Chapter 7 Seven

The Vosswood ice arena was a freezing, cavernous dome of echoing shouts and cracking fiberglass.

My ruined blazer was gone, currently soaking in a sink back in my dorm. In its place, I wore a faded, oversized academy sweater I’d dug out of the lost-and-found. It hung past my hips, swallowing my curves entirely.

But the ruined clothes were the least of my problems.

As I sat on the edge of the penalty box sorting rolls of black athletic tape, my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I was a walking nerve ending.

I had left a rabid, serum-infected freshman locked behind a flimsy wooden stall deadbolt in the West Wing restroom. It was a ticking time bomb.

Every second that passed, I expected the academy's emergency sirens to wail, or for Mr. Hale to corner me with news that my cover was blown but nothing.

I sat duck out here on the ice, trapped under the stadium lights while the virus actively infected the student body.

A sharp whistle echoed across the rink, shattering my frantic thoughts.

"Water! Bring it in!" a deep, gravelly voice commanded.

Ryker.

Just the sound of his voice made the golden rune hidden in my pocket pulse with a dull, aching heat.

I grabbed a towering stack of clean white towels and kept my head down, making my way toward the open gate of the player's bench.

"Watch out, girls. The garbage truck is coming through."

The cloying, sickening scent of artificial lilies drifted down from the first row of the bleachers... Genevieve.

She was sitting with her crew with her legs crossed, watching the varsity practice like she owned the arena.

I ignored her, gripping the towels tighter as I stepped toward the rubber matting.

Just as I passed the gap in the boards, Genevieve slid off the bleachers.

Her sharp, polished boot shot out into the aisle.

[THUD]

My feet went flying. I hit the solid ice hard.

The heavy stack of towels exploded into the air, scattering across the wet, scratched surface.

My clipboard clattered violently against the boards.

The cold was instantaneous and merciless, biting right through my thin white uniform shirt.

I scrambled to push myself up, but my hands slipped on the frozen ground.

My pleated skirt had ridden dangerously high up my thighs, exposing the thick soft skin I spent every waking moment trying to hide.

Laughter erupted from the Shadowfang bench. Miller banged the shaft of his hockey stick against the boards, howling like a hyena.

"Careful, charity case! You're gonna crack the ice with all that fat body!"

My cheeks burned with a flush so hot it rivaled my Goddess fire.

I shivered violently, my bare knees stinging against the frost, desperately trying to yank the oversized sweater down to cover my legs.

'Burn them, Elara,' Mina growled in my mind, the humiliation twisting her into a knot of rage. 'Drop the Veil. Let me show them what we are.'

'We can't,' I pleaded, tears of sheer embarrassment pricking my eyes as I fumbled for my fallen clipboard.

Then, the air pressure in the arena snapped.

The bitter, suffocating smell of ozone and burnt electricity slammed into the back of my throat.

It was so heavy it made my lungs seize.

[SCRAPE]

A massive shower of white frost kicked up near the center line as Ryker brought his massive body to a violent halt.

The laughter on the bench choked off instantly. Dead silence fell over the rink.

I looked up, my breath caught in my chest.

Ryker stood ten feet away.

He wasn't glaring at Genevieve. His stormy eyes were glued entirely to the exposed, bare skin of my thighs.

His chest heaved underneath his heavy jersey.

His thick, leather-gloved hands were gripping his hockey stick so hard I could hear the composite shaft groaning under the pressure.

'Elara,' Mina whispered, her rage suddenly dissolving into a low, frantic purr. 'He's looking at us. He wants us.'

She was right. The tether between us pulled so tight it physically ached.

I watched in terrified awe as the gray in Ryker's eyes bled out, replaced by a brilliant, predatory gold. The Alpha possessiveness rolling off him was suffocating.

He stared at my legs like he wanted to devour me, like he was one second away from dragging me off the ice and slaughtering anyone who dared to look.

But his jaw was locked tight with disgust. The sneer on his lips was cruel. He was fighting a war inside his own body, paralyzed by a pull his arrogant mind completely rejected.

Before I could force myself to look away from his golden stare, a new scent cut through the freezing air. Pine needles and fresh rain.

Jax.

He stepped past the boards, his sneakers gripping the rubber mats as he walked straight onto the slippery ice.

He didn't care about the laughing varsity players, didn't even glance at Ryker. He sank to his knees right beside me.

He didn't hover nor look at my body with the hungry, violent intensity Ryker did. He just reached out, his hand open and waiting.

"I've got you," Jax said softly.

I hesitated, my hands trembling from the biting cold, before sliding my freezing fingers into his warm palm.

Jax closed his hand around mine and pulled me up off the ice. As I found my footing, he let his thumb drag gently across my knuckles—a quiet, intimate reassurance that made the tight knot in my chest loosen just a bit.

A low, guttural snarl vibrated through the arena.

I flinched.

Ryker raised his hockey stick.

[CRACK]

He slammed the heavy shaft against the fiberglass boards with the deafening violence of a gunshot.

Jax’s head snapped up, but his grip on my hand only tightened, pulling me slightly behind him.

Ryker skated forward, closing the distance in three aggressive strides. The sheer, crushing weight of his aura pressed down on my shoulders, making it hard to stand.

"Jax," Ryker snarled, his voice a low, vibrating command that sounded like grinding stones. "Get back to the drills."

Jax didn't move. His Beta instincts flared, forming a steady shield between my trembling body and the Alpha's unhinged fury. "She fell, Ryker. I'm making sure she's okay."

Ryker's eyes flashed, a terrifying mix of gold and storm clouds. The muscle in his jaw ticked.

He stared at our joined hands, and for a second, I swore I saw pure, devastated agony crack through his cruel mask. But then the mask slammed back into place, harder than before and looked me dead in the eyes.

"The trash can walk herself," he spatted.

The words hit me harder than the ice had... like poison, sharp and unforgiving. My breath hitched.

The tiny spark of warmth Jax had just given me died instantly, replaced by a hollow, broken pain that hollowed out my chest.

Mina whimpered in the dark, curling in on herself at the utter rejection of our mate.

I yanked my hand out of Jax's grip like I had been burned.