Chapter Six: Trails, Traps, and Tangled Packs

After breakfast with Electra, the kitchen had felt too small, her question about Cade—"Why's he got a problem with us now?"—hanging in the air like smoke I couldn't clear. It'd rattled me more than I'd let on, dragging up memories of when we'd been a trio—her, me, and Cade—before he'd taken over as alpha and my own messes piled up. I needed out—space to breathe, to shake off the council's ruling still gnawing at my pride and the cell's dank stench clinging to my skin. Anger management classes twice a week were my new leash, and they'd yanked me off patrol duty too, a gut punch to my beta status in a pack of a thousand wolves. Didn't mean I couldn't check the traps I'd set yesterday, though—keep an eye on the borders, rogue or not. Rules be damned, I wasn't about to sit idle while the forest beckoned.

I slipped out the back door, avoiding the main hall where Shane's trial would've just wrapped—probably a banishment, judging by last night's chaos—and headed for the trees. The afternoon sun slanted through the pines, warm on my bare shoulders as I stripped behind a thick oak near the pack house's edge, folding my jeans and dark green shirt into a neat pile. No one was around, but modesty was for humans—I'd shifted in worse spots. I closed my eyes, letting the change rip through me—bones stretching, muscles knitting, fur sprouting black as pitch until the world snapped into vivid clarity. My wolf hit the ground running, claws tearing into the damp earth, the wind whipping through my coat, sharp with pine and freedom.

I bolted east toward the river, where I'd rigged those net traps Electra had pitched in Cade's office a week ago—her voice crisp, "They'll snag rogues without killing them, Kyan," back before she'd left for training school. The forest blurred past—pine needles stinging my nose, the faint musk of deer lingering on a trail, the rustle of leaves overhead. My jaw ached faintly, a ghost of Cade's training punch from days before Shane's beating, but the run burned it away, every stride bleeding off the tension coiled in me since the council chamber. A thousand wolves, miles of borders, and I was benched—Gavyn's voice still echoed, "Your temper's a liability." I checked the traps—wire taut, markers reeking of herbs and urine, pits undisturbed. No rogue scent, just the woods' quiet hum. Good enough, even if it wasn't my job anymore.

An hour later, I looped back toward the pack house, slowing as I neared the tree line. Hanging back in the shadows, my dark green eyes caught movement—Shane, trudging out the front door, a battered suitcase dragging behind him. Two enforcers flanked him—Kael, hulking with a broken nose, and Mira, wiry with a scar across her cheek—their broad shoulders squared, faces grim. Shane's head was bowed, a bruise blooming dark across his jaw where I'd clocked him last night, blood on my knuckles earning me a night in the cell. Served him right—bastard had it coming after what he'd done to Diana. She stood on the porch, her sobs carrying on the breeze, hands pressed to her face. Even from here, I could smell her grief, bitter and thick, laced with that faint pregnancy tang I'd caught last night through the bars. My chest tightened—it was for the best, him gone, but her pain cut deeper than I'd expected. She loved him, somehow, despite the bruises he'd left, the ones I'd seen when she'd come to me, cuts still pink on her healing skin.

I wanted to go to her, say something to ease that hurt—maybe "You're better off," or "The pack's got you"—but I'd done enough. My fists had spoken, landed me in front of the council with a hundred wolves watching, and stirred up this mess. Guilty plea, anger classes, no patrols—Gavyn's gavel had hit harder than Shane's jaw. She didn't need me barging in again, not when her tears were already soaking the porch boards. I retreated to my clothes, shifting back with a groan as my bones snapped into human shape. The forest air chilled my sweat-slick skin as I yanked on my jeans and shirt, the fabric rough against my still-thrumming pulse. Sneaking around to the back door felt smarter—no point wading through the pack's stares or Diana's sobs.

I pushed the door open and nearly collided with Cade, his bulk filling the frame like a wall of alpha muscle. His arms were crossed, hazel eyes fixed somewhere past me, jaw tight under that short brown beard he'd grown since taking over. Great—not in the mood for one of his lectures, I tried to sidestep him, but my shoulder clipped his, solid as stone. He didn't budge.

"Kyan, I know you were trying to do the right thing," he said, voice low, still not meeting my gaze, "but we have rules around here for a reason. You should've come straight to me."

I barely registered it, a grunt escaping my throat as I stared at the door handle, the council's verdict replaying—anger management, off patrols, "Prove you've got control." I didn't need Cade piling on, not when my head was still spinning from Diana's tears, Shane's banishment, and the cell's cold bars. I'd argued in the chamber—"A thousand wolves, we need every pair of eyes!"—but Gavyn had shut me down, the enforcers stepping up like I was expendable. I nodded once, a stiff jerk of my chin, and grunted again. It seemed to satisfy him; he stepped aside, letting me pass without another word. Deep down, I knew he was right—rules kept a pack this size from turning into the rogues we hunted—but when I'd seen Diana's face, reason had torched itself and jumped out the nearest window.

I reached for the main hall door, fingers brushing the cool metal, when sobs filtered through—raw, wrenching, unmistakably Diana's. She must've come inside, grieving loud enough to echo off the wood walls. Nope, not dealing with that. I pivoted, pushing into the rec room instead. The space was a welcome void—empty, save for a few worn couches, a TV flickering static, and the PS4 sitting idle on a shelf scarred with claw marks. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the blinds, the air stale with disuse. I powered up the console, the hum of it a small comfort, and flopped onto the sagging couch. Someone had left Horizon Zero Dawn in the tray—new, sleek, a game Matt had raved about after snagging it from town. Good enough distraction from the council's leash and Diana's mess.

