Submission is Not My Style novel Chapter 137

The night air is sharp, heavy with the tang of ash and something darker–corruption that clings to the earth itself. The Queen stands cloaked in shadows, her breathing steady though her pulse races. Her fingers curl against the hollow of her throat where her necklace should rest–but it lies in the wrong hands, Malik’s. She can feel him feeding from it, leeching her strength, making every heartbeat slower, heavier. Still, she steels herself. Tonight, it ends.

Jack steps into the clearing, tall and proud, standing in the very place where he had once found Fury’s body broken and bleeding, after Malik nearly killed him. Because Malik wields darkness–magic that stains every place it touches–the residue lingers here, a foul mark on the earth. That stain is a door, a tether, a point of return. Jack knows Malik can appear anywhere his magic has left its trace. And here, of all places, the pull will be strongest.

Moonlight glints in Jack’s eyes, catching the steel within them, the hardness carved by years of grief and fury. His jaw is clenched, fists balled tight, his every movement a storm barely contained. He knows his role: draw his uncle out, enrage him, force him into the open.

But he hates it–that Kali isn’t here, that she doesn’t know he and her mother have already gone to face the darkness. If she had known, she would have fought to come, and her fear would have been a weapon Malik would use against them. Worse still, her presence would have. Jack tells himself it was necessary to keep her in the dark, but bitterness burns all the same. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

“Uncle!” Jack’s voice rips through the night. His words aren’t bait–they’re truth sharpened into a weapon. “I know you’re watching. Crawling in the dark like the rat you are. Come out and face me. Or are you still limping from the day I broke you?”

The Queen closes her eyes briefly, praying his words are enough. She knows Malik’s pride, his hunger for vengeance. He won’t resist.

Silence falls, so deep it presses against their skin. Then–laughter. Twisted, hoarse, like metal scraping against bone.

The shadows stir. The earth cracks. And Malik steps out.

Jack stiffens, and though he had prepared himself, the sight still strikes him like a blow. Fury’s words hadn’t been exaggerations–they had been warnings. Malik’s body is almost unrecognizable. His once- proud frame is gaunt, twisted, veins blackened and crawling up his skin like serpents. His eyes are pits of void, glowing faintly red at the edges, hollow and yet burning with unholy fire. His gait is uneven, one leg dragging, but it does not speak of weakness. Instead, it radiates menace, as though every step spills poison into the ground.

“Alpha Jack…” Malik’s voice drips with mockery, stretched thin and hollow, warped by Veydris itself. “ The little pup who thought himself a wolf. You broke my legs, yes…” His cracked lips split into a ghastly grin. “But you didn’t finish the job. That was your father’s mistake, too. And look how he ended.”

Jack’s muscles ripple with restrained violence. A growl rumbles deep in his chest as he takes a step

forward. “You’re not even a wolf anymore. Just a parasite. A disgrace to our bloodline.”

Malik tilts his head. For a fleeting moment, his face flickers–remnants of the man he once was surfacing

before dissolving back into corruption. “Our bloodline made me,” he rasps. “And it will end with me.”

Still hidden in the shadows, the Queen’s hand trembles as her gaze locks onto the necklace wrapped

around Malik’s neck. The time is near. Her breath hitches, knees weakening beneath the pull of it–Malik

is draining her even now. But she does not step out. Not until his guard is fully down. That is the plan.

Jack narrows his eyes, voice cutting through the tension. “Then finish what you started, Uncle. Face me

like a wolf–if there’s anything left of you at all.”