Chapter 4

Elara did not hesitate for long. The Berserker blood demanded action, and the newly established anchor demanded loyalty. The Alpha's keys lay heavy in Kael's abandoned hand, representing the pact—the records, the truth, the Rebellion. But the sharp, terrified whimper of Jax, quickly followed by the distinct, frantic scent of Kael's distress, overruled logic.

Chaos is not always a choice, her wolf snarled. Sometimes, it is necessary.

She ignored the keys and sprinted down the hallway, her sneakers silent on the polished stone floor. Kael's scent, now laced with primal fear, was a blazing trail.

She found them in a storage annex behind the library. Jax was pinned against a column by two of Alpha Darius's personal enforcers, his face bruised. Kael was fighting Darius himself, but the Alpha was older, heavier, and possessed a political power that translated into brute strength. Darius had Kael locked in a chokehold, his face already darkening.

"I knew you were a traitor, Kael," Darius snarled, tightening his grip. "Bringing the feral in was the first sign. You think you can stage a little Rebellion right under my nose?"

"Let him go," Elara commanded, stepping into the annex.

Darius laughed, a dry, cruel sound. "Ah, the Street Kid. Come to save your forbidden little Mate? This is exactly what I wanted. I needed proof that your power is unstable, that you are a menace to the Pack. This confirms it."

The anger was immediate, hot, and consuming. Darius was not only hurting Kael, but he was manipulating the very laws they were trying to uphold. This was the precise catalyst that always triggered the Berserker’s shift.

No. Not yet.

Elara fought the wave of shifting agony, grounding herself. She didn't want the chaos. She needed control. She focused on the five shifters in the room—Kael’s fading cedar, Jax’s scared spice, and the three distant, panicked anchors of Rhys, Zane, and Cole, who were undoubtedly monitoring the situation from afar.

She drew on their energy, forcing the red haze back into a manageable, shimmering black.

"You need me, Alpha," Elara stated, her voice trembling with the effort of control. "You need me to win the cup. I am the only one who can control this power, and right now, your Enforcer is the only one who can control me."

Darius hesitated, his greed momentarily overriding his rage. He eased his grip just enough for Kael to gulp in air.

"You're testing me, Feral," Darius said.

"I am giving you an ultimatum. You release Kael and Jax, and I will play your game. You hurt them again, and I lose control. I guarantee I can take down more than two of your enforcers before you contain me."

The two enforcers holding Jax exchanged nervous glances. They knew the Berserker legend.

Darius finally shoved Kael away, sending him sprawling to the ground. "Fine. Get out. But the moment the season ends, I settle this score. Kael, you are confined to the dorms. One more step out of line, and I will claim that power for myself."

Kael coughed, rubbing his bruised neck, but his eyes, when they met Elara’s, were a blinding mix of gratitude and awe. She had chosen him over the records, choosing the Found Family over the political maneuver.

They managed to slip away, dragging a limping Jax back toward their dorm. Rhys and Cole were waiting, their faces pale with worry.

"The tracker went silent for thirty seconds," Rhys whispered urgently. "We thought he was dead."

"I am fine," Kael said, though he swayed slightly. He looked at Elara, the lingering antagonism finally burned away. "She saved us. She had the chance to steal the records, but she came back."

Jax, rubbing his sore jaw, nodded. "You have loyalty, Feral. I misjudged you."

The tension broke. For the first time, Elara felt truly accepted, not just as a tool, but as a crucial, necessary member of their unit. The Reverse Harem was cemented, built not on lust, but on the messy reality of shared danger.

But they had paid a steep price. Darius was now actively suspicious, and Kael was sidelined.

"The Alpha won't let me play the next game," Kael stated grimly. "He’ll use this as punishment. I'm banned from the ice."

"But the next game is crucial," Rhys stressed. "It’s against the Ravens. If we lose this one, our standing is ruined, and Darius will lose his leverage for the real money in the Fighting Ring bets."

Elara looked down at her hands. The bond with Kael had been proven effective, a protective shield against her own chaos. But now her most vital anchor was removed.

"He wants chaos, he’ll get it," Elara decided, her gaze hardening. "He took away the Enforcer. He can't take away the Feral."

She turned to Rhys. "Get me Kael’s old jersey. I'm playing next game."

"You can’t," Cole protested. "Your power is too volatile without Kael’s anchor."

"Then we find a new one," Elara declared, looking straight at Zane, the quiet healer whose touch had soothed her wound. "Zane. You’re the only one whose presence feels like pure calm. You're the goalie. Stay close. Don't let me shift. If I do, I will need you to make a Sacrifice—use your power to knock me out, whatever it takes. The game is the distraction we need for the Rebellion. I am going to play, and I am going to win."

Zane, pale but resolute, finally met her eyes and nodded once.

The next night, the Crestwood Claws took the ice without their captain. Elara, wearing Kael’s oversized number 08 jersey, felt the absence of his anchor like a gaping hole in her defenses. She was the chaos they needed, but the edge of the Berserker’s power was frighteningly close.

During the third period, with the score tied, the Ravens' aggressive center executed a low, illegal sweep, sending Elara tumbling hard into the boards. The pain flared—but this time, it wasn't the bone-deep ache of injury. It was the white-hot, uncontrollable fury of the Berserker Bloodline.

The red haze descended, thicker and faster than ever before. Her control dissolved. She wasn't an athlete anymore; she was pure, killing instinct. She felt the muscle rip and tear as she began the shift—mid-ice, mid-game.

The siren wailed. Zane, seeing the terrifying transformation, skated toward her, ready to execute the painful Sacrifice.

But before Zane could reach her, before the shift was complete, a massive, gray wolf materialized out of the shadows of the penalty box, leaping onto the ice with a roar that shook the stadium lights.

It was Kael. He had defied Darius's orders and shifted, sprinting across the ice with a primal desperation. He wasn’t going to stop the shift; he was going to join it.

He slammed into her, not in a fight, but in a chaotic, powerful embrace—two huge wolves rolling together on the ice, fusing their scents and their struggle right in front of the horrified human crowd.

Kael had broken his ban and shifted on the ice, exposing the Pack’s existence to save her from the Berserker’s shift. How would Alpha Darius punish this double treason, and would the raw, public blending of their forbidden, feral power finally expose their secret to the human world?