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Chapter thirty-nine

Wren

I don’t know how I got here, but I’m on the ice, and we’re in the middle of a game. Waraski releases the puck. It’s coming towards me in slow motion; all at once, the world snaps back to normal speed. I push off, throwing all my weight and power into chasing to meet it before the defense can get to it. I do what I’ve spent thousands of hours training to do. It’s natural and instinctive.

I play hockey. I own the ice.

I take it down the left side, skating into the gap between players, and then send it backwards with a wrist shot to a waiting Dimitri. He takes the shot, sending the puck flying at their goalie. It’s caught.

I spit out a curse while the Foxes start lining up to bring the puck down the ice. I skate as fast as I can back to the bench and go back in, while Kane, Benson, and Hodge take my place.

I sit on the bench and flick my mouth guard off my teeth, chewing it lightly, while I reach for the water.

The coaches and assistant coaches are talking, but I’m not paying attention, I’m looking for her again. She’s so far away that I can’t see her while she’s sitting down.

The bright white of the ice draws my attention, and I force myself to watch the play. It’s a surprisingly short amount of time before I’m tapped, and my line heads out again.

We explode into action, chasing the puck. Waraski manages to get the puck off their center and sends it down the ice towards Evans. He’s the second fastest on the team, after Inman, and when he takes it, we all fly up the ice .

He passes it to Hoffsfield, who sends it to me. The Foxes defense slams into him, and he hits the ice hard. Evans shouts, but I keep going. I can almost feel the guy chasing me, right behind my right shoulder. He slams into me a moment later, crushing me to the boards. We fight, and I struggle to free my stick enough to shift the puck, but I can’t. In desperation, I kick it with my skate, spitting a curse at the idiot holding me. It shoots out while another player slams into me. I hold them to me, giving Evans and Hoffsfield a few extra seconds.

The siren goes, and I almost close my eyes in relief.

A goal. Thank fuck.

Whoever has me pinned to the boards hits my kidney hard with a hidden punch, and when he gets off me, I glance at him and recognise it’s Corey Taylor. He’s a notorious hotheaded idiot who loves to trade low blows. I don’t give him a reaction as I skate to the bench.

The game heats and gets more violent. The sound of whistles and the cheer of the audience are the howls of the hungry baying for blood. The crack of sticks echoing around the rink wielded like weapons of war. All of this should have me in the right mindset, but I can’t get there. I’ve trained for this, I’m ready for this.

I should be able to forget everything else but work, but I cannot get my head in the game.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

I nod my head tightly, refusing to look at Evans. I like him; we don’t know each other well, but we work well together, and I can see us being friends, but I can’t tell him what’s going on.

Ramirez scores and comes off the ice. I stand up and head back on.

I’ve got the puck, and I’m watching the right defense skate backwards in front of me. He’s intent and damned good at his job. He’s making me work for it. I feint to the left and slap the puck to the right, straight into Dimitri’s waiting stick. He scoops it up and travels on with it. In seconds, he manages to sink the puck into the net, and the siren sounds, but I’m already skating back, looking up and scanning the crowd. I skid to a stop, turning to watch the team’s mascot walk down the stairs. I don’t know what it is about him being there that freaks me out. Perhaps it’s the way he moves.

He cocks his head to the side, that huge smiling demon head tilting wildly, and puts his hand on the glass right in front of me. I think he’s staring right at me, no, I know he is. I can feel it.

It sends a rush of ill ease up my spine. Where is my pack? I glance behind him and realise how close he is to Ryann .

He turns his enormous head really slowly, looking at her, and then just as slowly turns back to me. Just behind his shoulder, I can see Ryann sitting on her orange chair, but she’s all alone.

My heart thuds hard. The umpire is shouting at me, but I can’t move.

“Don’t do it. Leave her alone!” I say loudly.

There’s no one with her. There is no doubt in my mind that the stalker is hiding in that mask. I skate closer to the perspex, ignoring the shouts of my teammates.

The umpire shouts and gets in my face, trying to send me to the penalty box, but I refuse to move.

