The Silver Wolf Series

Chapter Six: The Truth

"Your mother was a silver wolf."

The words hung in the air between them. Fiona's breath caught. Inside Kieran's mind,

Cian howled with remembered loss—the mate bond that had been severed, the she-

wolf who had been taken from them. “Elara was blessed by the moon goddess," Kieran continued, and his voice cracked slightly as Cian's grief bled through. "It's rare—so rare that most packs consider silver wolves to be myth, legend, stories told to pups at bedtime. But they're real. Your mother was real. And she was extraordinary."

Beautiful, Cian whispered with aching reverence. Powerful. OURS. And they took her

from us.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Fiona's voice was barely a whisper. "Why didn't you warn me

that this could happen?"

"Because I hoped it wouldn't." Kieran turned to face her, and the anguish in his

expression—both human and wolf—made Fiona's chest ache. Cian's pain was written in

every line of Kieran's face, in the way his hands trembled slightly before he clenched

them into fists. "Silver wolves run through the female line. Your grandmother was one.

Your great-grandmother before her. But it doesn't always manifest. Sometimes it skips

generations. Sometimes it appears in one daughter but not another. I thought—I prayed

—that you and Siobhan would be spared."

"Spared?" Fiona stood, anger flaring hot in her chest. "You make it sound like a curse."

"It is." The words were flat, final. "Fiona, silver wolves are blessed by the moon

goddess, yes. They have gifts that other wolves don't—healing, foresight, hindsight.

They can sense things others can't, see paths that haven't been walked yet, understand

truths that are hidden. And they have power. The kind of power you just used on those

rogues. The ability to unmake, to reduce enemies to nothing but shadow and memory."

"That sounds like a gift," Fiona said, but her voice wavered.

"It's a target." Kieran's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Silver wolves are always

female. Always. And they always carry Alpha-level power, regardless of their bloodline.

Do you understand what that means? A female Alpha is rare enough. But a female

Alpha blessed by the moon goddess, capable of bearing offspring more powerful than

any other werewolf in existence?" He shook his head. "You're not just special, Fiona.

You're valuable. And there are people—factions, organizations, hunters—who would do

anything to possess you."

The room tilted. Fiona gripped the arm of the chair, her knuckles going white. "Possess

me?"

"Capture you. Control you. Breed you." Kieran's voice was harsh now, brutal in its

honesty. Inside his mind, Cian snarled with remembered rage—the hunters who had

done exactly this to Elara, who had tried to break his mate. "Silver wolves are hunted,

Fiona. Not to kill—though some would prefer that—but to use. To force into mating

bonds with powerful Alphas, to create bloodlines that could dominate entire regions.

Your children would be weapons. You would be a broodmare."

Bile rose in Fiona's throat. "That's—that can't be—"

"It's exactly what happened to your mother."

The words fell like stones into still water, sending ripples of horror through Fiona's entire

body. Cian's howl of anguish echoed through Kieran's consciousness—the memory of

Elara's terror, her pain, the moment the mate bond had been severed forever.

"What?"

Kieran moved back to his desk, his hands trembling slightly as Cian's grief threatened to

overwhelm him. He pulled open a drawer and withdrew a photograph—old, faded, the

edges worn from handling—and held it out to her. Fiona took it with trembling hands.

The woman in the photo was beautiful. Red hair like Fiona's, like Ennis's and Siobhan's,

cascading over her shoulders in waves. Green eyes that sparkled with life and mischief.

She was laughing at something off-camera, her head thrown back, joy radiating from

every line of her face.

"Your mother," Kieran said softly, his voice thick with Cian's grief. "Elara. She was twenty-nine

when this was taken. A year before she died."

"I don't remember her," Fiona whispered. The admission felt like a betrayal. "I was so

young when—"

"You were five." Kieran's voice was rough, Cian's pain bleeding through every word.

"Ennis was seven. Siobhan was three. And your mother knew they were coming for her."

"Who?"

"The hunters. The faction that tracks blessed silver wolves across territories, across

continents if necessary. They'd been watching our pack for months, waiting for

confirmation. When she shifted during a pack run, when her silver fur caught the

moonlight..." He closed his eyes, and Cian's howl of remembered loss made his chest

tighten. "They knew. And they came."

Fiona's hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the photograph. "What

happened?"

"She led them away." Kieran's voice broke, and Cian's anguish surged forward—the

memory of watching his mate run, knowing she was sacrificing herself, unable to stop

her. "She knew they wanted her alive, knew they'd follow her if she ran. So she did. She

shifted and ran, drawing them away from the pack lands, away from our home. Away

from you and Ennis and Siobhan." He opened his eyes, and they were wet with unshed

tears—both man and wolf weeping for what they'd lost. "She bought us time. Time to

hide you, to protect you, to make sure they never knew she had daughters who might

carry her gift."

"But they killed her anyway.” “They did." The word was hollow, and Cian's rage flared hot and vicious in Kieran's mind. "When she wouldn't cooperate. When she refused to tell them about her children,

refused to submit to their plans. They killed her and left her body where we'd find it. A

warning. A message that they'd be back if any more silver wolves appeared in our

bloodline."

Kieran's hands clenched on the desk, his knuckles white. Cian was there, pressing

close to the surface—the memory of holding Elara's cold body, of feeling the mate bond

go silent, of the howl that had torn from both man and wolf as they realized she was

truly gone. The failure. The devastating, crushing failure to protect their mate.

Should have saved her, Cian snarled with anguished fury. Should have died protecting

her. Should never have let them take her.

The photograph slipped from Fiona's fingers, fluttering to the floor. She couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think past the image of her mother—this laughing, beautiful woman she barely

remembered—being hunted like an animal. Being murdered for refusing to become a

breeding tool.

"You should have told me," she said, and her voice was ice. "You should have warned

me that this could happen, that I might be in danger—"

"I was trying to protect you!" Kieran's composure finally cracked, Cian's protective fury

driving his words. "Don't you understand? If you never shifted, if you lived your whole

life as a human or even as a normal wolf, you'd be safe. The hunters only care about

silver wolves. Only about the blessed ones. I thought—I hoped—that if you didn't shift

on your eighteenth birthday, it meant you'd been spared. That you'd live a normal life."

"There's nothing normal about being wolfless in a pack of shifters," Fiona shot back.

"I've spent the last s being pitied, being whispered about, being treated like I'm broken.

And you let that happen. You let me think there was something wrong with me when all

along, you knew the truth."

"I know." Kieran's shoulders sagged, Cian's grief weighing them down. "I know, and I'm

sorry. But Fiona, you have to understand—I watched them kill your mother. I held her

body and felt her go cold and knew that I'd failed to protect her." His voice cracked, and

Cian's howl of loss echoed through the words. "I couldn't—I wouldn't—let that happen to

you. Or to Siobhan."