The White Pulse

Chapter Nine: The White Pulse Kate’s POV The courtyard was a trap made of memories, but the air was starting to burn. My parents—or the things wearing their faces—stepped closer, their golden eyes glowing with a hunger that had nothing to do with love. "Don't be stubborn, Kate," my mother’s voice hissed, sounding like dry leaves skittering on stone. "You belong to the lineage. You belong to the dark." Beside me, Malik was vibrating. His wolf was caught in a loop of agony, staring at Aria. The woman he had spent years mourning was standing right there, accusing his father of her murder. He was paralyzed. If I didn't move now, the shadows would swallow us both. "Malik!" I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me. "She’s a ghost! A weapon! If you fall for this, his father wins twice!" His eyes snapped to mine, the gold in his iris flickering back to life. The word father seemed to act like a cold bucket of water. He blinked, the fog of grief clearing just enough for the Alpha to return. "The escape," he rasped, his voice raw. "The tunnels beneath the archives. They’re lined with silver-dust mortar. The shadows can’t pass through them." "We won't make it to the archives," I said, looking at the army of shades blocking the way. "Unless..." I looked at my hands. The white light was still pulsing, fighting the violet corruption. I realized then that I wasn't just a wolf; I was a living circuit breaker. "Hold on to me," I commanded. Malik didn't hesitate. He wrapped a massive arm around my waist, anchoring me. I didn't try to shift into a wolf this time. I reached deep into that "ancient and furious" thing that had woken up inside me and pulled. I didn't want to fight the Void; I wanted to blind it. A scream tore from my throat as I released everything. It wasn't a physical blast, but a wave of pure, concentrated presence. The white light exploded outward in a 360-degree shockwave. It hit the shades of my parents and Aria, and for a split second, they didn't look like people anymore—they looked like flickering static on a broken screen. "Go!" I choked out. Malik didn't need a second prompt. He leapt from the balcony, shifting mid-air. The massive charcoal wolf landed silently on the stone below, with me clinging to his fur. The light had stunned the shadows, creating a temporary "dead zone" where the violet mist couldn't reach. Malik ran. He wasn't running like a hunter; he was running like a streak of lightning. We tore through the courtyard, passing wolves who were starting to snap out of their trance as my light washed over them. "To the archives!" I yelled over the rushing wind. We skidded around the corner of the pack house just as the scream of the "husband-thing" echoed behind us. The light was fading. The shadows were recovering. Malik reached the heavy iron grate leading to the cellars. With a roar, he shifted back to human form just long enough to wrench the rusted metal upward with supernatural strength. "Inside! Now!" he barked. I tumbled into the darkness of the stone chute, Malik falling in right behind me. He slammed the grate shut and threw the heavy silver-lined bolt just as a dozen dark hands slammed against the metal from the other side. The sound was like hail on a tin roof, but the hands couldn't penetrate. The silver in the mortar hummed, a low-level barrier that made my ears ring. We were in the dark. We were underground. And for the first time in an hour, the suffocating pull of the Void was gone. I sat on the cold floor, my lungs burning. Malik was breathing hard beside me, his silhouette barely visible in the gloom. "You saved us," he whispered. "We aren't saved yet," I said, leaning my head against the damp stone. "My parents are gatekeepers, your father was a murderer, and your brother is a general for the apocalypse." The silence that followed was heavy. Then, Malik’s hand found mine in the dark. His grip was firm, grounding. "Then we change the story," he said. "The archives aren't just a hiding spot, Kate. They hold the records of the first Golden Wolf. If your parents opened the door, there has to be a record of how to lock it from the inside." I squeezed his hand back. The bond was still there—quiet, steady, and for the first time, it didn't feel like a curse. It felt like a tether to the real world. "We find the record," I agreed. "And then we take our pack back."