Page 15 of Magic Unmasked

Ronan shook his head. Why not just open a bottle of beer like a regular guy? The guy set his teeth on edge. Ronan’s beast stirred beneath the surface. He had no patience for fae politics, and even less for Zephyr’s cryptic games. “Cut to the chase, Windchaser, or get off my porch,” he snarled. “What do you want?”

Zephyr took a step forward, the movement deliberate, measured. “I’m here because you’ve become more involved in this than you realize,” he said, his voice smooth but dangerous. “The High Council is rotting from the inside out, and you—whether you want to or not—are standing at the center of it.”

Ronan’s pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had heard enough whispers about the council’s corruption, but he’d always kept his distance, always stayed out of their mess. Until now. “I’m not interested in your games,” Ronan growled, his golden eyes narrowing.

“Oh, but you should be,” Zephyr replied, his tone soft, almost coaxing. “The council is manipulating more than just those who reside within the fae realm. Oberon is after the Duvall sisters. He has been for years. Over time, he’s placed curses and barriers around the sisters that have siphoned their magical strength.”

“Why should I care? They’ve become emboldened and aren’t always concerned about covering the magical trail they leave behind. Besides, isn’t Oberon your problem?”

“Only until he garners enough power to become yours and that of the other supernaturals here in New Orleans and beyond. You believe yourself to be the last of your kind…”

“And whose fault is that?” Ronan growled.

“Believe what you like, but it has left you in the position of being a guardian at the gate, so to speak, and protecting the Duvall sisters is part of it. Once a formidable force, they now stand at a crossroads, and they will need your help if they are to survive the gathering storm. I don’t have to tell you that the Council has been pulling strings for centuries, using humans, shifters, and anyone they can to maintain their power. And Lilith…” Zephyr paused, watching Ronan’s reaction carefully. “She’s a pawn, just like all the rest.”

Ronan’s chest tightened at the mention of Lilith. He knew she was loyal to the council, but the thought of her being used—manipulated—made his blood boil. Still, he couldn’t let Zephyr see how much that truth rattled him.

Zephyr took another step closer, taking a long sip from his bottle, his voice lowering. “The resistance is growing. We need people like you—people who can see through the council’s lies and aren’t afraid to fight back.”

Ronan growled low in his throat, his resolve wavering. He had always fought alone. But Zephyr’s words rang with a truth that gnawed at him, and it was almost too much to ignore. If the council was using Lilith, if they were manipulating her… he couldn’t just stand by and let it happen.

The night clung to the bayou, thick and oppressive, as Ronan stood on the weathered porch of his cabin; Zephyr Windchaser’s words still hanging in the air like a storm cloud on the horizon. The sounds of the bayou filled the humid air, a familiar rhythm that usually calmed the tiger within him. But tonight, no amount of stillness could soothe the fire building inside him.

Lilith had vanished again—of course she had—but it was more than just her absence that gnawed at him. It was the gnawing question Zephyr had planted, the notion that the council wasn’t just using her but manipulating everyone, including him. Ronan had always kept his distance from the politics of the fae, their twisted games, their petty power plays. But this... this was different.

Zephyr’s presence here, deep in the heart of Ronan’s sanctuary, was proof that the web of intrigue had grown wider than he’d imagined. The fae leader stood in the moonlight, his silver hair catching the faint glow, his pale eyes gleaming with intensity.

“There’s more at stake than you think, Ronan,” Zephyr said, his voice calm, but with a dangerous undertone. “The High Council is rotting from the inside out. You know it. You’ve seen their influence spreading like a disease, using people like Lilith to do their dirty work. The corruption runs deeper than even she knows.”

Ronan’s muscles tightened, fists clenched at his sides. “You expect me to believe that? Lilith would never?—”

“Lilith doesn’t know the full extent,” Zephyr interrupted, stepping forward, his gaze sharp and piercing. “They’ve kept her in the dark, like they do with all their loyal soldiers. You think she’s loyal because she knows the truth? No, Ronan, she’s loyal because they’ve fed her lies. And now, they’re pulling the strings behind every battle, every hunt. You’ve seen it yourself.”

Ronan’s pulse quickened. He had seen things, heard whispers of the council’s growing power. But he’d always kept his distance, thinking it was someone else’s problem. Not anymore. Zephyr’s words struck a chord he couldn’t ignore.

“They’re not just manipulating fae,” Zephyr continued, his voice low and dangerous, a ripple of barely controlled power behind it. “They’re controlling humans, shifters, anyone theycan use to maintain their power. They’ve been stirring up conflict, creating enemies where none existed before. And now, with the Duvall sisters... they’re pushing everything to the brink. It’s all part of their plan, and Lilith is just another pawn.”

Ronan felt a snarl building in his throat, the tiger inside him pacing restlessly. The image of Lilith—her ferocity, her loyalty to the council—flickered in his mind. Could she really be caught up in this? Could the council be using her without her knowing?

“You’re involved, whether you want to be or not,” Zephyr pressed, stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with conviction. “Join us. The resistance is growing. We can stop this before it’s too late.”

Ronan’s fists clenched, every instinct screaming at him to stay out of this, to walk away from the fae’s endless games. But Zephyr’s words, the truth that lingered beneath them, was undeniable. If the council was as corrupt as Zephyr claimed, then Lilith—and everyone else—was in far more danger than he’d thought.

Before Ronan could respond, a dark ripple tore through the air, thick with magic. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, every nerve in his body screaming a warning. He spun, his instincts flaring to life just as a low, cold laugh echoed through the night.

Morrigan.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding, Windchaser,” she purred, stepping from the shadows, her dark hair flowing around her like a storm cloud. Her pale blue eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, her smile twisted in sadistic pleasure. “I expected more from a supposed leader of the resistance.”

Ronan’s heart pounded as he took in the sight of her and the mercenaries flanking her—a pack of enforcers, each one more vicious-looking than the last, armed to the teeth and cracklingwith dark magic. The air around them was thick with menace, the bayou’s peaceful hum replaced by a suffocating tension.

Zephyr’s expression hardened, his calm exterior finally cracking as he stepped forward to face her. “You’ve always been too eager to follow orders, Morrigan,” he said coldly. “Still working for the highest bidder, I see.”

“Maybe,” Morrigan smirked, her voice dripping with malice, “but at least I’ll live to see who wins this game.”

The magic around Morrigan surged, the dark energy swirling like a violent storm. Her enforcers moved in, their faces twisted in cruel anticipation, weapons gleaming in the faint light as they stalked forward like hunters circling their prey.

Ronan’s tiger roared to life, his muscles coiling as the mist swirled up around him as the transformation began. His vision sharpened, senses on high alert as he prepared for the inevitable clash. But even as his body readied for battle, his mind kept circling back to Lilith. The thought of her being used, of her loyalty being twisted by the council, made his blood boil. And the realization that he cared—that he cared too much—only made him angrier.

---