Chapter 26
Hades
The ice felt like home—cold, sharp, honest. It was the one place I could lose myself without apology.
Every stride cut through the rink like a blade, each turn driving harder, faster, deeper. My muscles burned, breath steady, but my blood? It was on fire. The puck was just an excuse—what I really needed was contact.
And I got it.
I slammed into another body during the scrimmage, shoulder to chest, the crack of it echoing like a shot. The guy stumbled, swore. I didn’t slow down.
This was how I kept myself in check.
This was how I didn’t think about her.
Her lips. Her legs. The way she’d clung to me last night like she’d finally stopped fighting the inevitable.
The way she’d let me have her—not just her body, but everything.
“Easy there, Sinclair!” Jeremy’s voice rang out, teasing but cautious. “You’re going to break someone before game day.”
I grunted, barely glancing at him.
“Maybe he’s just excited about something,” James added, smirking as he skated past. “Or someone.”
I shot him a look that could’ve snapped bones, but my lips twitched before I could stop it.
“Shut it,” I barked, but even I knew I didn’t sound pissed. Not really.
I was buzzing. Still tasting her on my tongue. Still hearing the way she moaned when I told her she was mine.
They didn’t get it—couldn’t. This wasn’t about getting laid. It wasn’t even about the sex.
It was about the way she let me have her. The way she looked up at me like I was something more than violence in a suit. The way she whispered my name like it meant safety.
That did something to a man.
“Come on,” Jeremy called, leaning on the boards like he had all day. “You’ve been in a weirdly good mood lately. What gives?”
I shrugged them off, turned back to drills, but they kept circling like sharks that smelled blood.
Then James laughed. “You finally get laid or something?”
I didn’t even bother answering. Just let the smirk curl across my mouth and turned away. My silence said enough.
Jeremy nudged him. “Guess love really does soften a man.”
That made me stop.
I turned back to them, cold and slow. “I’m not soft.”
They laughed like it was a joke, like I wasn’t two seconds from breaking my stick in half.
“I’m just not angry at the world right now,” I said. And that was the truth.
Because for once?
I had something to come home to.
Someone.
She was probably still wrapped in my sheets, smelling like me, thighs still sore from how hard I’d fucked her before practice. The thought made my grip tighten on my stick.
I was going to walk through that door, drag her back into bed, and fill her all over again—slow this time. Worship, not war.
I’d never felt anything like this. Not even close.
And I didn’t want to.
She was mine now.
And I was going to spend the rest of my life making sure she never forgot it.
The rink was clean. Cold. Brutal.
The ice hissed beneath my blades like it knew me—welcoming me back with that familiar burn in my lungs and fire in my thighs. Every stride was a purge, every sharp turn a way to bleed out the tension coiled inside me like wire.
The others were loud—shouting, laughing, chirping like this was just another morning. I didn’t hear them.
All I heard was the rasp of my skates and the crack of my stick against the puck. Control. That’s what this was. That’s what I craved. And this was the only place I’d ever found it—until her.
Drills started easy. Passing lines. Fast flicks. Tight turns. I didn’t think. I moved. The puck felt like it belonged to me—an extension of my will, like everything else I took and bent to my command.
“Let’s see that speed, Sinclair!” Coach barked from the boards.
I didn’t respond. I just pushed harder. Faster. Until the burn in my legs was white-hot and perfect.
Jeremy passed to me on instinct—we’d played together long enough to read each other without words—and I snatched the puck, snapped a shot off the blade of my stick, and sent it screaming past the goalie’s glove.
Thwack.
Back of the net.
Cheers erupted, but it all sounded distant—like I was underwater. All I could feel was the buzz in my blood. The need curling hot under my skin.
Because no matter how many times I scored, no matter how hard I hit… my thoughts kept sliding back to her.
Persephone.
Naked in my bed, trembling under my hands, saying my name like it meant something. Like I meant something.
I tightened my grip on my stick as the scrimmage kicked off, body-checking the first guy dumb enough to come near me. The contact reverberated through my bones like music.
I didn’t hold back.
Didn’t want to.
James tried to sneak past me on the left wing—cocky bastard—but I saw it coming. I cut him off mid-stride, stripping the puck with a quick twist of my blade.
“Come on!” he groaned, spinning around, skating after me like he hadn’t just gotten owned.
Jeremy was up ahead, yelling something snarky while shoving his way through the D-line, trying to get open.
But none of it mattered.
Not the laughter. Not the drills. Not even the goddamn puck.
