Chapter Eight: Shadows, Sweat, and Secrets

The walk back from the forest with Electra was a slow torture, the silence between us thick as mud, sticking to every step. Her cream wolf had shimmered in the sun an hour ago, but now, in human form, she kept her eyes on the ground, her sneakers scuffing the dirt path. My jaw clenched, the taste of her cheek—warm, earthy, a reckless mistake—still buzzing on my tongue. I'd crossed a line, and Cade's deal loomed like a storm cloud: "Kyan," he'd growled two months back, hazel eyes hard, "I've heard the stories from the pack—you've been sleeping around—and I'll be damned if Electra gets near that. Mess with her when she gets back, and you're out. Packless. Done. Swear it." I'd sworn it, and now I'd kissed his sister in wolf form. When we hit the pack house's back porch, I muttered a quick, "See ya," my voice rough and clipped, and briskly walked away, strides long and purposeful, not waiting for her reply. She hesitated, her wildflower scent fading behind me as I aimed for my room, heart thudding like I'd faced a rogue, not her.

The hallway stretched ahead, dim and quiet, the hardwood cool under my boots. I looked up to see Shauna, leaning against my door, arms crossed, her face shadowed with something heavy. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, loose and tangled from a morning run, but her hazel eyes—usually glinting with mischief—were dulled, her freckled nose wrinkled in a frown. No smirk this time, just a tightness in her jaw that hit me like a punch. I stopped short, concern cutting through my mess of a morning, and stepped close, pulling her into a hug. Her lean, wiry frame tensed at first, then softened against me, the familiar tang of sweat and leather mixing with a faint tremor in her breath.

"What's wrong?" I asked, voice low, pulling back just enough to search her face, one hand lingering on her shoulder. I fished my phone from my pocket—no messages, no heads-up. Odd, but Shauna showing up upset wasn't like her, not after all those late-night talks about my folks when her understanding gaze had kept me steady.

She sighed, a shaky sound, and rubbed a hand over her face. "Rough morning," she muttered, eyes flicking away, then back to me. "Patrol got messy—lost a trail, nearly lost my temper. Just... I needed to see you." Her lips twitched, a weak attempt at her usual smirk, but it didn't reach her eyes.

I nodded, squeezing her shoulder, then unlocked my door with a quick twist of the key. "Come on, let's fix that," I said, nudging her inside, a growl edging my voice—not hunger this time, but a promise to pull her out of whatever hole she'd stumbled into.

As I stepped in, motion caught my eye—Electra, down the hall, fumbling with her own door, her cream tee clinging to her frame from the run's sweat. She glanced my way, green eyes locking on mine for a split second, then darted inside when she saw Shauna at my side. The door clicked shut, sharp and final. I shrugged it off, shoving down the flicker of guilt. I had to stop thinking about Electra—any way I could—before I did something dumber than licking her cheek. Shauna needed me now, and she was the perfect distraction, no strings, just us burning off the day's weight like we'd done a dozen times since Shane's mess started

.We tumbled into my room, a tangle of half-hearted shoves and quiet understanding, the door banging shut behind us. She kicked off her boots, leather jacket hitting the floor with a soft thud, revealing a tight black tank that hugged her curves, her skin flushed from the day's heat and frustration. I yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it toward the desk—it missed, landing in a heap by the chair—and she managed a small laugh, sharp but brittle, shoving me back onto the bed. The frame creaked under our weight as she straddled me, her hands pinning my wrists, nails digging into my skin just enough to sting. Her lips crashed into mine, fierce and hungry, tasting of mint and the faint salt of sweat, her tongue teasing mine as I growled into her mouth, letting her take what she needed.

I flipped us, her back hitting the mattress with a bounce, blonde hair fanning out across the pillow. My hands slid under her tank, rough palms grazing the taut muscle of her stomach, then higher, shoving the fabric up and off, her sports bra following in a quick tug. She arched into me, her breath hitching as I kissed down her neck, teeth scraping her collarbone, her skin warm and slick under my lips. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling hard, a low moan escaping her as I worked my way down—kissing the curve of her chest, nipping at her ribs, tasting the salt and heat of her. My jeans were gone next, kicked off in a clumsy rush, her hands fumbling with the zipper of hers until we were bare, a mess of limbs and need.

