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LUKAS

Three minutes earlier…

He blamed it on his meeting with the league president and the Spriggans’ owner. He’d felt fine when he stepped out of the office, but that prick, Oisín O’Rourke, must have burrowed deeper under his skin than he’d realized.

Lukas glanced at the folder lying on the passenger seat. The paperwork was already signed, and his back seat was piled high with moving boxes because he’d been traded back to the Spriggans. A significant disappointment.

The Spriggans had been seeded last for three years running, though a promising rookie and some recent trades suggested things were looking up. O’Rourke hoped Lukas was the final piece of the puzzle to put his team back on top.

Lukas peered through the area on his windshield he’d wiped clear as Rogue pulled his black extended-cab pickup up to the barn’s main doors. It had been a little awkward but generally good to see his old friend again. Though…he wasn’t loving the reason why they’d soon be spending more time together.

Rogue’s brake lights flared, then dimmed as he parked. His window lowered, and he leaned out as Tuttle, another one of the humans on the team, approached from between a row of parked cars.

For some reason, Tuttle looked twitchy, glancing more than once over his shoulder, as if he expected someone to sneak up behind him.

Lukas narrowed his eyes. His predatory senses piqued. His wolf hearing was good, but he couldn’t catch what they were saying from thirty feet away, not with his windows up. Plus, they seemed to be whispering. Their chins were lowered, and Tuttle stood oddly close to the truck.

Lukas considered rolling down his window to get a better listen, but before he could, Tuttle made another wary surveillance of the parking lot, then took off.

Rogue’s window went up, and he leaned on his horn. In immediate response, Elliette and her friends walked out.

Lukas knew Jen Carter. She’d been around, back when he used to hang out at the Rogans’ house. He didn’t know the other girl, but he recognized her from photos Elliette posted online.

It was actually Elliette who was the least recognizable to him. Photos hadn’t done her justice. She was three inches taller than when he’d seen her last, and she had curves to spare—something he should not be noticing .

She still wore her chestnut hair pulled back in a high ponytail, though; that hadn’t changed. A thick lock of it fell loose from the wind, its reddish strands catching the fading light.

She dressed the same, too—prim and conservative—which was a little surprising. It was as if she still expected her old man’s censure. As if he wasn’t six feet underground and permanently silenced.

Lukas reached across his body to grab his seatbelt, and pain shot through his shoulder. Three months ago, right after the championship game, he’d gotten pissed at a bad-tempered nuckelavee, lost control, and scuffled. Now, he was paying the price for that idiocy.

Normally, he healed fast, but that wasn’t the case when he couldn’t give his shoulder a break. With each swing of his hockey stick, he backtracked any recovery he’d made the day before.

He hoped the story never got back to his father. Gray Bakken was always looking to speed up the inevitable and haul Lukas home to fulfill his role to the clan.

Right on cue, his phone rang, and his father’s name appeared on the screen.

A bitter taste coated Lukas’s tongue, but he touched the screen on his dash and took the call. “Yep.”

“Well, hello to you, too, son.” His father’s gravelly voice filled the car.

Meanwhile, Elliette opened the front passenger door to her brother’s truck and was about to get in when she suddenly looked Lukas’s way.

A growl lodged in his throat even though she wouldn’t recognize his car. She’d never seen it before, and the foggy windows would keep her from spotting him behind the wheel .

And yet, she seemed to meet his eyes.

The familiar intensity set Lukas’s teeth on edge.

Elliette’s cheeks turned pink. Even at a distance, his wolf eyes didn’t miss a thing. But maybe the flush was only the result of the wind. Hopefully it had nothing to do with him.

She looked away. Hopped into her seat. Closed the door.

A few seconds later, Rogue drove away, his tailpipe blowing a stream of gray clouds into the cool night air.

“Did you hear me?” Gray Bakken asked.

Lukas blinked. “What?”

“I said, did you hear me?”

That was rich. It was his father who never heard him—like every time Lukas made it clear he had no interest in the future his father had selected him to fulfill.

Lukas gripped the steering wheel. “Must have missed it. What did you say?”

His father exhaled in frustration. It was a sound Lukas knew well.

“Your apartments are ready at the compound. Your den has all the finest furnishings. The designer went with carmine instead of scarlet for the drapes.”

Lukas squeezed the wheel until his knuckles turned white, and an image of blood-red curtains filled his mind, blocking out the light. That’s what this was all about. Blood . Blood and darkness and white-knuckling his way through the rest of his life.

In his mind’s eye, he tore down the velvet curtains with his teeth, shredded them with his claws.

“Put some sheets over all those furnishings,” Lukas growled. “Wouldn’t want them to collect dust.”

Lukas caught his own eyes in the rearview mirror and scowled at his reflection.

“I want you to come home and look at everything, at least,” his father said. “If there’s something you want changed, there’s still time to do it. Better yet, you can give your approval to the design, and the decorators can move on to their next project.”

“Can’t,” Lukas said. He had no interest in whatever the designers had come up with. What did it matter what the place looked like?

“It’s not like you can’t afford the trip,” his father snapped.

That was true. Lukas was paid well, and flights from Minnesota to Montana weren’t expensive. “It’s not the ticket, Dad. What I can’t afford is the time away. The regular season is about to begin.”

“Oh, come on,” his father scoffed. “The coach can spare you for a couple of days. You know that offense like the back of your hand. You’ve been in Baltimore for three years.”

Lukas hadn’t planned on bringing up the trade, but perhaps, under the circumstances, it could work to his advantage. “I’m not in Baltimore anymore. I got traded back to the Minnesota Spriggans, and I’m not begging off on a new coach before I’ve even had my first game.”

“Odd timing for a trade, isn’t it?” his father pried.

Lukas couldn’t argue with that. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice. We’re five games into the pre-season, and now I’ve got a brand new offense to get used to.”

There was a beat of silence as his father processed the information. Then he asked, “Who or what did the Spriggans give up to acquire you? ”

While Lukas could have found the question flattering, he didn’t miss the sound of his father’s wheels turning. The old wolf was still looking for a way to hurry him home .

“It hasn’t been announced.” No way was Lukas going to reveal the truth: that while the public would see him as the key to getting the Spriggans into the playoffs, some insiders whispered—with his shoulder injury—the trade was an indication of a career nearing its end.

And while Lukas might have been confident in his full recovery, his father wouldn’t wait.

Any sign of physical debility—regardless the cause—risked the appearance of deeper problems. His father wouldn’t stand for anyone questioning the integrity of their bloodline, and he’d have his sentinels hauling Lukas home before he could say “hat-trick.”

“We’ll schedule a time,” his father said abruptly. “During a bye week. I’ve got to go. Hamish is blowing up my phone.”

Lukas raked a hand through his hair, snagging on some of the tangled waves. Thank God for Hamish, his father’s private secretary.

The line went dead.

Lukas picked up the folder from the passenger seat and flipped it open to the contract he’d signed. Questionable shoulder or not, he was still an asset. A formidable player.

All he needed was to get the Spriggans into the playoffs for the first time in decades. The more wins they had, the more value he provided, the more leverage he had for delaying his future. And fate was something he’d like to put on indefinite hold.

He shifted into drive and peeled out of the parking lot, only to brake hard when he reached the service road. One of the smaller moving boxes he’d stacked in his back seat slid forward, toppled over the headrest, and crashed onto the passenger-side floor. Glass shattered.

Fuck this day.