Chapter 72 The Enemies Within
The celebration lasted well into the night, but I couldn't shake the image of that stranger's knowing smile. As the newly official Luna of White Moon Pack, I stood beside Mason receiving congratulations from allied pack leaders, but my mind kept circling back to that mouthed word: "Soon."
"You're distracted," Mason murmured during a brief moment alone.
"There was someone in the crowd," I said. "Watching us. He seemed to know something—"
My words were cut off by a commotion at the pack house entrance. Thomas pushed through the crowd, his face grim.
"We have a problem," he said quietly. "Stella's gone."
"What do you mean gone?" Mason demanded.
"The transport vehicle was found abandoned two miles from here. Three guards dead, killed by someone with advanced combat training. Professional level."
The celebration atmosphere evaporated as word spread. Within minutes, we'd moved to the security center, where footage from the transport vehicle's cameras played on loop.
The attack had been swift, precise, and brutal. A figure in black had stopped the vehicle with some kind of electromagnetic pulse, then eliminated the guards with surgical efficiency. But it was the ease with which they'd extracted Stella that was most disturbing—as if they'd known exactly how our security protocols worked.
"Inside information," Roman said what we were all thinking. "Someone in the pack betrayed us."
"That's impossible," Mason said. "Every member has been vetted—"
"Sir," Elena interrupted, pointing to one of the screens. "Look at the timestamp."
The attack had occurred at 11:47 PM. At that exact moment, according to our security logs, someone had accessed the pack's main database using Administrator-level credentials.
"Only five people have those credentials," Thomas said. "You, me, Roman, Gregory, and—"
"And me," I finished, ice running through my veins as I realized what was happening. "Someone's framing me. Making it look like I helped Stella escape."
"That's ridiculous," Mason said immediately, but I could see others in the room exchanging glances.
"Is it?" a voice said from the doorway. Council Administrator Chen stood there, flanked by security. "The new Luna, who just defeated her rival, arranging that rival's escape to avoid looking vindictive? It would be a clever political move."
"You can't seriously believe—" Mason started.
"I believe in evidence," Chen interrupted. "And the evidence shows Administrator-level access from Terminal Seven at 11:47 PM." She pulled out a tablet. "Security footage shows you, Sage, at Terminal Seven at 11:43 PM."
The footage was damning. It clearly showed me accessing the terminal, though I'd been in the main hall at that time, surrounded by hundreds of witnesses.
"That's not me," I said. "Check the main hall footage from the same time."
But when they pulled it up, the footage from 11:40 to 11:50 was corrupted, showing only static.
"Convenient," Chen said.
"Someone's orchestrating this," Roman insisted. "Sage was with us the entire—"
He stopped mid-sentence, his hand going to his ear as if listening to something. Then his face went pale.
"What is it?" Mason demanded.
"Perimeter breach. North, south, and east borders simultaneously. We're under attack."
The security center erupted into controlled chaos as monitors switched to show our borders. Dozens of vehicles were approaching, fighters emerging armed with military-grade equipment.
"Stella's recruits?" Thomas asked.
"No," I said, recognizing the tactical formation. "Professional mercenaries. This was planned long before the Trial."
Chen stepped forward. "White Moon Pack is now under Council supervision pending investigation. All pack military actions must be approved—"
"We're under attack!" Mason roared. "We don't have time for bureaucracy!"
"Then you'd better resolve this quickly," Chen said coldly. "Because any unauthorized military action will result in immediate dissolution of White Moon Pack's charter."
It was a perfect trap. We couldn't defend ourselves without Council approval, but getting that approval would take time we didn't have.
"There's another way," Katherine Pierce said quietly. She'd been silent until now, the youngest Council member observing everything. "Emergency Protocol Seven. If a pack faces existential threat, the Luna can invoke single combat rights."
"Single combat against who?" I asked, though I suspected I knew the answer.
Through the main entrance walked the stranger from the crowd, no longer hiding his presence. He was tall, lean, with scars that spoke of countless battles and eyes that held no emotion.
"Me," he said simply. "Marcus Webb. Former Council Enforcer, current freelance problem solver. And today, the man hired to destroy White Moon Pack."
"Hired by whom?" Mason demanded.
Webb smiled. "Does it matter? Stella? The Council's old guard? Foreign interests who benefit from destabilization? The beauty of being freelance is I don't ask those questions."
"Single combat," Pierce pressed. "You versus the Luna. If she wins, the attack stops. If she loses..."
"White Moon Pack falls, and I collect my very generous fee," Webb finished.
"Sage just fought three challenges," Mason protested. "She's exhausted—"
"I'll do it," I said, cutting him off.
