Chapter 73 Betrayals Within
The message on the medical wing wall had been written in Webb's blood, drawn from his IV while the cameras mysteriously malfunctioned for exactly ninety seconds. By the time we reached the room, Webb was gone—vanished from a locked, guarded room with no signs of struggle.
"This is impossible," Thomas said, reviewing the footage for the dozenth time. "He was unconscious, injured. Even if he woke up, he couldn't have—"
"He had help," I said, studying the blood message that was already being photographed for evidence. "Someone inside the pack. Someone with medical access, security clearance, and the ability to loop camera footage."
Mason's jaw tightened. "That list is very short."
"Seven people," Roman confirmed. "Including everyone in this room."
The silence that followed was heavy with suspicion. For the first time since River Pack's formation, we were looking at each other as potential enemies.
"We need to handle this carefully," Gregory said. "If word gets out that we suspect a high-level traitor—"
"Word's already out," Elena interrupted, showing us her tablet. Social media was exploding with leaked photos of the bloody message, accompanied by speculation about River Pack's stability.
"Shut it down," Mason ordered.
"Can't," Elena replied. "It's coming from multiple accounts, all created in the last hour, all with different IP addresses. Someone wanted this public."
Through the window, I could see pack members gathering in the courtyard, their voices carrying a mix of fear and anger. Trust, once broken, was almost impossible to rebuild.
"Luna Grey," Katherine Pierce appeared in the doorway, her Council security detail behind her. "The Council requires an immediate report."
"The Council can wait," Mason growled.
"No, it can't," Pierce replied, her young face serious. "There's something you need to know. Marcus Webb wasn't just any mercenary. He was part of a black ops unit that officially doesn't exist—the Ghost Wolves."
The name sent chills through the room. Ghost Wolves were legends, whispered about but never confirmed. Former pack members who'd been officially declared dead, then trained as ultimate weapons.
"They're real?" Roman asked.
"Very real," Pierce confirmed. "And if one was here, others are nearby. They always work in units of five."
"Four more assassins," Thomas calculated. "Already in position, already integrated into our security."
"How?" Mason demanded. "Every pack member goes through extensive background checks—"
"Unless they were here before the checks," I said, a terrible realization dawning. "The integration brought in dozens of wolves from disbanded packs. We vetted them, but if their records were professionally altered..."
"Jesus," Roman breathed. "They could have been here for months. Years, even."
Pierce pulled out a secure tablet. "The Council has identified seventeen pack members whose backgrounds have inconsistencies. Small things—a missing month here, a too-perfect recommendation there. Any of them could be Ghost Wolves."
"Or all of them could be innocent," Gregory pointed out. "We can't start a witch hunt based on suspicion."
"We don't have a choice," I said, making a decision that I knew would change everything. "Emergency Protocol Nine."
Everyone stared at me. Protocol Nine was the nuclear option—complete pack lockdown, no one in or out, everyone confined to quarters except essential security.
"Sage," Mason said quietly, "that's martial law. We've never—"
"We've never had Ghost Wolves infiltrating our pack either," I countered. "This isn't about suspicion anymore. It's about survival."
Before anyone could protest further, my phone buzzed with an emergency alert. Then Mason's. Then everyone's.
The message was simple: "Look outside."
We rushed to the window. In the courtyard where pack members had been gathering, seventeen people stood in a perfect circle, each holding a device that looked ominously like a dead man's switch.
"The seventeen suspects," Pierce breathed.
"No," I said, recognizing the formation. "Hostages."
One of the seventeen—Michael Reeves, a quiet wolf who'd joined us two years ago from a disbanded Montana pack—stepped forward.
"Attention River Pack," his voice carried across the courtyard through some kind of amplifier. "We are not your enemies, but we are holding devices that will release aerosolized wolfsbane if triggered. Enough to kill every wolf in a half-mile radius."
Wolfsbane—the one poison that affected our kind like nothing else. In aerosol form, it would be impossible to avoid.
"They're innocent," Michael continued. "Regular pack members forced to hold these devices. The real Ghost Wolves are watching. If anyone approaches us, if anyone tries to evacuate, the devices trigger."
"What do you want?" Mason called out.
"Not me," Michael replied, fear clear in his voice. "I'm just the messenger. They want the Luna. Alone. In the courtyard. Five minutes, or everyone dies."
"Absolutely not," Mason said immediately.
But I was already moving toward the door. "I don't have a choice."
"Sage, no!" Mason grabbed my arm. "This is exactly what they want—"
"Seventeen innocent pack members will die if I don't," I said. "Plus anyone else in range. Including Rory."
Our daughter had been helping with evacuations, last seen near the courtyard. Through the window, I could spot her at the edge of the danger zone, held back by security from trying to help.
"Four minutes," Michael called, his hand visibly shaking on the device.
"There has to be another way," Roman insisted.
"There is," a new voice said from the doorway.
We all spun to find Gregory standing there—but something was wrong. His posture, his expression, even the way he held himself was different.