I sank into it, guiding Aloy through a world of metal beasts and overgrown ruins. The controller vibrated under my grip, the screen flashing with combat—dodge, stab, repeat. Twenty minutes melted away, my focus narrowing to the rhythm of the hunt, until the couch dipped beside me. Wildflowers and sweat hit my nose—Electra. My beta senses had clocked her before she'd crossed the threshold, a perk that'd saved my ass more than once.

"What're you playing?" she asked, her voice bright with curiosity, leaning closer to peer at the screen, her ponytail brushing my arm.

"Horizon Zero Dawn," I muttered, flicking a sideways glance at her. She'd swapped her training gear from last week for a loose cream tee and jeans, her light brown hair loose around her shoulders, catching the light.

"I've heard good things about this game," she said, nodding approvingly, her green eyes glinting. "Pay attention—that robot almost got you!" Her tone sharpened, half-scolding, as a mechanical beast lunged on-screen.

I smirked, dodging just in time, then drove my spear into its chest with a satisfying crunch. The thing collapsed in a shower of sparks, and I shot her a triumphant look. "Got it."

She rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her full lips. "Don't get too cocky." She punched my arm lightly, playful, but her gaze lingered, sharp and knowing. "So, you're hiding out in here, aren't you?"

"Something like that," I mumbled, thumbing the controller harder, hoping she'd drop it. The rec room's quiet was my shield—out there, it was all whispers about Shane's banishment, Diana's pregnancy, and my guilty plea in front of a hundred wolves.

She scooted closer, her knee brushing mine, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "You know, I think what you did was right. Shane needed someone to teach him a lesson."

I turned, studying her face—those green eyes blazing with conviction, her jaw set like she'd throw the punch herself. "If you really thought that, you wouldn't be whispering," I said, smirking, calling her bluff.

Her mouth dropped open, shock flashing across her features, then she laughed, a quick, soft sound that hit me harder than it should've. "It's not that—I just don't want Cade hearing me. I've noticed you two don't hang out as much lately. He thinks you went about it all wrong." She stood, smoothing her jeans, her half-smile tinged with something like regret. "I don't want to stir up more tension between you."

My attention drifted from the game, the screen blurring as I set the controller on my knee. "Maybe he's right about what I did," I said, pausing, the admission sour on my tongue. "But we're fine. Just... more responsibilities now. Hard to be buddies when it's all alpha and beta stuff—him running a thousand wolves, me benched like a damn pup."

She tilted her head, distracted for a beat, then her eyes lit up, bright as the moon on a clear night. "We should hang out more—like we used to!" She grinned, all teeth and enthusiasm, bouncing slightly on her heels. "It's gonna be fun."I ran a hand through my hair, scratching the back of my head, unease curling in my gut like a fist. "I, uh... not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not?" she pressed, curiosity sharpening her tone, pinning me like a deer in a trap. I stayed silent, throat tight—Cade's voice from two months back roaring in my head: "Kyan, she's my sister. You sleep around—everyone knows it—and I'll be damned if she gets tangled up in that. Mess with her when she gets back, and you're out. Packless. Done. Swear it." I'd swallowed hard, nodded, muttered, "Yeah, I swear," to keep my spot, figuring it'd be simple with her still at training school. Now she was here, and that threat felt like a blade at my throat. She clapped her hands, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Well, since you can't come up with a reason, I think we should. Just like old times."

I groaned, the sound rumbling low in my chest, and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Yeah, ha... just like old times." Trouble brewed in her grin—I could smell it, wildflowers and defiance. Back in the day, we'd been a trio with Cade—climbing trees by the river, pulling pranks like swapping Tobin's boots with mismatched pairs, laughing until our sides hurt. Now? Cade's warning loomed like a death sentence, and my tally—twenty-six notches, a player's rep whispered through the pack—made it crystal clear why he'd drawn that line. Mess with her, and I'd be a rogue by dawn.

She didn't catch the strain in my voice, or if she did, she ignored it, plopping back onto the couch with a bounce that jostled me. "Good. You're not getting out of it." She snatched the second controller from the table, nudging me with her elbow, her warmth seeping through my sleeve. "Let's play Zombies."

I hesitated, then hit the menu, switching from Horizon Zero Dawn to Call of Duty: Black Ops—Zombies mode, the game we'd played as kids until Cade's mom banned it for keeping us up all night howling at the screen. The familiar loading screen flared up, undead groans filling the room as we spawned into Kino der Toten. Back then, Electra used to squeal and cover her eyes with her hands whenever the zombies got too close, her little fingers peeking through as Cade and I laughed and racked up kills. Now, she laughed—a full, fearless sound—as she unloaded a clip into a shambling horde, her aim sharp and steady, green eyes glinting with glee.

"Headshot!" she crowed, grinning as a zombie's skull exploded on-screen, pixelated gore spraying. "You're slacking, Kyan—cover my six!"

I snorted, snapping out of the memory, and swung my shotgun around, blasting a crawler sneaking up behind her character. "Not a kid anymore, huh?" I said, smirking as the thing crumpled. "No more hiding behind your hands."

She laughed again, elbowing me harder this time, her shoulder brushing mine. "I grew out of that—unlike you growing out of trouble." Her tone was teasing, but her eyes flicked to me, sharp and knowing, like she could see the council's ruling tattooed on my skin.

For a moment, it was just us, the game, and the echo of easier days—her barking "Reload!" like she had at twelve, me sniping stragglers with a grunt, the controller buzzing under my palms. But Cade's warning pounded in my skull—"Mess with her, and you're out"—and I'd sworn to it, knowing my rep for sleeping around was why he'd bared his teeth that day. Now she was here, grinning like trouble incarnate, and keeping that promise felt like walking a razor's edge with a thousand wolves watching, my patrol boots gathering dust, and her laugh pulling me in deeper than I could afford.