Chapter nineteen
Icing - When a player shoots the puck from their own side of the center line past the opponent's goal line without it being touched.
Theron
I wrapped up the meeting with the GM, my mind already half on Dante.
We’d discussed line combinations for tomorrow’s game, injury reports, the challenge of closing out a series on the road if it went all the way.
The benefit of having four games on home ice.
Important stuff, but all I could think about was getting back to him, maybe stealing a few minutes alone before we had to maintain professional distance again.
I headed down the corridor toward the locker room, checking my phone out of habit. One new message from an unknown number.
I opened it without thinking.
And my entire world stopped.
Dante. Unconscious in what looked like the back of a vehicle, his head lolling to one side, his face slack in a way that made my dragon roar with fury. Below the image, a message:
Keep quiet. Wait for instructions. If you want to see your boyfriend alive again, you’ll do exactly what we say. No police. No teammates. No heroics. We’ll be in touch.
The phone nearly shattered in my grip. My vision went copper-edged, my dragon surging forward with such force that I felt my bones start to shift before I could wrestle it back under control.
Someone had taken him. Someone had drugged him and taken him and sent me proof that they had him.
My hands were shaking as I pulled up my contacts, found Ignatius’s number, and texted with fumbling fingers: Emergency. Arena. Now. Dante’s been taken.
The response came back immediately: On my way. Don’t do anything until I get there.
I forced myself to move, to walk calmly down the corridor even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to shift, to tear apart whoever had done this. But I couldn’t. Not here, not in the arena where security cameras tracked every movement.
The locker room was empty. His stall was neat, his gear put away properly, no sign of struggle or distress. He’d left willingly, which meant whoever had taken him had lured him somehow.
I pulled out my phone and called his number. It went straight to voicemail.
My dragon was roaring. Every protective instinct I had was on fire, demanding I do something, fix this, get him back. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except stand there in the empty locker room holding my phone and trying to remember how to breathe.
Twenty-five minutes. That was how long it took for Ignatius to arrive with Cole, Taz, and Max in tow. They found me in my office, still staring at that image on my phone, my hands clenched into fists to keep them from shifting.
“Show me,” Ignatius said without preamble.
I handed him the phone. Watched his expression darken as he took in the image, the message.
“Fuck,” Max breathed, looking over his shoulder. “When did this happen?”
“Within the last hour.” My voice came out rough. “He was here. He showered after practice. And then he was just... gone.”
“Security footage?” Cole asked.
“I haven’t checked yet. Didn’t want to draw attention.” I looked at Ignatius. “They said no police. No teammates. They’re watching. It’s why I stayed here in case I was followed.”
“Of course they are.” Ignatius handed back my phone, his expression grim. “This is professional. Organized. Which means—”
My phone buzzed again. Another message, this time from a number I recognized with sick certainty.
Odin Clark.
Hello, Theron. I assume you’ve received my associate’s message by now. Your young boyfriend is quite beautiful when he’s unconscious, though I prefer him awake and fighting. More entertaining that way.
My vision went red. I felt my control slipping, felt my dragon pushing forward with murderous intent.
“Theron.” Ignatius’s hand landed on my shoulder, grounding me. “Breathe. We need you in control.”
I forced myself to focus, to read the rest of the message.
I have a proposition for you. You have something I want—a very particular set of skills that could be quite profitable if applied correctly. And I have something you want. I think we can come to an arrangement that benefits us both.
I’ll be in touch with specifics soon. In the meantime, your boyfriend is comfortable and unharmed. Whether he stays that way depends entirely on your cooperation.
Don’t do anything foolish. I’m watching.
I showed the message to Ignatius. Watched his jaw tighten as he read it.
“Dragonsteel,” he said quietly. “That’s what this is about.”
“What’s dragonsteel?” Max asked, looking between us with confusion.
I’d kept this secret for so long. Had hidden what I was, what I could do, from everyone except Ignatius and the few other dragons who needed to know. But standing here with Dante’s life hanging in the balance, I realized I didn’t have that luxury anymore.
“I’m a forge dragon,” I said, and watched as no one looked surprised. “It means I can sense certain metals. Specifically, a rare ore called dragonsteel that’s worth billions to defense contractors and aerospace companies.”