"Hello, Luna," he said, and his voice carried an edge I'd never heard before. "Or should I say, sister?"
The room exploded in confusion, but I stayed focused on Gregory—or whoever was wearing his face.
"You're not Gregory," I said.
"Very good," he replied. "I'm someone much more interesting. Someone who's been watching you for a very long time. Someone who shares something unique with you."
He pulled out a knife and drew it across his palm. The blood that welled up wasn't the normal red—it had a silver sheen to it, exactly like mine did when I was injured.
"Blackwood blood," he said. "You're not the last, Sage. Our parents had another child. One they hid even better than they hid you."
"That's impossible," I breathed.
"Is it? They knew the Council would never stop hunting their children. So they hid us separately. You with the Greys, me with a family that didn't even know what I was until I manifested at sixteen."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" He pulled out a photograph, old and worn. Patricia and Marcus Blackwood, holding two infants. "Twins, actually. But they separated us immediately. Safer that way."
"Three minutes," Michael's terrified voice called.
"If you're really my brother," I said, "why are you doing this?"
"Because unlike you, I didn't get lucky," he replied, bitterness creeping into his voice. "I didn't get adopted by loving parents. I didn't find a mate who protected me. I got found by the Council's black ops division. They trained me, shaped me, turned me into a weapon. And now, I'm going to finish what they started."
"Which is?"
"The complete destruction of the pack system," he said simply. "Starting with River Pack, the symbol of integration. Your death will spark a war between traditional packs and progressives. The Council will crack down, humans will panic, and in the chaos, people like me—people who've been hidden in the shadows—will finally be free."
"Two minutes."
"But I'm feeling generous," my supposed brother continued. "I'll give you a choice. Come with me now, learn the truth about our bloodline, about what we're really capable of, and I'll spare River Pack. Or stay, die defending these people who don't even know your real name, and watch everything burn anyway."
"There's a third option," I said.
"Oh?"
I moved faster than thought, grabbing the knife from his hand and pressing it to my own throat. "I die now, by my own hand. Your plan fails because there's no one to blame. River Pack mourns but survives."
For the first time, I saw genuine surprise in his eyes.
"You'd do that? Kill yourself for these people?"
"They're my family," I said simply.
"One minute," Michael called, and now others were crying, begging, knowing they were about to die.
My brother studied me for a long moment, then smiled. "You really are Patricia's daughter. She had that same self-sacrificing streak." He pulled out a phone. "Stand down. All units, stand down."
In the courtyard, the devices suddenly went dark. The seventeen hostages collapsed, unconscious but breathing.
"Tranquilizer gas, not wolfsbane," my brother explained. "I needed to test you, to see if you were worth saving."
"And?"
"You passed. But this isn't over." He moved toward the window. "The Ghost Wolves are real. The Architect is real. And the war that's coming will make everything you've faced look like children's games."
"Why warn me?"
He paused at the window, which I suddenly realized was open despite being locked moments before.
"Because you're my sister. And because when the real enemy reveals themselves, you'll need every advantage you can get. Including family you didn't know you had."
"Wait," I called. "What's your name?"
He smiled, and for a moment, I saw our mother in his expression. "They call me Damien. But our parents named me David. David Blackwood."
Then he was gone, vanishing through the window with impossible grace.
"Security, find him!" Mason ordered, but I knew it was pointless. Someone with Ghost Wolf training could disappear in seconds.
"The hostages need medical attention," Gregory—the real Gregory—said, stumbling into the room looking disheveled but unharmed. "I was locked in a supply closet. Someone who looked exactly like me—"
"We know," Thomas said. "The question is, how did he replicate your appearance so perfectly?"
"And how do we know you're really you?" Roman added, suspicion clear.
As chaos erupted around me, I stood at the window where my brother had vanished, processing everything he'd said. I had a brother. A twin. One who'd been turned into a weapon by the same forces that had killed our parents.
"Sage," Mason said softly, moving beside me. "Are you okay?"
"No," I admitted. "But I will be. We have work to do."
"You believe him? About being your brother?"
I showed him my palm, where I'd cut it on the knife. The blood had that distinctive silver sheen, exactly matching what Damien had shown us.
"The blood doesn't lie," I said. "He's a Blackwood. Which means the game just got more complicated."
"Luna Grey," Pierce said formally. "The Council needs a full report. The presence of Ghost Wolves changes everything."
"The Council can have their report," I said, turning to face the room. "But first, we're going to clean house. Every pack member, every alliance, every connection—we verify everything. Someone helped Damien get in here, helped him replace Gregory, helped coordinate this entire operation."
"That could take weeks," Thomas protested.
"Then we'd better get started," I replied. "Because my brother was right about one thing—this was just the beginning. The real enemy, this Architect, is still out there. And they're not done with us."
Through the window, I could see pack members helping the unconscious hostages, the crisis averted but the trauma lingering. Trust had been shattered, security compromised, and everything we'd built was suddenly on shaky ground.
But we'd survived. And more importantly, we'd learned.
The enemy wasn't at the gates.
They were already inside.