THE ALPHA'S HIDDEN MATE

THE TRAITOR'S SCENT

Chapter 10

The lodge’s air was heavy with the stench of blood, ash, and betrayal, the fireplace’s dim glow barely cutting through the gloom. Aria stood on shaky legs, her sneakers scuffing the splintered wooden floor, her torn hoodie scorched from Mira’s magic. Her crescent-shaped birthmark glowed faintly on her wrist, its heat pulsing like a warning, tethering her to the power she’d unleashed—shockwaves that scattered wolves, a healing touch that saved Lyra. The Blackthorn Pack had retreated, Rourke’s parting threat—*You’re only delaying the inevitable*—echoing in her ears, but the real danger now was inside. A traitor among the Silverfangs had sabotaged the wards, letting Mira and Rourke breach the lodge, and the weight of that betrayal hung over the battered pack like a storm cloud.

Zane’s hand lingered on her cheek, his touch warm, electric, grounding her racing heart. His green eyes, bloodshot from the fight, scanned the pack with a mix of fury and suspicion, his torn black shirt clinging to his blood-streaked frame. Lyra limped closer, her silver hair matted, her knife still dripping with Blackthorn blood, her rare grin fading into a scowl. “We need to root them out,” she said, voice sharp, her gaze flicking to each pack member. “Whoever’s helping Rourke is still here, breathing our air.”

Sienna, leaning against a wall, her bandage stained red, nodded grimly, her braids swaying. “It’s someone who knew the ward ritual,” she said, voice hoarse but steady. “Someone close.”

Aria’s stomach churned, the mark flaring with her unease. Her wolf stirred, claws prickling under her nails, senses sharpened by the ritual’s lingering energy. She glanced at the pack—Torin by a boarded window, his scarred face set in a frown; Clara, a young woman with short blonde hair, clutching a club nervously; Finn and Jace, brothers patching the door, their eyes wary. Any of them could be the traitor, and the thought made her wolf growl, restless in the cramped, battered lodge. Her old life in Willow Creek, Oregon—slinging coffee at Millie’s Diner, dreaming of escape—felt like a ghost, replaced by this blood-soaked reality.

Zane’s voice cut through, low and commanding. “No one moves until we find them,” he said, his alpha tone silencing the pack’s murmurs. “Aria’s power saved us tonight, but the traitor’s still a threat. We end this now.”

Aria’s heart raced, the mark pulsing at his words. “How?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. “How do we find someone who’s lying?” She met his eyes, the pull between them sparking, her wolf urging her closer despite the chaos.

“Your wolf,” Zane said, stepping nearer, his scent—leather, pine, blood—calming her nerves. “It’s tied to the mark, sharper now after the ritual. You can smell deception, feel their heartbeats. Trust it.”

“Smell deception?” Aria’s voice rose, doubt creeping in. “I’m not a bloodhound, Zane. I barely know what I’m doing!”

“You’re Crescent Marked,” he said, his eyes intense, unwavering. “You felt the lodge’s magic, healed Lyra, blasted Rourke. Your instincts are stronger than ours. You’ll know.”

Lyra snorted, sheathing her knife with a flick. “Big risk, alpha. She’s still green.”

“She’s our best shot,” Zane said, his tone final, silencing Lyra’s protest. He turned to Aria, his hand brushing her arm, sending a jolt through her. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

Aria swallowed, her heart pounding, the mark glowing brighter. His belief in her was a lifeline, but the pack’s stares—some trusting, others skeptical—felt like a weight. A distant howl, sharp and urgent, made everyone tense. Torin peered through a crack in the boards, his club gripped tight. “They’re circling again,” he said. “Not attacking yet, but they’re close. Mira’s scent is stronger.”

“Mira,” Aria whispered, her blood running cold at the memory of the witch’s red eyes and ash magic. “She’s working with Rourke. Why?”

“Power,” Zane said, his voice grim. “The Crescent Mark’s a prize for anyone—wolf or witch. We need to find the traitor before they strike again.”