Why is she alone? That’s my beta. No!

I wish I had bonds. If I had them, I could warn her, find the others. What the hell is going on? Where are they? Something must be wrong? I get a wave of dizziness and shift closer, passing my stick from hand to hand, almost forgotten.

The mascot lifts his green arms and lifts that demonic visage up just slightly. I stop, curious about what he’s doing. The players shout at me, the coach, the umpire, but I ignore it all, desperate to be wrong.

The face is slowly revealed, and I gasp, stumbling towards the glass. I slam my fists on it, but he simply smirks and pulls the head back down.

Stalker.

That’s him

Ryann’s alone!

I slam my fist over and over, but Ryann is looking at her phone, and the mascot is walking away.

“NO!” I scream. “Ryann, stop!”

He walks straight over to Ryann and leans towards her. She turns towards him, listening intently. Her expression changes to panic. I shout and bang, but she ignores me or doesn’t hear me. I grab my stick and hit the glass as hard as I can, but he has her hand. Over and over, I hit it.

I don’t stop even when it shatters.

The crowd goes silent. They move away just in case, but I can’t break it.

Waraski and Dimitri grab my arms and pull me away, but I scream and fight, straining to get to him.

“RYANN!”

“Wren, calm down!”

“He’s going to take her! He’s got her! Oh, god, please! Where’s Kit and Callan? Why is she alone?” I howl the questions as I’m dragged off the ice and to our bench.

She never looks back, just runs after him. With no idea what trap she’s walking into .

I roar, but my air is slammed out of me as a couple of players crash into me, holding me to the wall, stopping me from getting to her. Stopping me from going back on the ice.

I pant, struggling to get free. It takes longer because the asshole player Corey Taylor on the Foxes team decides to start a brawl. I fight my way free and find Coach Smith glaring at me.

“What the fuck was that about?” he growls.

“He’s got her!” I spit frantically.

Smith pales, and his hand twitches.

“What are you waiting for?” I shout at him. “The psycho has your niece. Why are you just standing there?”

The rest of the team is staring at me, stunned. She’s Raider’s bond mate. Mine. Kit and Callan’s. We’re a pack. Please, we have to help her.

Valek grabs my arms. “What’s going on?”

“Ryann Smith is our pack mate,” I shout again. “She’s also the coach's niece. And she’s got a stalker, and I saw him. I know who it is. He’s never going to let her go. We have to stop him, here, now, tonight!”

My coach’s face is tight and still. He looks down and doesn’t look up at me.

“Why are you standing there? Do something!”

“We’ve got a game to win.”

My mouth falls open, my eyes widen, but I can’t make those words make sense.

“What?”

“Get back on the ice. We’ve got a game to win. This is more important.”

I lunge for him, ready to rip him apart, but Ramirez and Yarek pull me off.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asks from the ice.

“Raider, Wren, Callan, and Kit packed up Ryann, the beta who is the coach's niece, but she’s got a stalker, and Wren says he saw his face tonight and that he took her.”

Bruce’s face transforms to shock. “Well, fuck the game. We gotta go save her.”

“Get back on the ice!” Coach snarls.

“She’s your niece!” I howl. “She needs us!”

“We need to finish this game. We have to win.”

“Fuck the fucking piece of shit fucking game. I don’t care!” I roar, thrashing against the people holding me. “Let me go!” I howl. “You traded me back, anyway!”

The team goes still, and I catch the undercurrent of rage.

“You traded Turner?” Ramirez growls with a voice of thunder.

Coach lifts his chin. “It was too good a deal to pass up.”

“It’s the middle of the season!”

“It’s a done deal. When the game is won and finished, he’s on a plane out of here. ”

Yarak growls and lets go of my arm.

The temper of the team is razor sharp and has turned deadly.

“Who is he?” Ramirez asks. Our captain stands tall and demands the answer, glaring at our coach. “Wren, tell us who the stalker is.”

I open my mouth to give him the answer when I’m interrupted by the fire alarm that shrieks through the arena, sending the entire stadium into mayhem.