The Hunt (Kill Ridge City Wolves #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

J ax

I’ve never thought of myself as a good man. Mainly because I’m more beast than I am man. But more particularly because I don’t give a shit what people think of me.

And believe me, they have their thoughts.

I’m a heavily tattooed and pierced hockey player. Meaning people tend to look at me and keep their distance. Something I will never complain about. Because the only people I need close to begin with are my pack and my pack alone.

Where I’m from, the only people who are a threat to me, my boys, and eventually my baby sister, are hunters. Hunters that I take great pleasure in eradicating from existence. I’ll never not enjoy using my teeth to rip their throats from their necks just before severing their heads from their pathetic bodies.

The only thing that holds my attention, other than the primal urge to kill those who hunt me, is the sound of the buzzer blaring just after the black puck hits the back of the net.

Cheers erupt through the arena, the sound making my skin prickle with the excitement of putting another win under the team’s belt. My teammates sitting on the bench jump the boards to join those of us on the ice, everyone surrounding me.

Hockey sticks click against the ice as we all begin to chant, “Wolves! Wolves! Wolves!” on a repeating mantra. All together, the team circles the rink with their sticks pointed toward the stands. It’s a tradition for our team, and our way of thanking all the fans.

Don’t get me started on the irony of attending a college where the mascot is a fucking wolf. It isn’t lost on me, especially with my pack and I making up the entirety of the first line. We’re even on track to be future champions in the college hockey league by the end of this year.

On cue, Jace starts to howl. The team joins in, not realizing that they are quite literally howling with a pack of wolves. I roll my eyes at their antics just before receiving a smack to the chest from Ross. It’s my sign to chime in with the howls.

I join in on the celebration on the ice. Mostly because I don’t ever join in on the celebration off the ice.

The high of winning a game is something I’ll never tire of. Just like I’ll never tire from the feel of the vibrating motor between my thighs at the end of every game. And I’ll especially never tire of my four paws hitting the forest floor in the land behind the mansion the pack and I live in.

The pavement is my solitude. The ice is my haven. The forest is my fucking sanctuary.