Page 43 of The Purrfect Rival

Kalyna’s expression darkened. “That explains the transfer records. They’re framing you while trying to figure out the charm. We need to show the council that footage.”

“Not yet,” he replied. “Let’s see how far this goes. I want solid evidence against Boz. Not hearsay or images of clandestine meetings. I need hand-in-the-cookie-jar proof. That’s the only way we can take him down.”

Rust studied the ancient text open before them, acutely aware of the warmth of her pressed against his side. Every point of contact sent sparks of pleasure through him. “Go over again what you said about the charm and altering reality. I need to understand it all better.”

“According to the records, it contains essence-magic from our ancestors designed to amplify natural fox abilities—including reality-bending.”

Rust looked at her. “What’s that mean exactly?”

Her copper hair fell forward across her cheek. He resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear, focusing on her words.

“As Dad said, the ancient warning says when the two-tailed charm leaves fox hands, illusions may become reality—our greatest power twisted into physical form. A lion now supposedly has the talisman with no fox magic protecting it.”

Understanding dawned. “If Boz could harness that...”

“He could make illusions solid,” Kalyna finished. “Create or destroy at will.”

A chill ran down Rust’s spine at the implications. No wonder Boz wanted the charm—and no wonder he seemed desperate to disrupt whatever was growing between Rust and Kalyna.

“The magic we create together,” Rust said slowly, watching their joined shadows on the wall. “It’s not typical, is it?”

Kalyna shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “Lion and fox magic rarely blend so... seamlessly. That’s why everyone stared when we created that spark in the council chamber.”

“Well, we’ve been officially sanctioned to work together,” Rust reminded her, a smile tugging at his lips. His fingers tracedsmall circles at the small of her back, gratified when she shivered at his touch. “Might as well take advantage of it.”

She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. The gesture of trust—casual yet profound—stirred something deep within him. He pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent, memorizing it.

His phone buzzed with an incoming call, shattering the moment.

“Mayor Leonid,” he answered formally, keeping one arm around Kalyna.

“Rust.” His mother’s voice came through clear and authoritative. “We need to speak privately. Now.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

Aurelia Leonid waited in her private study at the ancestral estate. Though she spent most of her time traveling now, the manor remained her official residence—and the seat of lion clan power in Enchanted Falls.

She rose as Rust entered, her graceful movements belying her centuries. Unlike many elders who embraced their apparent age, Aurelia maintained the appearance of a regal woman in her prime, her golden-blonde hair caught in an elegant chignon, her amber eyes sharp as ever.

“Mother.” Rust bent to kiss her cheek, catching the familiar scent of cedar and lion magic that had comforted him since childhood.

“My son.” She cupped his face briefly, a gesture she’d performed since he was a cub. Her gaze dropped to his fox-patterned tie, one eyebrow arching elegantly. “Making statements, I see.”

He didn’t flinch. “I’ve never lied to you. I won’t start now.”

A smile ghosted across her lips. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

The study remained as he remembered—leather-bound books lining mahogany shelves, the massive desk where hisfather had conducted clan business, the portrait of his parents above the fireplace.

“The lion council is divided on your... connection with the Foxworthy girl,” Aurelia began, pouring amber liquid into crystal glasses. She handed one to Rust. “Some support it as strengthening our political position. Others see it as diluting our magical lineage.”

Rust accepted the drink but didn’t taste it. “And you?”

“I see how she watches you,” Aurelia replied carefully. “I recognize that look. I once wore it myself.”

The reference to his father hung between them. Augustus Leonid had been dead for decades—a blink in their extended lifespans, yet still a raw wound for both of them.

“The connection between you isn’t merely attraction,” his mother continued. “Either she knows something significant... or she feels something profound. Something bigger than pride politics.”

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