Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Ari
I follow Erik down to the dressing room, dreading what’s about to come. I recognized every one of the four names on the list the coach gave us, and though none of them make me happy, one makes me practically break out in a cold sweat.
Felix Ansas.
Aka the whole reason I’m here, undergoing this punishment that Eoin swears is guided by instinct. Probably the same instincts I ignored when I was a complete and total ass to Ansas a few months back.
Was I doing the job I get paid to do in service to my king and people? Yes.
Did Ansas’s past (and present) actions warrant further questions? Yes.
Was I unnecessarily rude and aggressive in asking those questions? Also yes.
Did I push things beyond what was needed and embarrass myself and the DEA in doing so?
Definitely. I deserved the dressing down Eoin gave me, as well as the very awkward experience of apologizing to Ansas.
I deserved to feel uncomfortable through the entirety of training camp and the king’s promotional visits.
But now I’m starting to feel like I’ve suffered enough for that mistake. I mean, seriously? I have to coordinate his unwilling volunteer activities? The life force is a petty, vicious entity. I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up as the next victim of one of Ansas’s short-tempered rages.
Although to be fair, aside from the incident all those years ago, his rage seems to be confined to the ice. Or at least, there haven’t been any enforcement or social media reports about it.
I take a deep breath as Erik reaches for the door, and he shoots me a sidelong glance. “You okay?”
Smiling tightly, I say, “Yes. Of course,” then suppress a flinch.
Erik either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care—probably the latter—because he just grins at me. “Once we’ve made a hockey fan of you, you’ll be eager to get in here and give the guys hell.” He pushes open the door and disappears inside before I can scoff at that idea.
I give myself an extra second to get back under control.
I spent a long time—literally decades—working on my social skills, and now I only slip when I’m stressed.
While I knew I wasn’t thrilled with this whole Warhammers situation, I thought I was handling it.
Clearly my subconscious feels differently, if it’s letting remnants of the life and self I hate so much come to the surface.
But then, I’ve been struggling with that since the moment I did Felix Ansas’s background check.
Shoving my inner turmoil back into the battered mental box I keep it in, I follow Erik into the dressing room.
It’s chaos, of course. Impossible to have so many rowdy athletes all gassed up on adrenaline after practice, and expect the room to be calm.
Most of them are in various stages of stripping down, and some are already headed toward the showers, either naked or with towels wrapped around their waists.
All of them are loud… though there’s an underlying tension in the room that I don’t remember from training camp.
Erik must notice it too, because instead of jumping in with the razzing as usual, he’s frowning. As I come to a halt beside him, he murmurs, “It could be worse,” then puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles piercingly.
The room falls mostly silent, aside from a few chuckles and jeers as the guys turn their attention in our direction.
I’ve been a soldier for a long time and have been trained in countless ways to both defend and attack using physical and magical means, but it’s still somewhat unnerving to have so many big, powerful, sweaty men staring my way.
Some of them are scowling, which makes it worse.
But in a good way.
“Thanks, fellas,” Erik begins, his voice pitched to carry.
“I won’t take much of your time. You’ve all met Ari, who’s going to be working with me on the outreach program to create more hockey fans among the elves and dragons.
What we need now is hockey players to show off, and that’s where you come into it.
Coach already mentioned some of you being interested, but we need more volunteers. ”
Silence follows his words. Neither of us is surprised—even though we spent most of training camp talking up this program, we didn’t expect a lot of enthusiasm from the players.
The Warhammers aren’t known for being a particularly community-minded team, though Erik quietly told me that he’s got high hopes for that to change under the new GM and now new head coach.
I hope he’s right, because the sooner this program is off the ground and running, the sooner the DEA will be able to find someone to take over from me and let me get back to my hockey-free life.
“What, ah, what would be involved?” The reluctant question comes from the hulking hellhound who’s the captain, Yancey.
From what I’ve heard and observed, he’s one of the players who seemingly fit in with the toxic antics of the team but actually kept out of them most of the time.
I could write a fucking book about the anomalies in the culture of this team.
One thing’s for sure: no matter what species, no matter whether it’s a sports team or an army unit, the culture comes from the top.
It’ll be interesting to see which players respond well to the new coach.
“It’s pretty simple,” Erik replies. “There will be a few photo ops, a skate with some schoolkids, a few autograph signing sessions. We’re also considering a one-day training camp for adults who want to learn to play hockey, to raise money for charity.
That one’s still up in the air, though.” He looks around the room.
“You don’t need to volunteer for everything, but if you can agree to do at least one event, that would make my life a heck of a lot easier.
” His tone has switched to coaxing, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the way to convince these guys.