She rolled us again, taking control, her thighs clamping around my hips as she moved, slow at first, then faster, her nails digging into my chest, sharp points of pressure that'd leave crescent marks. I gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, matching her rhythm, the bed creaking louder, the headboard tapping the wall in a staccato beat. Her gasps filled the room, sharp and ragged, mingling with my own grunts, the air thick with sweat and the musk of us. It built fast, a wildfire rush, and when she tensed, her head tipping back with a choked cry, I followed, the release hitting hard, leaving me breathless and dizzy, her weight collapsing onto me.

We lay there for a minute, panting, her cheek pressed to my chest, my heart hammering under her ear. Then she laughed, a soft, lazy sound, rolling off to sprawl beside me, one leg still hooked over mine. "Better than therapy, huh?" she teased, smirking as she propped herself on an elbow, her hair a wild halo, the upset in her eyes finally easing.

"Damn right," I muttered, smirking back, wiping sweat from my brow. We cleaned up quick—the small bathroom off my room a cramped lifeline, its chipped sink barely wide enough for Shauna to splash water on her face while I leaned against the doorframe, tugging on fresh jeans and a grey tee. She flicked water at me, grinning as I dodged, I was glad to see a smile back on her face. Training was five minutes off, and we headed out together, her elbow bumping mine as we jostled down the hall, both grinning like idiots, her mood lighter than when she'd arrived.

The training field sprawled beyond the pack house, a wide oval of trampled grass edged by the forest, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. A group was already there—thirty wolves milling about, their chatter a low hum—when we strolled up, still messing around. Cade stood at the centre, arms crossed, his broad frame a wall of authority, brown beard shadowing his jaw. His hazel eyes flicked to me, narrowing with that unimpressed glare I knew too well, his jaw tight as if he'd bitten down on something sour—probably my tardiness or our playful laughs as we arrived. I straightened, wiping the grin off my face, Shauna nudging me one last time before peeling off to join the others.

"Alright, now that we're all here," Cade said, his voice booming, a pointed edge aimed my way, "I can explain what we're doing today." He paused, scanning the thirty wolves—enforcers and trainees—then bent to lift a tarp from the ground. The metallic tang of blood hit my nose—faint but sharp—and my gut twisted. I wasn't ready for what lay beneath: a dead rogue, sprawled limp, neck snapped at an ugly angle, fur matted with crimson. Fresh, too—killed this morning, his glassy eyes staring nowhere, jaws slack with death. I'd taken down rogues before, claws and teeth tearing through them on patrol, but I hadn't expected one today—not since the council yanked me off patrols. No firsthand info anymore, just secondhand scraps, and this one blindsided me.

"This rogue," Cade said, pointing at the corpse, "was in the northern woods this morning." His tone was grim, heavy with warning.

My mind reeled—Electra and I had been out there, racing through those same woods, laughing like fools just hours ago. The traps I'd set were east, not north, but still—how close had we come? My pulse kicked up, a cold prickle crawling down my spine.

"Our border patrol found it before it struck two pack members," Cade continued, his voice steady but hard. "We don't know who they were—the wolf who killed this thing had to head to medical and report it—but we need every one of you to exercise caution out there." He paused, letting it sink in, his gaze sweeping us like a blade. "These beasts are bent on killing without a second thought."

I tuned out, his words blurring into static as my eyes roamed the pack. Someone had tangled with that rogue and walked away—someone who'd landed in medical. A bite, bruises—there'd be signs. How had I missed it? My wolf senses were sharp, beta-honed—I'd sniffed out rogues a mile off back when I ran patrols—yet I'd heard nothing, smelled nothing but Electra's wildflowers and the forest's green pulse during our run. I scanned faces—Shauna stretching her arms, Lila whispering to a friend—until a pair of eyes locked on mine. Matt.

