Chapter 3 THE INTERVIEW

The Silvermoon Estate rose from the mountainside like something out of a dark fairy tale.

Sera sat in her beat-up Honda at the base of the long, winding driveway, staring up at the mansion through the windshield. Even from a distance, it was imposing-all stone and dark timber, with tall windows that caught the afternoon light like watchful eyes. The architecture was a blend of old-world Gothic and modern mountain lodge, somehow both forbidding and beautiful.

This was the seat of power for one of the strongest packs in the region.

This was the home of Marcus's killer.

Sera checked her reflection in the rearview mirror one final time. The woman staring back was almost unrecognizable from who she'd been six months ago. Her naturally blonde hair was now a rich chestnut brown, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. She'd learned to school her amber eyes into something gentler, more vulnerable. Her makeup was minimal but carefully applied-just enough to enhance her features without looking like she was trying.

She wore a simple navy dress, modest but well-fitted, with a cardigan against the October chill. Pearl earrings borrowed from her mother's jewelry box. Low heels that were practical but feminine. She looked exactly like what she was pretending to be: a young woman down on her luck, grateful for honest work, eager to please.

Harmless. Forgettable. Safe.

"You can do this," she told her reflection, though her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. "You've practiced. You know your story. You know who you're supposed to be."

Sera Blackwood, aged 23, originally from a small pack in Oregon. Parents died in a car accident two years ago (true). Worked various service jobs since then, moving around, trying to find somewhere to belong (mostly true). Recently lost her boyfriend (true, if you substituted "mate" for "boyfriend" and "assassinated" for "lost"). Looking for stable employment and a fresh start (absolutely false).

The lies came so easily now. She'd been practicing them for weeks, until they felt as natural as breathing.

She took a deep breath-her lungs filling with mountain air that smelled of pine and approaching winter-and started the car up the long driveway.

The drive took almost five minutes. The estate was massive, surrounded by dense forest that probably belonged to the pack. She passed through iron gates that stood open but were clearly functional, noting the guard post tucked discreetly to one side. Security cameras were mounted on the stone pillars. Even in the middle of the day, two wolves in human form stood watch, their postures relaxed but alert.

They watched her car pass with the kind of casual attention that meant they were logging every detail. License plate. Make and model. The face of the driver.

Sera kept her expression calm and neutral, giving them a small, nervous smile-exactly what you'd expect from someone arriving for a job interview.

One of the guards nodded back. The other spoke into a radio.

The driveway curved through manicured grounds. She caught glimpses of training fields off to one side, what looked like barracks or housing for pack warriors. The forest pressed close on all sides, creating the sense of being isolated despite the estate's obvious size and population.

Then the mansion itself came fully into view, and despite everything-despite her grief and her rage and her cold determination-Sera felt a flicker of something like awe.

It was beautiful.

Three stories of stone and timber, with a wide front entrance framed by carved pillars. Tall windows reflected the late afternoon sun. Balconies jutted from the upper floors, and she could see the suggestion of gardens wrapped around the sides. Smoke curled from at least three different chimneys. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the sound of running water-a stream or fountain.

This was a home, she realized. Not just a fortress or pack headquarters. Someone had built this place to be lived in, to be loved.

The thought made something twist uncomfortably in her chest. She shoved it down ruthlessly.

She parked in the area marked for visitors and killed the engine. For a moment, she just sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel, breathing carefully through the sudden spike of anxiety.

This was real. This was happening. She was about to walk into the home of the man who'd ordered Marcus killed, smile at him, work for him, seduce him, destroy him.

Inside her mind, her wolf remained silent. Not even a whisper of instinct or guidance. Just that hollow, aching emptiness where her other half used to be.

Fine. She'd do this alone, then.

Sera grabbed her purse, checked her appearance one more time, and got out of the car. The October air was crisp and cold, smelling of pine needles and wood smoke. Somewhere in the distance, wolves were howling-a training exercise, maybe, or just pack members running for the joy of it.

She'd forgotten what that felt like. Joy. Freedom. The simple pleasure of running on four legs with the wind in your fur.

Would she ever feel that again?

*Focus*, she told herself sharply. *You're not here to feel. You're here to destroy.*

The front entrance was clearly for formal occasions. A smaller door to the side was marked "Service Entrance - Staff Only." Sera hesitated, then chose the service entrance. She was here to interview for a maid position, after all. Better to start as she meant to go on.

The door opened before she could knock.

An older woman stood there, tall and stern-faced, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a simple black dress with a white apron, and her sharp blue eyes assessed Sera in one quick, thorough glance.

"Miss Blackwood?" the woman asked, her voice crisp and professional.

"Yes, ma'am." Sera ducked her head slightly, projecting deference. "I'm here for the interview with Elder Moira."

"I'm Elder Moira." The woman stepped back, gesturing for Sera to enter. "You're punctual. That's good. Come inside."

The service entrance led into a narrow hallway that opened into a large, spotlessly clean kitchen. It was clearly a working space-multiple ovens, industrial-sized refrigerators, a huge prep island in the center. But it was also warm and inviting, with copper pots hanging from the ceiling and herbs growing in window boxes.

A woman in her fifties, broad-shouldered and flour-dusted, looked up from where she was kneading bread. "That the new girl, Moira?"

"Potentially." Elder Moira led Sera through the kitchen, past the curious gaze of what looked like two younger staff members peeling vegetables. "We'll see how the interview goes."