Page 70 of The Purrfect Rival

Kalyna’s voice cut through his bloodlust, her presence in his mind a counterpoint to the lion’s fury. He hesitated, teeth still at Boz’s throat.

Look at his eyes!

Beneath the monstrosity Boz had become, traces of his cousin remained. More importantly, Kalyna had sensed the nature of the dark magic itself—not just enhancing Boz’s worst traits, but feeding on them, twisting them, amplifying greed and ambition into madness.

He’s as much victim as villain,her thoughts insisted.The heirloom’s dark magic has been influencing him since he first touched it.

Rust growled, his lion resistant to mercy.He tried to kill you.

And we’re better than that,she replied.End the magic, not the man.

The fox charm pulsed once, twice—then shattered in her hands. Instead of dissipating, its energy coalesced into pure crimson light that shot skyward, connecting with the moon at its zenith. Simultaneously, golden energy erupted from Rust’s body, joining the crimson beam in a spiral of power that illuminated the entire clearing.

Rust released his hold on Boz, stepping back as the combined magic washed over his cousin. Boz screamed—not in rage but in agony as layers of dark influence were stripped away. His monstrous form began to recede, the unnatural bulkdiminishing, twisted features reshaping toward their original configuration.

Rust staggered backward as the purifying wave intensified. Red and gold energy swirled through the clearing, neutralizing dark magic wherever it touched. The standing stones returned to their natural state, runes etched in the ground ceased their sickly glow, and the night air cleared of malevolent presence.

In the center of the circle, Boz collapsed to his knees and returned to his natural form—all dark magic burned away by the purifying light. His expression held bewildered horror as he stared at his trembling hands, now free of monstrous claws.

“What have you done to me?” he whispered, voice cracking.

“Freed you,” Kalyna replied, moving to stand beside Rust. “The magic in the heirloom was influencing you from the first moment you touched it.”

Rust studied his cousin’s face, seeing genuine confusion rather than the calculated malice he’d expected.

“It whispered promises...” Boz admitted, his voice hollow, “showed me visions of Leonid glory restored.” He looked up at them, seeing their united front, the claiming marks visible on their throats, the way their magics had merged into something greater. “I thought I was in control.”

“Dark magic always makes you believe that,” Elder Willow said, approaching with slow, measured steps. “It feeds on ambition and amplifies it to destruction.”

“The prophecy,” Boz murmured, gaze moving between Rust and Kalyna. “Red and gold united.”

“It wasn’t meant to be feared,” Kalyna said quietly. “It was meant to heal.”

Around them, the battle had ceased. Boz’s followers surrendered or fled, their leader defeated, their power source neutralized. Hezron approached with Echo and the other allies,all staring in wonder at the transformed ritual site, now bathed in pure moonlight.

Elder Willow knelt beside the shattered remains of the fox charm, gathering fragments with reverent care. “The artifact fulfilled its true purpose,” she announced, her ancient voice carrying surprising strength. “After centuries of division, balance has been restored.”

Rust felt Kalyna sway slightly against him, exhaustion finally claiming its due. He slipped an arm around her waist, supporting her without comment.

“What happens now?” Echo asked, looking between his sister and the lion mayor, centuries of clan separation visibly crumbling in their joint presence.

Rust’s gaze met Kalyna’s, the answer passing between them without words. “We rebuild,” he said simply. “Together.”

He turned to where Hezron waited for instructions regarding Boz. His cousin sat slumped on the ground, the weight of his actions—both those driven by dark magic and those born from his own ambition—visibly heavy on his shoulders.

“Take him to the council chambers,” Rust ordered, his voice firm but without the rage that had driven him earlier. “He’ll stand trial for his actions, but with the understanding that dark magic played its part.”

SIXTY-EIGHT

Kalyna floated through layers of consciousness, fragments of memory flickering behind her eyelids—crimson and gold magic twining skyward, Boz’s twisted form returning to normal. The scent of cedar and spice tickled her nostrils. Rust.

She forced her heavy eyelids open, blinking against soft morning light. The Foxworthy guest bedroom materialized around her—faded botanical wallpaper, antique fox-carved dresser, her grandmother’s worn quilt.

Rust’s powerful frame dwarfed the delicate fox-sized chair beside her bed. His golden head rested near her hand, eyes closed in exhaustion, fingers still twined with hers. Fresh cuts lined his jaw, torn shirt revealing bandages wrapped around his chest.

“You look terrible,” she whispered, voice hoarse from disuse.

His eyes snapped open, gold flaring to life. Relief washed across his features before his composure reasserted itself—though not quickly enough to escape her notice.

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