Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~7 min read
Chapter 16: Internal Betrayal
Three weeks post-merger.
Pack seems stable.
Rogue and former Main integrating well.
Joint patrols. Shared meals. Cooperation.
Almost too well.
Astrid’s suspicious.
“Something feels wrong,” she tells Magnus.
They’re in strategy room.
Reviewing patrol reports.
“Wrong how?”
“Too smooth. Too easy. Three hundred years of rivalry doesn’t disappear in three weeks.”
“Maybe they’re genuinely trying—”
“Or maybe someone’s hiding something.”
Magnus considers.
Checks bond.
Her instincts are sharp.
Duchess power sensing discord.
“You think there’s a traitor?”
“I think there’s someone not fully committed. And that’s dangerous.”
“Who do you suspect?”
She doesn’t want to say.
But has to.
“Aldric.”
Magnus freezes.
“The beta? He swore blood oath—”
“Which means nothing if Fenrir offered something better. Aldric served Fenrir for decades. Loyalty that deep doesn’t vanish overnight.”
“He’s been helpful. Cooperative. Shown no signs—”
“Exactly. Too helpful. Too cooperative. Like he’s overcompensating.”
Magnus wants to deny it.
Can’t.
Her logic is sound.
“What do you want to do?”
“Test him. Give him false information. See if it reaches Fenrir.”
“That’s dangerous. If you’re wrong, we alienate our beta.”
“If I’m right, we expose a traitor before he destroys us.”
They plan carefully.
Fabricate intel.
Astrid is pregnant.
Weak. Vulnerable.
Perfect target.
Only tell Aldric.
See if Fenrir reacts.
“This better work,” Magnus mutters.
“It will. Trust me.”
They summon Aldric.
Private meeting.
Just three of them.
“We need your discretion,” Astrid begins.
“Always, Duchess.”
“I’m pregnant. Early. Very early. But confirmed.”
Aldric’s eyes widen.
“Congratulations! This is wonderful news! The pack—”
“Can’t know. Not yet. Too dangerous. If Fenrir learns, he’ll attack.”
“Of course. I’ll tell nobody.”
They dismiss him.
Watch him leave.
“Now we wait,” Astrid says.
“How long?”
“Days. Maybe hours. If he’s reporting to Fenrir, response will be fast.”
Two days later.
Attack.
Sudden. Violent. Coordinated.
Twenty wolves.
Breaching southern border.
Aiming for main house.
For her.
Magnus snarls.
“They know. Someone told them.”
“Aldric.”
Astrid gathers power.
Duchess authority.
But these wolves are different.
Foreign. Russian.
Her power barely touches them.
Territorial magic has limits.
She can slow them.
Can’t stop them.
“Magnus!”
“I know! Defend the house! I’ll handle attackers!”
He transforms.
Massive black wolf.
Intercepting enemies.
Vicious. Brutal. Protective.
Soren rallies pack.
Defense positions.
Protecting duchess.
Rogue and former Main fighting together.
United against common threat.
Mostly united.
Because some former Main wolves hesitate.
Conflicted.
Torn between new duchess and old alpha.
Astrid spots Aldric.
He’s not fighting.
He’s watching.
Calculating.
Waiting.
For what?
She confronts him.
“Why aren’t you defending?”
“I am defending. Assessing threat. Strategy.”
“That’s Soren’s job. You’re beta. You FIGHT.”
“I fight when necessary—”
“It’s necessary NOW!”
He transforms.
Finally.
Joins the battle.
But half-heartedly.
Not committing.
Not really fighting.
She knows.
He’s the traitor.
Confirmed.
Magnus is overwhelmed.
Twenty against one.
Even alpha has limits.
He’s bleeding.
Slowing.
Tiring.
She needs to help.
Needs to save him.
She gathers every ounce of duchess power.
Local and bonded.
“STOP!”
The command slams out.
Ashenmoor wolves freeze.
Obedient.
But Russian wolves barely slow.
Foreign magic resistant.
She’s not strong enough.
Not yet.
Then Dmitri appears.
Moscow Pack.
Honoring alliance.
Twelve massive wolves.
Crashing into Russian attackers.
Evening odds.
“Thought you could use help, Duchess!”
“Thought right!”
Battle turns.
Allies plus Ashenmoor.
Overwhelming Fenrir’s strike team.
Russians retreat.
Fleeing.
Six dead. Rest escaped.
Victory.
Barely.
Magnus transforms.
Covered in wounds.
Deep. Bleeding. Severe.
“I’m fine—”
He collapses.
Not fine.
Silver poisoning.
The wounds were coated.
Silver dust.
Designed to kill alpha.
“MAGNUS!”
Astrid catches him.
Bond screaming.
Pain. Weakness. Dying.
“Help! Someone help!”
Rowena rushes over.
Pack healer.
“Silver poisoning. Bad. He needs treatment. Now.”
They carry him inside.
To medical room.
Rowena works frantically.
Drawing poison.
Cleaning wounds.
Stitching.