He stood near the back, arms loose at his sides, sandy hair damp from a fresh shower—probably to wash off rogue blood—and shot me a wink, slow and deliberate. My stomach dropped. His sleeve was rolled up, revealing a single bite on his forearm—not too deep, scabbed over—and a few faint bruises dusting his wrist, purple against his tan skin. He'd been out there, fought that rogue, and covered for me. For us. The wink said it all—he'd seen me with Electra, seen the chase, maybe even the lick. My throat tightened. I had to talk to him after training, explain before his big mouth spun rumours through the pack like wildfire—rumours that'd reach Cade faster than a howl. But how the hell do I explain kissing Electra?

Cade's voice snapped me back. "Pair up—shifted combat drills. Stay sharp." He clapped his hands, the sound cracking through the air, and the pack stirred, wolves peeling off into twos. I caught Matt's eye again—he nodded toward me, a silent you're with me, and I trudged over, dread pooling in my gut.

We moved to the forest's edge with the others, stripping next to the tree line where the grass met the dirt, clothes piling up in messy heaps—jeans, shirts, boots—so they wouldn't snag if we shifted mid-drill. Most of us didn't care who saw what—me included, my grey tee and jeans tossed without a thought—but a few, Electra among them, slipped off to more private spots. She'd always been that way, even as a kid racing with me and Cade, and now her cream sweater vanished behind a thick pine as she undressed, her modesty a quiet constant. I shifted fast, my dark grey wolf shaking out its coat, Matt's tawny form emerging beside me, leaner but marked with that bite on his front leg. The field filled with wolves—cream, white, grey, brown, black—snarling and circling in practice bouts. Cade prowled the edges, barking orders, his massive grey wolf a hulking shadow, alpha power rippling off him.

Matt lunged first, a playful snap at my flank, and I dodged, swiping back, claws grazing air. We sparred, a dance of feints and rolls, but my mind wasn't in it—every glance at that bite mark screamed questions. After ten minutes, Cade called a break, and we shifted back, panting, sweat beading on my brow, dampening my hair. Matt grinned, wiping a trickle of sweat from his neck with a scarred hand, and leaned close as we grabbed water from a cooler. "Northern woods, huh?" he said, voice low, that damn wink flashing again. "Saw you and Electra out there—cute little chase. Didn't know you had it in you.

"I froze, water bottle halfway to my mouth, my heart thudding. "It's not what you think," I said, too quick, my voice rough. "We were just running."

"Sure," he drawled, smirking, hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "Running right into her face with your tongue. Real subtle, beta." He clapped my shoulder, laughing as I choked on my water, the cold liquid burning my throat. "Relax—I didn't tell Cade. Took the rogue hit myself. You owe me."

"Matt—" I started, but he waved me off, sauntering back to the field, leaving me standing there, pulse racing. He'd covered for me, sure, but that wink meant trouble. If he blabbed—about the run, the lick, anything—Cade's deal would snap like a brittle bone, and I'd be out, packless, just like he'd promised. I had to figure this out, fast, before Matt's loyalty turned into leverage—or worse, a rumour that'd torch my beta status in a pack this size.

After training, I spent the rest of the day dodging Electra and Cade like they were feral wolves sniffing for my trail. Matt had sworn to keep my secret—that reckless lick I'd planted on Electra's cheek in the northern woods before training—and I was banking on his silence, his scabbed-over rogue bite from that fight a grim receipt for his loyalty. But Electra was a live wire; if she spilled about our run—or worse, if Cade caught a whiff of my slip-up—he'd boot me faster than Shane got hauled off with his suitcase a week ago. I holed up in the rec room for a bit, the PS4's low hum drowning out my thoughts—Zombies flashing on the screen, a game Electra had crushed me at three days back—this distraction didn't erase the mess in my head. I was tired, so I went to bed around midnight.