Because under it all? I was counting down the minutes until I could get the fuck out of there and go home to her.
To fill her up again.
To remind her she was mine in every way that mattered.
The ice was where I stayed sharp. Controlled.
But she—Persephone—was where I felt alive.
And for the first time in my life?
I didn’t just want to win.
I wanted to keep her.
I dragged the towel through my hair, rougher than necessary, trying to scrub the lingering heat from my skin. The locker room reeked of sweat and tape—normally grounding, today just noise.
My head wasn’t on the game anymore.
Not really.
She kept slipping in—soft and flushed in my bed, moaning my name, grinning in that goddamn bookstore like I’d handed her the fucking moon.
I barely noticed Gideon until he dropped onto the bench beside me like he belonged there. That shit-eating grin on his face told me he’d been waiting for a moment like this.
“So…” he started, dragging the word out like it owed him rent. “Belle told me about the little ‘romance section’ moment yesterday.”
I didn’t look at him.
“She came through,” I said, voice low, almost smug. “The book was perfect. Persephone lit up like I’d handed her a crown.”
Because I had.
Not just a book. Not just a moment.
She was so used to being guarded, cornered. Watching her light up for something small—because of me—did things to me I didn’t know how to name.
Gideon’s laugh bounced off the tile. “A crown? Hades, look at you. Real boyfriend behavior.”
I shot him a glare, but it didn’t hold. The truth was—it didn’t sound so bad.
“She looked…” I exhaled hard, jaw clenched. “Like she belonged.”
Gideon leaned back like he was observing a rare animal. “I’ve seen you snap a guy’s wrist over a bad hit. But you? You look at her like she’s the one thing you’ve ever wanted to keep.”
I didn’t respond right away.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
“Yeah,” I said finally, the word falling out like a confession. “I’ve never wanted anything like this.”
Not just sex. Not just dominance.
Her.
Her fire, her bite, her stubborn silence. The way she let me pull her apart and still met my eyes like I hadn’t won yet. The way she shook when I touched her, but never broke.
That’s what wrecked me.
Gideon gave me a sideways glance, grin softening. “What’s next? Flowers? Dinner? Some kind of necklace with her name on it?”
I smirked. “Don’t tempt me.”
Because if she asked?
I’d give her all of it.
We sat in silence for a beat—rare, but not uncomfortable.
My thoughts drifted back to her, sprawled across my bed, probably thumbing through the rare edition I’d left on her pillow like a silent offering.
I could picture it too easily: her wrapped in my sheets, wearing nothing but that damn choker, legs tangled, lost in another world.
Mine.
And when practice was over?
I was going to go home and remind her of that.
Slowly.
Over and over again.
I leaned back against my locker, still catching my breath. My jersey stuck to my skin, sweat cooling under the weight of the day’s drills. My head should’ve been in the game—but all I could think about was her.
Persephone. Wrapped in my sheets. Still wearing the choker I gave her.
Jeremy sauntered over with that shit-eating grin like he had something clever locked and loaded. “All right, Hades. Spill. What’s the plan for tonight? Dinner? Candlelight? A little slow-dancing under the stars? I saw that picture. You two looked cozy."
I shot him a look that should’ve turned him to stone, but my mouth betrayed me—a smirk tugging at the corner. “Maybe I’ll just let her surprise me.”
James snorted from across the room, towel slung over his shoulder. “She probably wants something basic. Steakhouse, maybe a movie. You gonna survive that kind of domesticity?”
“Basic?” I lifted a brow, deadpan. “You mean the kind of place where the food isn’t drowning in grease and regret?”
Gang Lu chuckled low from his corner, sharp eyes narrowing. “You’ve got a soft spot, Sinclair.”
I shrugged, but my shoulders were too tense. “I’ve got good taste. She just happens to match it.”
Jafar leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching me like he was studying a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “So what’s the move? Flowers? Fancy dinner? Or are you gonna pretend another ‘accidental’ bookstore date wasn’t orchestrated down to the last breath?”
“I don’t need flowers,” I said. “She’s not the kind of girl who wants to be impressed. She wants to be seen.”
That shut them up for a beat.
“Maybe I’ll take her to that art exhibit downtown,” I added, voice casual, but my gut tightening at the thought of her eyes lighting up over something beautiful—something I gave her.
Gideon let out a bark of a laugh. “Art? What is this, a courtship ritual?”
“You wouldn’t know the first thing about courting someone who doesn’t come with a drink special,” I fired back.
Jeremy chimed in. “And since when did you give a shit about ‘culture’?”