The Cursed Silver Wolf: Fated to the Ruthless Alpha

Chapter 8: The Mole

The morning after Serena dragged Lyra out of the Hunter compound, she stood in front of Damon's desk with her arms crossed and told him exactly what she was going to do. "I'm shaking every hand in this pack. Every senior member. Every Beta who sits at your command table. One of them is working for the council, and I'm going to find out who." Damon leaned back in his chair, the new obsidian desk gleaming between them. He hadn't replaced the cracked one because he wanted to — he'd replaced it because Gideon had walked in the morning after the contract signing, seen the fracture, and said nothing with the kind of silence that spoke louder than words.

"You think the council has a spy in my inner circle," Damon said. It wasn't a question. "I saw them," Serena said. She had. When she'd touched his wrist in this very office, the vision had come in fragments — a face, a whispered conversation, a sealed envelope changing hands. She didn't know the name yet, but she knew the shape of the betrayal. "They've been reporting on you for months. Maybe longer. Everything the council knows about Blackthorn's movements, about your plans, about me — it came from someone inside these walls."

Damon was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Do it. But you're not doing it alone. I'll be with you." Serena raised an eyebrow. "You think I need protection?" "I think the mole will run the second they realize you're reading them. And when they run, I want to be there." There was something in his voice that made her stop arguing. It wasn't possessiveness this time. It was something colder. Betrayal was the one thing Damon Blackthorn didn't forgive. Someone in his pack had sold him out, and the man who'd been ice for twenty-one years was about to become something much worse.

The introductions started at noon. Gideon had gathered the senior members in the main hall under the pretense of a routine briefing — pack expansions, territory updates, the usual business that kept a pack of this size running. Fifteen wolves in total. Betas, commanders, advisors. The backbone of Blackthorn. Serena entered with Damon at her side, and every pair of eyes in the room tracked her like she was a live grenade.

She'd planned it carefully. She wouldn't read them one by one. She'd shake hands with each of them as Damon made the introductions, a standard courtesy for a new Luna meeting the pack leadership. Nothing suspicious. Nothing that would make the mole bolt before she got to them. The trick was not in the shaking. The trick was in keeping her face still when the visions came.

The first hand was Gideon's. She'd touched him before, briefly, but this time she held on a beat longer. The vision came fast — Gideon at eighteen, standing over a grave. His father's. The old Beta Commander had died defending the pack, and Gideon had sworn on that fresh dirt that he would never let Blackthorn fall. There was nothing but loyalty in his memories. Nothing but grief and duty and the weight of a promise made to a dead man. Serena released his hand and gave him the slightest nod. He was clean.

The next six Betas were the same. Soldiers. Warriors. Wolves who'd kill and die for this pack. Their memories were battlefields and training grounds and the faces of packmates they'd lost. Loyalty ran through them like a bloodstream. She moved from hand to hand, keeping her expression neutral, letting the visions wash through her and recede. Not him. Not him. Clean. Clean. And then she reached the seventh.

His name was Orson. She remembered him from the training ground — he'd been one of the wolves watching her fight, not one of the ones she'd put down. Gray-haired. Quiet. The kind of Beta who'd served long enough to become invisible. When she took his hand, the vision didn't come as a flood. It came as a single, sharp image. An envelope. A seal — silver and black, the crescent moon crossed by an iron claw. And a voice she didn't recognize saying, "The Alpha is getting suspicious. Move the timeline up."

Serena's grip tightened before she could stop it. Orson's eyes flickered. He'd felt the change in her pressure. He'd been around long enough to know when something was wrong. "Luna?" His voice was calm. Too calm. The calm of a man who'd been trained to control his pulse. She let go of his hand.

"Damon," she said, her voice carrying across the hall. Every wolf in the room went still. "It's him."

Orson ran. He was fast for a Beta his age — fast enough to almost reach the door before Damon moved. Almost. The Alpha crossed the hall in three strides, grabbed Orson by the back of the neck, and slammed him face-first into the stone wall. The crack of bone against rock echoed through the hall. None of the other Betas moved. None of them even breathed.

"How long?" Damon's voice was quiet. It was always quiet when he was at his most dangerous. Orson didn't answer. Blood was running from his nose, and his lips were pressed together in a tight line. Serena stepped closer and knelt beside him. She didn't touch him. She didn't need to. "He's been reporting for eight months," she said, her eyes on Orson's face. "The council promised him a position. An elder's seat. He was going to betray you at the next full moon gathering and deliver me to Thornwood personally."

Orson's eyes went wide. He hadn't told her any of that. He didn't know how she'd pulled it out of his head, and the fear that crossed his weathered face said everything. "You're a monster," he hissed. "You're the curse the prophecy warned about. If the council doesn't stop you, you'll destroy everything." Serena stood up. She didn't look at Orson. She looked at Damon.

"The council knows about my company," she said. "They know about the silver wolf. They know about the prophecy. And they're scared. Scared enough to plant a spy in your inner circle for eight months." She turned to face the rest of the room. Thirteen wolves staring at her with a mixture of shock, fear, and something else. Something that looked a lot like respect. "The council killed my mother. They killed Damon's mother. They've been trying to control the Silver Moon bloodline for twenty years. And Orson here was their eyes and ears inside your pack."

Damon hauled Orson to his feet. The Beta's nose was still bleeding, and his face was pale. "You have one chance," Damon said, his voice still terrifyingly quiet. "Tell me everything the council knows, and I'll make your death quick. Lie to me, and I'll let Serena read every corner of your mind until there's nothing left you can hide." Orson's composure cracked. He talked. He talked for twenty minutes, and by the time he was done, Serena knew three things. The council knew where she was. The council knew what she was becoming. And the council had already sent word to a man named Rowan — the King of the Rogue Wolves — offering him a bounty for her capture.

Damon had Orson dragged to the cells. The rest of the senior members were dismissed, their faces a mixture of shock and shame — one of their own had been a traitor, and none of them had seen it. When the hall was empty, Serena turned to Damon. "Who's Rowan?" she asked. Damon's expression was unreadable. "Someone who knew your mother," he said. "Someone who might know more about what you are than either of us. The question is whether he'll help us or hand us over."

Outside the window, the moon was rising. Somewhere in the wild territories between the packs, the King of the Rogue Wolves was waiting. And for the first time since she'd walked out of the blizzard, Serena felt the weight of a name she'd been carrying her whole life without knowing it. Silver Moon. Cursed bloodline. The thing the council was willing to kill for. The thing her mother had died to protect. Whatever Rowan knew about her, whatever he decided to do with that knowledge — it was going to change everything.