Webb's smile widened. "Excellent. One hour to prepare. Standard combat rules—no weapons, victory by death or submission."
As he walked away, Mason grabbed my arms. "You can't do this. He's a trained killer, former special forces before joining the Council Enforcers. He's killed more people than—"
"Than I have?" I finished. "You're right. But he's never fought a Blackwood who's protecting her pack."
The next hour passed in a blur. Gregory provided what intelligence he had on Webb—his fighting style, his preferred techniques, his few known weaknesses. Thomas coordinated pack defenses in case I lost. Roman worked to trace who was really behind this attack.
But it was Rory who provided the most valuable insight.
"He favors his left side," she said, showing me footage from his approach. "Subtle, but there's scarring under his ribs. Old injury, probably never healed properly."
"How can you tell?" I asked.
She smiled. "Those genetic anomalies Gregory mentioned? They give me really good pattern recognition. I can see micro-movements others miss."
The arena had been cleared, only essential personnel remaining. The mercenaries held their positions at our borders, weapons trained but not firing—yet. Webb stood in the center, having removed his shirt to reveal a body that was a roadmap of violence.
"Last chance to surrender," he offered as I approached.
"White Moon Pack doesn't surrender," I replied.
"White Moon Pack won't exist after tonight," he said, then attacked.
He was faster than Stella, stronger, more skilled. His first combination would have killed someone with normal reflexes. But the hours of secret training, the genetic heritage of Marcus Blackwood, and the absolute necessity of protecting my pack gave me speed I didn't know I possessed.
I survived the first minute, then the second. By the third, I'd found his rhythm. By the fifth, I'd confirmed Rory's observation—he did favor his left side.
"You're better than expected," he admitted, circling me like a predator. "But you're still just a secretary who got lucky."
He launched another attack, this one designed to drive me toward the platform's edge. I let him think it was working, then at the last second, used a technique Carson had shown me just hours before—a Mountain Pack maneuver that turned defensive positioning into offensive opportunity.
My elbow found his old injury with surgical precision. He gasped, his guard dropping for a fraction of a second.
It was enough.
The submission hold I locked him in wasn't from any pack training. It was something I'd found in my mother's journals, a technique she'd developed specifically to neutralize larger, stronger opponents. Webb struggled, his strength incredible, but the hold was perfect.
"Yield," I commanded.
"Can't," he gasped. "Contract... specifies... death or unconsciousness."
"Then unconsciousness it is," I said, applying pressure to the carotid artery.
He was out in seconds.
The mercenaries began withdrawing immediately, their contract apparently void with Webb's defeat. But as medical personnel rushed to check on him, Webb's eyes snapped open, focusing on me with unexpected clarity.
"Message," he gasped. "Employer... wanted me to deliver... win or lose."
"What message?" I demanded.
"The real war... hasn't started yet. This was... reconnaissance." He coughed, blood specking his lips. "They wanted to test... the new Luna. You passed."
"Who? Who hired you?"
But he was unconscious again, and this time genuinely.
As dawn broke over White Moon Pack territory, we stood victorious but shaken. Someone had orchestrated all of this—Stella's challenge, her escape, the mercenary attack—just to test me.
"We need answers," Mason said, his arm around me as we watched the sunrise.
"We'll get them," I promised. "But first, we need to clean house. Someone in the pack gave them our security protocols."
"I'll handle the investigation," Thomas said.
"No," I said, my Luna authority clear in my voice. "I will. Someone wanted to test the new Luna? Fine. Let them see what kind of Luna they're dealing with."
As the pack began recovering from the night's events, a message arrived at the main house. No return address, no digital trail, just a simple card with elegant handwriting:
"Congratulations on passing the first test, Luna Grey. The second begins soon. - The Architect"
Mason read it over my shoulder. "The Architect?"
"Whoever's behind all of this," I said. "Stella was a pawn. Webb was a pawn. We're all pieces on someone else's board."
"Then we change the game," Rory said, joining us. "We stop reacting and start hunting."
I looked at my family—my mate, my daughter, my pack—all bloodied but unbroken. Someone thought they could test us, manipulate us, use us for their own ends.
They were about to learn why the Blackwood line had survived the Council's purges, why White Moon Pack had thrived under integration, and why Mason Grey had chosen me as his Luna.
The real war was coming?
Good.
We were ready for it.
But as I turned to go inside, I noticed something that made my blood run cold. On the security monitor showing Webb's unconscious form in the medical wing, a shadow moved that shouldn't exist. When I looked closer, the shadow was gone, but a message was written on the wall in what looked like blood:
"The enemy isn't coming, Luna. They're already here."