Aria nodded, her wolf stirring, ready. “Okay,” she said, voice firm. “What do I do?”

“Line up,” Zane ordered the pack, his alpha presence commanding. “Aria’s going to read you.”

“Read us?” Clara said, her voice sharp, her blonde hair catching the firelight. “Like some psychic?”

“Like a wolf,” Zane said, his eyes on Aria. “Focus on their scents, their pulses. You’ll feel the lie.”

The pack formed a reluctant line, their faces a mix of defiance and unease. Aria’s heart hammered, the mark burning, but she stepped forward, Zane’s presence at her side steadying her. Torin went first, his earthy scent strong, his heartbeat even. She closed her eyes, breathing deep, her wolf senses flaring—pine, sweat, no trace of fear or guilt. “He’s clear,” she said, surprised at her certainty.

Torin nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes as he stepped back. Sienna was next, her scent sharp with blood and determination, her heartbeat steady despite her wounds. “Clear,” Aria said, relief easing her tension.

Finn and Jace followed, their scents like iron and wood, nervous but loyal. Aria’s wolf sensed no deception, their pulses steady. “Clear,” she said, moving to Clara, the last in line. Clara’s eyes darted away, her hands trembling around her club, her scent sour, like fear mixed with something darker—ash, faint but unmistakable.

Aria’s wolf growled, the mark flaring. “It’s her,” she said, voice low, pointing at Clara. The pack tensed, murmurs rising, weapons shifting.

Clara’s face paled, her club clattering to the floor. “Me? That’s crazy!” she stammered, backing away. “I fought with you! I’m no traitor!”

“Then why’s your heart racing?” Lyra said, stepping forward, her knife gleaming. “And why do I smell Mira’s magic on you?”

Clara’s eyes widened, her scent growing sourer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she snapped, but her voice cracked, her hands shaking.

Zane’s eyes narrowed, his wolf close to the surface, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Aria’s sure,” he said, voice cold. “What did Rourke promise you, Clara? Why’d you let them in?”

Clara stumbled back, her back hitting the wall. “I didn’t—!” she started, but Aria’s wolf senses caught it—the spike in her pulse, the acrid scent of guilt. The mark burned, urging her forward.

“You’re lying,” Aria said, her voice steady, her wolf snarling inside. “I can smell the ash. You were with Mira.”

Clara’s face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They have my brother!” she sobbed, collapsing to her knees. “Rourke said they’d kill him if I didn’t help! I had no choice!”

The pack froze, the air heavy with shock. Zane’s face darkened, his fists clenching. “You betrayed us,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “You nearly got us all killed.”

“I’m sorry!” Clara cried, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to!”

Aria’s heart twisted, pity clashing with anger. The mark flared, her wolf growling, but Clara’s sobs were real, her fear raw. “What do we do with her?” Aria asked, looking at Zane, her voice soft.

“Lock her up,” he said, nodding to Torin. “We’ll deal with her later. Right now, we prepare for Rourke.”

Torin grabbed Clara’s arm, dragging her to a back room, her sobs echoing. The pack was silent, the betrayal cutting deep. Aria’s mark dimmed, her energy draining, but Zane’s hand found hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles, sending a spark through her. “You did good,” he said, his voice warm, steadying her.

“I didn’t want to be right,” Aria whispered, meeting his eyes. The pull between them intensified, her wolf urging her closer, the mark tingling. But a loud howl—Rourke’s, deep and menacing—shattered the moment, followed by a crackle of ash magic outside.

“They’re back,” Lyra said, checking the door, her knife ready. “Mira’s with them. They’re not waiting this time.”

Zane’s grip tightened, his eyes fierce. “We hold the lodge,” he said, addressing the pack. “Aria, your power’s our edge. Stay close.”

Her mark flared, heat surging, her wolf ready. The Blackthorns were coming, Mira’s magic a new threat, and Clara’s betrayal had fractured the pack. The lodge creaked, the night darkening, and Aria knew the bloodiest fight was yet to come.