turning him over to the authorities had put every person I loved in danger.

Including the granddaughter he'd never met.

And the great-grandson he'd never get the chance to corrupt.

I'd chosen forgiveness over justice twenty-two years ago. I wouldn't make the same mistake twice.