“Even in our world it’s rare and not commonly known of,” Ignatius added.
“And this Odin asshole wants you to find it for him,” Taz said flatly.
“That’s my guess.” I gripped the edge of my desk hard enough that the wood creaked.
“He’s human-born but recognized what I was because his grand-sire was a forge dragon.
He moved to Denver specifically to get leverage over me.
And when he couldn’t manipulate Dante into—” I stopped, my throat closing around the words.
“Into what?” Max asked.
I looked at Ignatius, who nodded slightly.
“Dante is my mate,” I said quietly. “The bond hasn’t fully formed yet, but it’s there. Has been since he first stepped onto my ice. And Odin figured out the fastest way to control me was through him.”
“Jesus,” Max muttered, running a hand through his hair. “How long have you known?”
“That Dante was my mate? Since we met.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Even though I denied it.”
“We already knew,” Cole said quietly, and when I looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “About you and Dante. The way you look at each other when you think no one’s watching? Pretty obvious to anyone paying attention.”
“I figured it out weeks ago,” Taz added. “The protective thing you’ve got going is a little intense for just coach and player.”
“Does he know?” Max asked.
I shook my head. “About what I am? No, he suspects something and he knows I have secrets, but I was supposed to be keeping him safe.” My voice gave out. I should have told him last night as I originally intended. I was a coward and it had hurt him. This was my fault. All my fault.
“So what’s the plan?” Cole asked, his eyes already shifting toward red that meant his dragon was close to the surface. “Because we’re getting him back. That’s not a question.”
“Agreed,” Ignatius said. “Can you sense him?”
I shook my head. My dragon would have been able to if I hadn’t spent weeks denying our bond.
My phone buzzed one more time. I looked down, expecting another message from Odin.
Instead, it was from Dante’s number.
A video file.
My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. Ignatius steadied me, his hand on my shoulder as I pressed play.
The video was short, maybe fifteen seconds. Dante, tied to a chair in what looked like a warehouse or industrial space. His head was lolling forward, his eyes closed, but I could see his chest rising and falling. Alive. He was alive.
Then Odin’s voice, off-camera: “Just so you know I’m serious. Keep looking out for further instructions.”
The video ended.
I stood there staring at the blank screen, my dragon howling with such fury that I felt my control slipping again. My eyes were burning copper, my hands starting to shift, claws beginning to emerge before I could stop them.
“Theron.” Ignatius’s voice was sharp. “Control.”
I forced myself to breathe, to push my dragon back down. But the image of Dante tied to that chair, unconscious and vulnerable, was seared into my mind.
I would not fail Dante. Whatever it took, whatever I had to do—I would get him back.
And then I was going to make Odin Clark regret the day he decided to use my mate as leverage.
“He’s shielding the location somehow,” Ignatius said, his frustration evident as he paced my office. It was three in the morning, and we were still at the arena. I hadn’t left. Couldn’t leave. “Either with magic or just good old-fashioned interference. Not even Doryu can get a lock on him.”
I stared at my phone, willing it to ring. To give me something, anything I could use to find him.
Another message from Odin had come through an hour earlier. Just a photo this time—Dante, still unconscious or maybe just sleeping, not in the chair but slumped against a wall. No new information. Just demands. Just proof that he still had him.
“He’s playing with you,” Ignatius said quietly. “Keeping you on the hook. The longer he waits, the more desperate you become, the more likely you are to agree to whatever he asks.”
“I know.” My voice was barely recognizable, roughened by hours of barely contained rage. “I know his game. It doesn’t make it any easier.”
Cole had gone home around midnight, promising to come back first thing in the morning. Max and Taz had lasted until two before I’d forced them to leave—they had a game to play later, and sitting here watching me fall apart wasn’t helping anyone.
But I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Could barely hold my human form with my dragon constantly surging forward, demanding I do something, fix this, get our mate back.
My phone buzzed. I grabbed it so fast I nearly dropped it.
Another message from Odin: Still comfortable. Still alive. Still waiting for you to realize cooperation is your only option. You will coach the game. I will be watching. We will talk afterwards.
“Bastard,” I growled, my grip tightening on the phone until the screen cracked slightly.
“Easy,” Ignatius warned. “Destroying your phone won’t help.”