Malachi Barton Movies Novels & Stories

His eyes were teasing before he let out a soft laugh. “You did well, Mala. Keep it up!” Alleki smiled and raised his bottle of coconut wine. “Let’s dance and enjoy the night!” Attisha was lively. She stood up and grabbed Malaika to dance near the massive bonfire. “Hey, you know I can’t dance!” she protested. “How could it be possible? You’re an excellent warrior, and your body is supposed to be graceful in dancing, too.” Attisha started to dance according to the beat to the drums and bass.

"You want to be rich, Betty? You want to be the Queen of Newtown? You can have the ruins." ​I turned and threw the detonator with all my might—not toward the boat, but deep into the dark, oily water of the harbor. Splash. Betty let out a guttural scream of rage and started toward the edge of the pier, as if she could jump in and save her leverage. But a massive, tattooed hand caught her by the collar of her fur coat and jerked her back. ​Malakai stood over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. He looked like a primal version of the Grim Reaper, his chest heaving, his face splattered with the blood of the men who had tried to stop us.

“You’ve done it. You’ll do it. You’re going to kill us.” “No!” Malachi shot up, a piece of paper stuck to his cheek. He ripped it off, looking around the circular office stood as if a time capsule. He hadn't changed anything yet, but his father's body was burnt, so today was the day. He picked up the paintings he had been keeping for this occasion, all painted by his talented best friend. He pushed his deep auburn hair out of his face and got to work removing some of the paintings, he wouldn't remove all of them, his father didn't need to be scrubbed from the walls.

Malachi was using the chaos to draw the wolves out of the shadows, exposing the pack’s identity so that the balance between humans and supernaturals would be broken irreparably. The maximum tension reached its peak when they arrived at the central square. Richard, Helena’s ex-boyfriend, had been seen in one of Malachi’s surveillance vehicles, acting as the financier of that destruction purely out of petty revenge. Old enemies were uniting under new cruel fates. For Richard, it was about possession; for Malachi, it was about power; for Dante and Helena, it was about existence. “Look!” Malachi shouted, his voice amplified by megaphones as he positioned himself on the roof of the police station

assured me Malia would be home later and I left to go home. ****** Toffe I watched as everyone tried to get Malia to go back with them but there was something off about this place, it was a small town of misfits but it was run by Prince Clarke, King Barron's little brother. He was quiet and had no issue with anyone but was a close friend of Ryker and respected everyone. Last time I checked, he had no mate and was living out here as a bachelor, I promised to give him a visit because something is brewing in the atmosphere and I will check it out at a later date. T.J. mind-linked me that they were ready and we held each other as we teleported back to the club. I linked Lancelot, saying his spel

“Drink, drink, drink!” The chant rolled through the exclusive night club, voices bouncing off the walls, glasses clinking, lights flashing too bright. Malachi was in the middle of it, swallowing his twelfth shot like a champ. The second he slammed the glass down, the room erupted, cheers, claps, back slaps, someone whistling loud enough to pierce through the music. “You're a beast, man,” Jake said, wrapping his arm around Malachi’s thick neck. The guy actually blushed as he looked at Jake, cheeks flushed from booze or maybe from Jake himself.

Malachi. He sat alone at the far end of the bar, hunched over a glass of something dark and dangerous. His once commanding figure looked... faded. Greasy black hair hung over his eyes. His leather jacket was frayed at the sleeves, and the stubble on his face had grown into a full beard that didn’t suit him. He looked nothing like the ruthless Alpha who once terrorized half the territory. But I knew better. That feral fire – it was still in there. Smothered, maybe, but not extinguished.

Taking in his almost unnaturally large physique, I wondered if he was also a patient in the doctor’s experiments. “Glad you made it, Doctor,” Malachi said to me, his face unmoving but friendly. “This must be your Beta.” “Not much more than a side pup, looks to me,” the larger man said. I felt Wyatt bristle beside me, though on the outside he only narrowed his gaze.

Malachi answers. “Good, who is this person,” I asked. “Gryffon Valencia,” Malachi says. I look at Devon and Nate, and that’s when I realize that is the same person that they have recently started doing business with. I am not really sure why this is a huge issue. We all knew he owned several large businesses all over Europe and was a vampire. I can see the confusion on both Devon's and Nate’s faces as well. “Malachi we already knew he owned multiple businesses all over Europe and that he is a vampire,” Nate says.

~meanwhile in the basement~ Malachi's POV: I light up a cigarette as I listen to the screams and sounds of bones breaking as Atlas delivers another punch to one of those pussy fucks. There's seven men in total. Six henchmen and one stupid ring leader. I had Soren pull all of the information on the bartender and his friends, discovering they've been scamming people for years. Well they've messed with the wrong man this time. I look down at a couple of the files and recognize a few of the names so I dig further into their file only to find out their parents work for me in a couple of my companies. I smirk at the idea of fuckin up their lives before they lose them. I send out a few messages to