Page 1 of Hallowed & Haunted

Chapter 1

Sander

The bright light of the ice rink dispels the October gloom, bathing everything in clarity and making focus come easy.

Sander swivels around Jonas and avoids Henrik by simply jumping over his stick. Graceful. Effortless. Sander laughs. Outmaneuvering the defense line is child’s play today. He’ll have to make the boys work harder before they compete against Oslo in three weeks.

He takes another high-speed turn, now so close to the goal, and—

Someone crashes into him from the side with the force of an avalanche. Sander hits the boards hard, seeing stars. When his vision clears again, he’s sprawled on his ass, a dark shadow looming over him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Vars?” he snarls even as he takes the offered hand and allows Niillas Vars to haul him to his feet.

Niillas pulls him up as if he weighs nothing, and Sander’s frustration grows. The new defenseman transferred to Tromsø from Rovaniemi this winter term, and as team captain, Sander should be grateful for the extra support. After all, Niillas is formidable, on the ice and off, all barely leashed power and impossible grace. But something about him rubs Sander the wrong way.

“You didn’t pay attention,” Niillas says, not letting go of Sander but making sure he isn’t swaying on his feet. “Do you think Oslo’s defense will have any mind for your pretty tricks?”

Fuming, Sander bats his hands away.

Fuck you, too,he wants to spit, but thinks better of it. As captain, he has to keep himself in check.

“Nice move,” Sander says instead, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Very…elaborate.”

Instead of answering him, Niillas looks him over, his eyes so dark they seem black like a predator’s under the harsh lights.

“Be more attentive next time,” he finally says before he turns, skating away and leaving Sander standing there like an idiot.

What a jerk!

He lets the team run a few more rounds before ending practice. It’s no fun anymore. His shoulder hurts where he crashed into the boards, but he doesn’t want to give Vars the satisfaction of seeing him shaken, although Sander would love nothing more than skipping the dull locker room talk and fleeing back home to nurse his bruised ego. But as captain, he doesn’t get a reprieve, so he jokes with his teammates as if nothing happened, unable to stop watching Niillas out of the corner of his eye. His long black hair sticks to his neck in sweaty strands,and not for the first time, Sander’s gaze is magnetically drawn to the breadth of Niillas’ shoulders and the elegant line of his back. He’s just not used to being around a guy who’s considerably larger than himself, Sander rationalizes. It’s not like Vars is hot or something.

“Party starts at eight,” Jonas shouts over the noise of the team changing out of their training gear. “If you want something stronger than beer, bring it yourself.”

A collective groan resonates through the locker room. Parties at Jonas’ place are always great, but everybody hoped that Jonas’ mom would treat them to a few bottles of Merlot and maybe even some whiskey like she did after they took second place at the national college hockey tournament last season. But Sander doesn’t complain. He likes Jonas’ family’s house outside of the city, complete with fjord view, sauna, and heated outdoor pool, especially as it provides the opportunity to hide from the worst of the party shenanigans.

“What about you, Vars, are you coming, too?” Jonas asks, always the nice guy.

“No,” Niillas says.

Predictable. Niillas keeps to himself on campus most of the time and hasn’t bothered to socialize with the team beyond what’s absolutely necessary. It irks Sander how utterly unapologetic he is about it, never explaining why he can’t come, never apologizing, never offering to come another time. The isolation isn’t for a lack of options either. Sander has seen more than enough fellow students swooning over Niillas’ unapproachable heavy-metal aesthetic, trying and failing to talk to him. But Niillas keeps acting like he’s above them all.

The absolute disinterest in Niillas’ demeanor makes Sander bristle, and a plan born of pure spite forms in his head. He really shouldn’t. He’s the captain for a reason. Usually, it’s easy to get along with the other players, to help them find their place in the team, but with Niillas—

“Are you busy this weekend?” Sander asks, all false friendliness.

He offers Niillas his most charming smile.

“Yes.”

“Coursework? You’re in Arctic Studies, right?”

Niillas may not be a talkative kind of guy, but the Arctic University of Norway is small, and Sander is friends with almost everybody.

“No. And yes.”

There’s something like amusement flickering in Niillas’ eyes.

“Meaning?” Sander asks, his smile never wavering.