But it’s spreading.
Through bloodstream.
Toward heart.
Toward death.
Astrid holds his hand.
Feeling him fade.
Through bond.
His life dimming.
Slipping away.
“Don’t you dare die. Don’t you DARE!”
Magnus’s eyes flutter.
“Love you. Always love you.”
“Don’t talk like that! You’re not dying! You’re healing! Stay with me!”
But he’s slipping.
Silver is winning.
Alpha healing can’t counteract it.
He’s dying.
Her mate is dying.
And she’s powerless.
Rage builds.
Grief. Desperation. Power.
Duchess authority exploding.
“HEAL!”
One word.
Commanded.
Not requested.
COMMANDED.
Power floods Magnus.
Her power.
Through bond.
Forcing his body to obey.
To heal.
To LIVE.
The silver burns away.
Expelled by duchess magic.
Wounds close.
Heart steadies.
He gasps.
Breathing.
Alive.
Healing.
Rowena stares.
“Impossible. Silver poisoning that severe should be fatal.”
“Duchess power isn’t bound by should,” Astrid gasps.
Exhausted.
She saved him.
Used bond to force healing.
It worked.
But cost her.
Drained her completely.
She collapses.
Magnus catches her.
Weak but alive.
“You saved me.”
“Told you not to die.”
“Stubborn duchess.”
“Stubborn alpha.”
They hold each other.
Both exhausted.
Both alive.
Bonded mates surviving together.
Later.
After they’ve recovered.
After Dmitri’s left.
After pack settles.
Astrid summons Aldric.
Time for truth.
He enters.
Nervous.
Knows he’s caught.
“Duchess—”
“You told Fenrir I was pregnant. Led him here. Nearly killed Magnus.”
“I didn’t—”
“DON’T LIE!”
Duchess power flares.
Forcing truth.
He crumbles.
“I did. I’m sorry. Fenrir has my daughter. Held hostage. He said he’d kill her if I didn’t report. I had no choice.”
“You had choice. You chose family over pack.”
“Wouldn’t you? If it was your child?”
She would.
Of course she would.
But that doesn’t excuse betrayal.
“Where is she? Your daughter?”
“Russia. Fenrir’s compound. Prisoner.”
“Then we’ll get her back. After that, you’re exiled. Blood oath broken. You’re not Ashenmoor Pack anymore.”
Aldric weeps.
“Please. I’ll do anything—”
“You’ll tell us everything. Fenrir’s location. Defenses. Plans. Everything. Then you leave. Permanently.”
He nods.
Defeated.
“I’ll tell you everything.”
Magnus appears.
Healed. Strong.
“Dmitri’s pack captured two Russians. They’re talking. Confirming Fenrir’s in Moscow. Building army. Planning full assault.”
“When?”
“Three months. Maybe four. He’s recruiting. Training. Preparing.”
Astrid stands.
Decision made.
“Then we don’t wait. We strike first.”
“Strike first? Against two hundred wolves?”
“Against Fenrir specifically. Targeted assassination. Remove the head, body dies.”
“That’s suicide—”
“That’s strategy. We can’t win war of numbers. But we can win war of precision. Kill Fenrir, his coalition collapses.”
Magnus considers.
Risky. Dangerous.
But possible.
“We’d need small team. Stealth approach. In and out.”
“Exactly.”
“Who goes?”
“You. Me. Dmitri. Elite strike force.”
“You’re not going—”
“I AM going. He tried to kill you. Tried to kill us. I’m ending this. Personally.”
Through bond:*This is dangerous.*
*Everything is dangerous. But I’m not hiding while you risk your life.*
*Stubborn.*
*You love it.*
*I do.*
Aloud: “We plan carefully. Use Aldric’s intel. Coordinate with Dmitri. Strike in two weeks.”
“Two weeks to plan assassination?”
“Two weeks to end this war before it begins.”
Bold plan.
Crazy plan.
Necessary plan.
Fenrir won’t stop until he’s dead.
So they’ll kill him.
Together.
Bonded mates.
Unified force.
Unstoppable.
That night, they lie together.
Both healing.
Both committed.
“We’re really doing this,” Magnus whispers.
“We’re really doing this.”
“We could die.”
“We could win.”
“You’re optimistic.”
“I’m determined.”
He kisses her.
Deep. Claiming.
“Then we win. Together.”
“Together.”
They make love.
Gentle. Careful.
Both still injured.
But needing connection.
Needing bond.
Reminding each other why they’re fighting.
What they’re protecting.
Each other.
Always each other.
After, she whispers:
“When this is over. After Fenrir’s dead. We try for family.”
Magnus freezes.
“You mean that?”
“I mean that. Real pregnancy. Real future. But first, we end the threat.”
“Deal.”
They fall asleep.
Planning war.
Planning future.
Planning everything.
Two weeks until strike.
Two weeks until they either win it all.
Or lose everything.
But they’re ready.
Together.
Bonded.
Unstoppable.
As fate intended.
As they chose.
Forever.
However long forever lasts.
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