Chapter 3

The mark on Elara’s shoulder burned like a brand. It wasn't the pain that worried her—she was numb to pain—but the scent. The fresh blood, mixed with the intense, possessive pheromones from Kael's bite, was a screaming headline in the silent language of shifters.

"It will fade by dawn, won't it?" she asked, her voice tight, standing on the perimeter of the group.

Rhys was already rummaging through a small medical kit he kept hidden beneath a hollowed-out log. "Not fast enough for Darius’s morning inspection," he stated, referring to the corrupt Alpha Council leader. "A claiming bite, even an accidental one, takes hours to disappear completely. It screams 'Fated Bond' to any true Alpha."

Kael looked away, his jaw working. "It wasn't accidental. It was necessary. I needed to shock the system and anchor the power, immediately."

"And you decided the best route was a declaration of ownership?" Elara challenged, feeling the rising heat of the Berserker’s temper.

Before the tension could explode, Zane stepped forward. The mute healer placed two fingers lightly on the bite mark, and Elara felt a cool, soothing energy flow into the wound. Zane then handed Rhys a thick, fragrant paste wrapped in leaves.

"Wolfsbane and silver," Rhys explained, applying the concoction quickly and efficiently. "It slows the healing, paradoxically, but it masks the scent. It will look like a fresh scrape from the boards. It’s risky, but it buys us twenty-four hours."

The pragmatic speed of the Found Family dynamic was unsettling. They moved like a well-oiled machine, compensating for her chaos and Kael's rigid impulsivity. She realized this was their default setting: survival.

"The bond works," Kael finally admitted, his gaze intense. "I felt the stability immediately. We are the only thing that can keep your Berserker bloodline from killing you—or killing the wrong people."

Cole and Jax, who had been silent observers, nodded their agreement. "We felt it too, Elara," Jax said. "You were like a broken compass—spinning out. When Kael bit you, we all settled, too. We’re connected now."

"A Reverse Harem of necessity," she muttered, pulling her collar high.

"A pact of survival," Rhys corrected. "Now, we play hockey. And we play by Darius's rules, because we need the access. We need to find the proof he's still running the Forced Fighting Ring."

Morning practice was brutal, a high-stakes performance played under the watchful scrutiny of Alpha Darius and his enforcers in the upper box.

Darius himself was a man who smelled of power and old money. He walked onto the ice during the first drill, stopping directly in front of Elara.

"Welcome to the team, Feral," Darius said, his voice oily and patronizing. "I trust your first night went well. Kael tells me you have some trouble managing aggression."

"I am under control, Alpha," Elara replied, forcing a neutral tone.

"Good. Because Power She Can't Control is just a liability. I saved you from the pit, Elara. Don't make me regret my Redemption project."

His eyes dropped to her collarbone, lingering for a fraction of a second too long. Elara could feel the faint, dull ache of the bite beneath the mask of the paste. Her heart hammered.

Darius turned his attention to Kael. "The team’s success this season, Kael, rests entirely on your ability to harness her ferocity. If you cannot contain her, I will find a more effective method. Are we clear?"

"Crystal clear, Alpha," Kael responded instantly, his expression betraying nothing. He was the perfect Rival Enforcer, his loyalty absolute.

Elara felt a sharp stab of anger. He was denying their bond, denying her, right in front of her. But she understood the danger. Kael was playing the game, acting the part of the Alpha’s favored son to keep their secret safe.

For the next two hours, the practice became a dance of lethal proximity. Kael didn't touch her, but he was always there—a looming, Protective Alpha presence shadowing her every move. He ran drills that required constant, tight formation, forcing her to rely on the spatial awareness of the twins and the stability of Rhys and Zane.

Every time she felt the dangerous surge of the Berserker’s impatience, she focused on the silent, steady anchor of the five males surrounding her. It worked. The power was still there, a simmering cauldron, but the lid held firm.

After practice, Rhys pulled Elara aside. "The paste worked. But the inspection proved Darius is suspicious. We need to speed up the plan. I found a hidden compartment in the Alpha office—it’s where he keeps the transaction records for the Ring."

"I'll go," Elara volunteered immediately.

"No," Kael cut in, stepping from the shadows. "Too dangerous. You’re too hot right now. If your power flares, you’re done. I have keys and clearance. I'll go alone tonight."

"He won't open up to you," Elara argued. "He'll expect you to follow the rules. He won't expect the feral Street Kid to understand codes and alarms."

A slow, challenging smile spread across Kael's face, the first genuine expression she had seen from him that wasn't rage or fear.

"Then we go together," he decided, the admission of trust electric in the air. "We need the distraction. You create the chaos. I steal the truth."

That night, under the cold, watchful gaze of the moon, Elara and Kael scaled the stone wall of Crestwood Academy. They moved as one unit, Kael's practiced efficiency balanced by Elara's raw, animal stealth.

They reached the Alpha's office door. Rhys had disabled the audible alarm, but a pressure sensor remained.

"Stand back," Kael whispered, reaching into his pocket for the key.

Suddenly, a loud, panicked whimper echoed down the corridor—the sound of a young wolf in distress.

Kael froze. "That's Jax. They must have been watching us."

"It's a trap," Elara breathed, but Kael was already moving, his instinct as a Protective Alpha overriding his caution.

"Get the records, Elara. I'll draw them away." He darted down the hallway in the direction of the sound.

Elara hesitated for a heartbeat. This was her chance—the records, the proof of the Rebellion, the path to her Redemption. But the bond, the anchor he had established on her neck, screamed one single command: Follow. Protect.

She looked at the key in Kael's abandoned hand. She looked down the corridor where her rival, her only tether, had just run into a trap.

Should Elara honor the pact and secure the records that could free the entire Pack, or should she defy the plan and run to aid Kael, risking the Berserker's power to save the Alpha she was forbidden to love?