Waking Up New Moon

Revenge Infiltration Plan

The order was given in the dead of night, when the moon was high and full, casting silver light over the training grounds. Alaric stood in the centre, arms crossed, his face like granite. The triplets flanked him, grim and silent. They had waited long enough. It was time to move.

"Send them," Rowen said simply.

Alaric gave a sharp nod.

The wolves he summoned were not ordinary. They were the best of the best, silent predators, ghosts in the night. Their official designation: The Shadow Fangs. Within the pack, they were whispered about with reverence and fear. Unmatched in stealth, deception, and silent kills, these wolves had infiltrated the most dangerous rogue dens, torn apart underground networks, and vanished without leaving a single trace.

Each one of them had their own history, bloody, complicated, and loyal to Alaric above all else.

There were five of them:

Kael, the leader, a towering brute of a wolf with a scar slicing through his brow. Once a beta of the Blackfire pack, he'd gone rogue to assassinate a traitor alpha and returned with the head as proof. He didn't speak unless necessary, but when he did, everyone listened. His silence was not absence, it was calculation.

Vera, the mistress of disguise. She could alter her scent, her mannerisms, even her accent to slip into any pack like she was born there. It was said she once lived in a rival pack for six months, gathering secrets before burning it to the ground. She was ice-cold under pressure, and no one could tell who she really was, not even her allies.

Damon, the tech-savvy one. A wiry, intense wolf with sharp eyes and sharper reflexes. He could hack into pack communication systems, track encrypted messages, and manipulate digital footprints. Rumour had it he once faked a Luna’s death certificate to pull her from an abusive pack and disappear her without a trace.

Talia, the tracker. She could find a heartbeat in a hurricane, follow a scent over rivers, snow, and fire. Her nose had never failed her. She never hunted for sport, only justice, and her loyalty to Savannah's bloodline was carved into her very bones.

Matteo, the executioner. No kill ever escaped his hands. If Kael pointed, Matteo finished. He was the edge of the blade, clean and merciless. He carried a necklace of tiny bones, souvenirs from those the world would not miss.

They assembled under the cover of trees, their eyes catching the moonlight, sharp and focused. No greetings were exchanged, only nods, and the silent understanding that the mission ahead would define them.

Alaric handed Kael a sealed dossier. Inside was everything the triplets and Alaric had gathered:

Known associates of the rogues.

Packs that had mysteriously closed their borders after Savannah's attack.

Rumoured movements of a man known only as "The Broker" a shadow figure believed to have orchestrated the assault.

"You will go to the city," Alaric said, his voice low but commanding. "Blend. Watch. Track. We need a name. A face. A location. Nothing more. Leave justice to us."

Kael opened the file, eyes scanning quickly, then nodded. "We’ll find him."

Rowen stepped forward. "This isn’t just a mission. It’s our sister. Our mate. Our moon. Bring me his name, Kael, and I will bring you his blood."

Kael met Rowen’s gaze. "You’ll have more than a name. You’ll have the full map."

Phase One: Entry

Vera and Damon entered the city first. Vera posed as a healer seeking work within the outer border packs, a non-threatening presence, and easily trusted. Damon embedded himself in the tech networks under the alias of a rogue data broker, selling fabricated information to draw out the Broker’s clients.

It didn’t take long.

Within two days, Vera had already gained access to the Riverclaw pack’s Luna chambers, overhearing snippets of conversations about payment transfers, hush funds, and a visiting emissary who never gave a name.

Damon’s fake profile lit up with interest from a burner account asking for details on "recent southern territory clean-ups." The wording matched the coded language used by those who had helped traffic victims or cover assaults.

They were getting close.

And closer still was the way other wolves reacted when certain names were mentioned, how conversations suddenly stopped, how gazes darted away, how silence screamed louder than any confession. Vera noted every twitch, every slip. Damon traced the shadows back to a series of encrypted payments linked to one name: the Broker’s front company.

Phase Two: Tracking

Talia joined next, arriving as a lone wolf seeking asylum. She played the part perfectly, frightened, skittish, and traumatized. The guards pitied her. They let her in.

What they didn’t know was that Talia had already picked up the scent of one of Savannah’s attackers. Faint, buried under perfume and sweat, but it was there.

She followed it to a private estate, one owned by an influential Beta who was known for his closed-door meetings and a revolving door of "servants."

She didn’t break cover. She memorized everything guard patterns, security systems, and the strange symbol etched into the Beta’s private ring: a crescent fang dripping with red.

That mark matched the description Jace had pulled from a rogue informant’s journal.

She even found discarded clothing with blood remnants, hidden deep within the servant quarters, too old to identify without a lab, but enough to suggest violence long before Savannah.

Phase Three: Deception

Kael and Matteo arrived last. Matteo posed as a mercenary. Kael entered the city under no name at all, just another silent guard for hire.

But Kael didn’t need a name to instil fear.

Within a week, three corrupt enforcers were found half-conscious in alleyways, whispering about a ghost with golden eyes and a voice like thunder.

Kael didn’t need to kill them. He just needed them rattled.

Matteo, meanwhile, gained entrance into an underground meeting. There, he saw him:

The Broker.

Not a man. Not entirely. A wolf, yes, but with the stink of black magic on his skin. He wore rings carved from bone and spoke only through proxies. But his eyes, green, unnatural, cold, met Matteo’s for a moment, and the temperature dropped.

That was him.

And the wolves around him trembled not out of loyalty but out of fear. That fear was a c***k in the armor Matteo would later exploit.

Phase Four: Extraction

The Shadow Fangs met on a rooftop that night. Rain soaked their coats, lightning cracked overhead. Kael spread a map across the table. Vera marked it with inked symbols, guard rotations, escape tunnels, and weak points.

Damon handed over a small flash drive. "Bank transfers. Names. Locations. Every client the Broker has worked with in the last six months. Savannah’s attacker is in there. He was paid to take her. To hurt her."

Talia’s voice was low. "The Beta from Riverclaw. His scent matches the one from Savannah’s clothes. He was there. Maybe not the one who did it, but he watched. He helped."

Kael growled low in his throat. "Then he dies, too."

Matteo stared at the red-marked photo of the l "One week. We’ll be ready."

Kael added, "We strike surgically. We extract the name. We raze the rot."

Back at the compound, the triplets trained harder than ever, fueled by the reports sent via secure channels. They didn’t sleep much. They didn’t eat much. But when they did speak, it was always the same question:

"Any names yet?"

Alaric watched them carefully. He knew what was coming. He knew what vengeance looked like in the hands of wolves who had lost the most precious thing in their world.

And he didn’t stop them.

He only whispered a prayer to the Moon Goddess that when Savannah returned, she would still recognize the men her mates had become.

Because once this was done, once her attacker was found, nothing would stop the storm that would follow.

And when that bastard's name was finally delivered, carved into the flesh of a traitor and carried on the breath of wolves who did not fail.

The world would learn what happened to those who dared harm Savannah, daughter of Alaric, and mate to three of the most dangerous wolves ever born.