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LUKAS

“ R eady, boys?” Coach Erikson asked as he strode into the locker room, ready to commence his pre-game pep talk. Tonight was Game One of the regular season—Spriggans versus the Chicago Changelings—and the Spriggans had home ice.

He stopped to stand beside Rafe, who was already fully dressed and standing in front of his locker, gloved hand resting on the end of his stick. Lukas and the rest of the team were still suiting up. Shin pads, socks, hockey pants…

“This is the best Spriggans team in recent history,” Coach said. “Expectations are high, and you’re going to meet them.”

Some roars of approval went up, but to Lukas, it sounded like the tolling of a death knell. He never should have gone out drinking last night. His right eye was throbbing, and when he bent over to tighten the laces on his skates, a bitter acid rose in his throat.

“A few key points…” Coach said. “Take care of the little things, and the big things will take care of themselves. Kelly! ”

“Aye, coach!” The rookie center, Caden Kelly, didn’t have his helmet on yet, and he tossed his flowing blond hair like some kind of Irish prima donna. Or like the gancanagh that he was.

“Find those creative ways of yours to score.”

Caden grinned. “Aye, coach!”

“But don’t be an idiot about it.”

Now, with less enthusiasm. “Aye, coach.”

“When we check,” Coach said, this time speaking to all of them, “we follow through. When we shoot, we don’t watch our shots out of vanity. We charge in for the rebound.”

“Yes, coach!” they all replied in unison.

Moving robotically, Lukas adjusted his shoulder and elbow pads, then pulled his jersey down over his head and secured his neck guard.

His eyes landed on Rogue, who was watching him closely. Lukas allowed himself a small smile, and Rogue gave him a chin lift in response.

Coach finished his talk with, “You’re a talented team. Maybe the best in Spriggans’ history. But it takes zero talent to work hard, and it’s hard work that wins games. Are you all ready to work hard?”

Lukas pushed his helmet down over his head and pulled on his gloves while everyone else yelled, “Yes, coach!”

“Take a minute with your captain,” Coach said, clapping his hand down over Rafe’s padded shoulder. “I’ll see you out there.”

As soon as Coach left through the door that led to the rink, Rafe pulled everyone into a huddle. “Remember the fundamentals, boys. No show-boating.”

Despite his roiling stomach, Lukas felt his own lips quirk while noting a similar expression on Sean Murphy’s face. That dryad practically floated around the ice, he was so nimble. When it came to showing off, he placed a close second to Caden Kelly.

“That is,” Rafe said with a smile, “unless you can show-boat while scoring.”

A few players laughed. Lukas did not.

“Now, are you ready?” Rafe asked.

“READY!” everyone responded, and this time Lukas forced himself to join in.

“Tonight,” Rafe continued, “we set the tone. Now, let’s get ‘em!’

Several players slapped their stick blades against the rubber mats that covered the locker room floor. Others let out their beasts’ characteristic roars. Then everyone lumbered toward the exit.

Lukas waited to join the line, hoping everyone would take Rafe’s words seriously and not hold back when it came to drama on the ice. That’s what made a championship team. It would also give Elliette something juicy to write about.

At the thought of her, his stomach pitched, just as it always did when she came to mind. Recently, a few of those thoughts had been pleasant ones, though the majority still caused him pain, and his memories of last night were by far the worst.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of her standing in that bar. Exhausted from searching all over town for him. Hurt by how he’d dismissed her, just like he’d done seven years before.

Of course, he hadn’t really gone home with that pooka. But Elliette didn’t know that, and he’d given her no reason to think better of him because he wanted her to believe he was perfectly capable of something so vile, just hours after they’d shared a bed.

It was the only way to convince her that he was so far beneath her, he didn’t deserve her affection. He knew he’d made his point.

He’d seen the hurt and betrayal in her eyes, but he’d also seen her realization of the ugly truth. It hadn’t taken long because she’d already learned the worst of him. She hadn’t even been surprised.

Leaving with that pooka only confirmed for her what he was capable of: meaningless physical unions. Faceless females. A parade of fertility traipsing through the specially designed, carmine-curtained breeding den that waited for him back home.

This time, the bile that kept threatening to crawl up his throat finally surged. He lunged for the bin in the corner of the locker room and wretched.

His stomach totally empty, Lukas straightened his spine, spit into the bin, then turned to find himself alone in the locker room with Rafe. He hadn’t realized his captain had been waiting for him.

