Chapter 81
The attack on Raymond's border inspection party had shaken the entire pack, but something about the official story didn't sit right with me. As I stood in my quarters the morning after his return, watching the sun rise over our territory, Marcus's death weighed heavily on my mind.
Lydia's confession and subsequent suicide felt too convenient. Too clean.
Real grief was messy, chaotic. What I'd witnessed felt orchestrated.
Despite the case being officially closed, I couldn't let it go. The weight of responsibility pressed down on my shoulders like a physical burden. As Luna, I should have protected Marcus. The guilt gnawed at me constantly.
I needed answers.
I began my investigation quietly, starting with the kitchen staff who had worked alongside Lydia. The morning sun streamed through the windows as I made my way to the bustling kitchen. The scent of fresh bread and brewing coffee filled the air.
Mrs. Henderson, the elderly cook who'd been with the pack for over thirty years, wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron when I approached. Her weathered face creased with concern.
"Luna Aurora, what brings you to my kitchen this early?" she asked warmly.
"I wanted to ask about Lydia," I said softly, settling onto a stool beside the prep counter. "How did she seem in her final weeks?"
Mrs. Henderson's expression darkened immediately. She glanced around the kitchen, ensuring we were alone before leaning closer.
"That poor girl was a bundle of nerves, always looking over her shoulder like someone was following her," the cook whispered. "She'd jump at every unexpected sound, constantly checking the doorways."
My heart began racing. "Did she say anything unusual?"
The cook hesitated, her hands twisting in her apron. "She kept asking about Alpha Raymond's schedule. When he took his morning runs, which routes he preferred through the forest."
My blood chilled. "What reason did she give?"
"Said she wanted to avoid disturbing him while cleaning, but..." Mrs. Henderson shook her head slowly. "Why would a maid need to know the Alpha's running routes? The routes don't even go near areas she'd be cleaning."
I felt sick. A maid wouldn't need that information unless someone else required intelligence about Raymond's movements.
"What else did she ask about?"
"Pack schedules, guard rotations. Always said it was for cleaning purposes, but some of those areas she asked about don't even get cleaned regularly." Mrs. Henderson's voice dropped. "The armory, the communication center, even the Alpha's private study."
The scope of Lydia's intelligence gathering suggested something far more sinister than a simple crime of passion.
I continued my rounds, speaking with Marcus's patrol partner Thomas at the guard station. His grief was still raw and visible.
"Marcus was worried about something in the weeks before he died," Thomas told me, his voice thick with emotion. "He kept mentioning strange scents around the perimeter, voices he couldn't identify."
"What did you think at the time?"
"I thought he was being paranoid," Thomas said miserably. "If I'd taken him more seriously, maybe he'd still be alive."
Sarah, a young healer with bright green eyes, pulled me aside in the medical wing. Her voice trembled as she spoke.
"Lydia came to me asking about herbs," she whispered, her face pale. "Specifically ones that could mask scents."
"Which herbs?" I asked, my investigative instincts sharpening.
"Foxglove root, nightshade essence, and shadow mint. Those are used for concealment, for hiding one's natural scent from wolves with heightened senses." Sarah's face was pale with worry. "Luna, those herbs are dangerous. In the wrong hands, they could be used for assassination."
Sarah nodded, her green eyes wide with fear. "When I asked why she needed them, she said it was for cleaning supplies. But those herbs aren't used for that purpose at all."
The pieces were falling into place, creating a picture that terrified me. By evening, I was exhausted but more determined than ever. I'd collected statements from six different pack members, all describing Lydia's suspicious behavior.
The pattern was clear. Lydia had been systematically gathering intelligence about pack security, asking about concealment methods, and showing signs of extreme stress and fear. This wasn't the behavior of someone planning suicide.
This was someone being coerced into espionage.
Kane found me in the library late that night, surrounded by notes and witness statements scattered across the mahogany table. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my shoulders ached from hunching over documents for hours.
"You look like you haven't slept in days," he said, concern evident in his voice as he settled behind my chair.
"I can't rest," I murmured, barely looking up from my notes. "Not when I know something's wrong."
His strong hands began massaging my tense shoulders, working magic on the knots of stress that had formed there. Despite everything happening around us, I felt myself melting into his touch. When he pressed a gentle kiss to my temple, warmth spread through my chest.
"Talk to me," Kane said softly. "What have you discovered?"
I leaned back against him, drawing strength from his presence. "Lydia was gathering intelligence about Raymond's routines, asking about herbs used for concealment, acting nervous and paranoid."
Kane's hands stilled on my shoulders. "Or someone was planning something dangerous through her."
"Exactly," I said firmly, turning to show him the notes I'd compiled. "Look at the pattern. She was being used. Someone else was pulling the strings, and when she became a liability..."
"They silenced her," Kane finished grimly.
I nodded, then turned in his arms to study his face. Fear flickered in his eyes, something I had only ever caught brief glimpses of before, but now it seemed to weigh him down with worry.
"I've come to depend on you," I admitted quietly. "More than I probably should. You're the only one who believes me, who sees what I see."
Kane's hands cupped my face gently. "I can't lose you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Promise me you won't take unnecessary risks."
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed insistently on the table. I glanced at the message from one of the pack guards, my blood running cold as I read the words.
"What is it?" Kane asked, sensing my distress through our growing bond.
"Lydia's quarters were thoroughly cleaned immediately after her death," I read aloud, my voice shaking slightly. "Too thoroughly for standard protocol. Even her personal belongings were removed and destroyed before anyone could examine them."
Kane's protective instincts flared, his jaw tightening with barely controlled anger. "Someone wanted to erase all evidence of her real activities."
The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed terrified me. Whatever Lydia had been involved in, someone had silenced her before she could expose the truth. And that same someone was still out there, watching, waiting, covering their tracks.
"We need to be careful," I whispered, suddenly aware of how exposed we were in the library.
Kane nodded grimly, pulling me closer. "This conspiracy runs deeper than we thought. And if they killed Lydia to keep her quiet..."
"They won't hesitate to kill anyone else who gets too close to the truth," I finished.
As Kane held me close, I realized our investigation had just become far more dangerous. The attack on Raymond's convoy, Lydia's suspicious death, the cleaned quarters—all of it pointed to a coordinated effort to eliminate threats and cover tracks.
But I also knew I couldn't stop now. Marcus deserved justice, and the pack deserved protection from whoever was orchestrating this betrayal from within.
The game had changed, and the stakes had never been higher.