“I’d ask if you were okay, but…” Rafe said.

“I’m fine.”

“First game jitters? New team. New ice.”

Lukas gave him a withering glance. He was no rookie. Adrenaline was one thing, but jitters… Fuck that.

“Stomach bug?” Rafe asked, trying again.

Lukas wasn’t about to tell him he’d lied about making curfew and that he’d actually been out, tying one on. Breaking hearts. “Probably. Something isn’t sitting right.”

It was about as honest as he could be.

“Good to get it out of your system,” Rafe said. “Now, come on. The ice is calling. ”

Lukas led the way, out the door and down the chute-like hallway that emptied into the arena. The cold-sweat scent of rink air hit his nose, and he leaped through the opening in the boards and onto the ice.

Immediately, his sense of space expanded, and the roar of the crowd deafened his ears.

The team circled the ice, warming up. Lukas only had time to make it once around before they fell into passing drills. On the other side of the ice, the Changelings were doing the same. The crowd was already loud, tension and excitement in the air.

Lukas scanned the stands for Elliette, but he couldn’t find her anywhere.

He nearly missed a pass from Rogue, but he stopped it just in time and took a practice shot on the net.

A few minutes later, the horn blared from the speakers, the warm-ups over. The teams were announced, the Spriggans fans going wild when Lukas’s name was called.

Lukas hung his head, not out of false modesty, but from guilt. He didn’t deserve adulation. He deserved to have his balls served up on a silver platter for how he’d treated Elliette.

Lukas scanned the crowd again while the first bars of the national anthem played, and the singer stepped to the mic.

Then, as her last note faded and the crowd applauded, the announcer’s voice reverberated through the speakers, “Let’s… Play… HOCKEY!”

The puck dropped. The game began.

Lukas and the rest of the starting line kept their heads up, eyes and bodies focused. Sticks clacking against the ice, demanding the puck.

When Lukas received his first pass, he took it down the ice, deking left, then right, scrambling the Changeling defensemen while waiting for his own teammates to fall into their zones.

Eager sticks slapped at the ice. Bodies crashed against the boards. Lukas passed to Caden Kelly, who passed to Rafe.

Lukas positioned in front of the Changelings’ net. He slapped his stick on the ice to signify he was open, but Rafe took the shot instead and missed.

“Hey, Bakken!” chirped one of the Changeling defensemen. “Quite the fall from grace, yeah? Getting traded to the Spriggans.”

Lukas elbowed him in the mouth, creating a satisfying spray of red.

Later, the same defenseman got the puck and shot it down into Spriggans territory, barely missing an icing call from the ref.

Bjorn coasted forward, out of the crease, and directed the puck to the corner where Murph picked it up. Murph sent the puck to Caden.

And so it went. Lots of clean passes. Fast skates. Lines changing. No scoring.

The first period ended in a tie: 0-0. So did the second. The teams were evenly matched. The Spriggans needed points on the board.

They were two minutes into the third period when the first line came back in. Lukas and Rafe sagged onto the bench, exhausted, but neither of them wanting to be off the ice when game time was running out .

“This shit is not coming down to a shootout,” Rafe growled, his hell-hound eyes glowing red.

Lukas clenched his teeth. There were only a few firm rules in Savage League hockey—no interference with the goalie, absolutely no tilting, and for God’s sake, no shifting on the ice.

Lukas was too disciplined to break the first and incapable of breaking the second. But that third rule… It was often touch and go. His wolf always lurked close to the surface, most especially when emotions ran high.

The lines changed again, and less than a minute later, Lukas was back on the ice.

The players trash-talked back and forth, trying to get under their opponent’s skin with stupid comments on their skills, their names, or even their hair.

“That’s a nice head of lettuce,” Lukas chirped to one of the few guys in the league who refused to wear a helmet. “Did you actually pay someone to cut it like that?”

The opponent swung a punch, but Lukas ducked and came up with an upper cut to the nose. Blood gushed onto the ice, and Lukas and the other player were suddenly the center of a Changelings-Spriggans brawl—everyone punching and scrumming while the refs did their best to pick apart the knot.

It took several seconds, but ultimately the play resumed. No one was sent to the penalty box because this was the Savage League. Still, Lukas had to wait through two line changes before he got another chance with the puck.

Once he did, he curled it into himself, faked out a defenseman, and headed down center ice.