I narrow my eyes. I’m not sure how to get the demons on board—those bastards are hard to read—but more than half of these guys are hellhounds, and I’ve unfortunately had plenty of experience dealing with them.
“Anyone here ever met a dragon?” I ask, and there’s a little ripple at the abrupt change of subject. Felix Ansas half raises his hand before letting it drop, but nobody else does. “You’ve heard about dragons, though… right?”
There’s an agonized little pause, as though they can sense the trap but still desperately want the bait. I wait, unbothered. It’s not like the trap is a bad one.
“Can they really fly?” someone asks, cracking. I don’t remember his name, but sure enough, he’s a hellhound.
“Yeah. And breathe fire.”
A few of them exchange glances.
“And… you think they’d like hockey?”
Got ’em.
“There’s already a growing fanbase of dragons, right, Erik?” He’s the one who told me that.
“They’re dragons,” he says, rolling his eyes. “This is a fast-paced, rough, skilled sport. The only way they’d like it better is if they could do it in the air and incorporate fire.”
I shudder at the thought and mutter, “Don’t ever say that out loud again.
” Like most elves, I have a soft spot for dragons—they’re baffling and unpredictable, but you’ll never find a species more loyal and fun.
Working for the DEA and occasionally needing to help clean up their messes has made that soft spot a little firmer, however. Dragons are fucking menaces.
Which makes them the perfect counterparts for hellhounds, as long as you don’t mind the chaos that ensues.
“I can guarantee that dragons will be at these outreach events,” I announce, making a mental note to talk to some of my dragon colleagues at the DEA to tee that up. I honestly don’t think it’ll take much to get them to agree—hockey really is the perfect sport for them.
“Would they agree to take us flying?”
The question comes from Sarcnet, one of the guys who’s already on our list, and who I made a mental note during training camp to keep an eye on.
“I can’t promise that. But don’t be an asshole, try to make friends, and…
” I shrug. “I’ve never met a dragon who didn’t like to fly and show off.
” Part of me wants to introduce some of these guys to Steffen Draco, Wingleader Brandt’s head of security.
They’d be crying by the time he finished with them.
On the other hand, I’d rather not do anything to make Steffen pissed off with me, so that’s not going to happen.
“Well, we can always use more fans,” Yancey says, sounding a lot less reluctant. “Sign me up.”
Erik’s shoulders relax a little, and I remember how young he is for an elf. He’s done a remarkable job of assimilating with the Earth species and starting a new life here, and in his own way, he’s trying to help others do the same. It’s common knowledge that sports help to form communities.
We spend the next ten minutes doing a circuit of the room, talking to players who seem even slightly interested. Erik’s list grows a respectable amount, and he assures several of the guys who aren’t quite on board that they can always volunteer later if they change their minds.
“Good job,” I murmur to him as the last player we talked to heads toward the showers.
He shrugs awkwardly. “It’s going okay. You did the hard part—using the dragons as a lure was inspired.”
“I’m just impatient. You would have got them eventually. I’m not lying when I say you’re good at your job.”
The tips of his pointed ears pinken. “Thank you.” Then he heaves a sigh and squares his shoulders. “We should touch base with the voluntolds.”
An involuntary laugh bursts from me. “The what?”
Erik smirks. “Come on, we’re not pretending that these guys,” he taps his pen against the first four names on the list, “actually volunteered, are we? For whatever reason, Coach decided they have to do this, so they’ll do it.”
That’s what I was thinking, but now that he’s said it out loud…
“Is that going to be a problem for us?” This project isn’t my baby like it is his, but that doesn’t mean I want it to fail. That wouldn’t be good for the community or my career.
“Probably not, but maybe.” Erik pulls a face. “Reluctant helpers don’t ever make for an ideal event, but they won’t do anything to deliberately fuck it up. Some of them aren’t smart, but they’re not stupid.”
We exchange glances, and he sighs. “Well, okay. They’re not that stupid. Or self-destructive. They know it’s not a good idea to fuck up something Coach assigned them to.”
That’s somewhat reassuring. “Okay, great. Are we done here, then?” It’s only a little past lunchtime—I can still get a lot of paperwork done and hopefully be out of here early, maybe check in at the office before I head home.
Erik chuckles. “I am, but you have hockey lessons.”
Ugh. “What, now? Did Lurlene find someone?” I look around. Coach would be too busy, but maybe the equipment manager? Or one of the trainers? With the season not having begun yet and none of the players being injured, they might have a little extra time.
Though honestly, I really wouldn’t know. Maybe this is their busiest month of the year. Lurlene might be right about me needing to learn a little more about how things work here.
“She did,” Erik confirms, then clears his throat.
“Who? Do I know them, or can you introduce me?”
The nervous little hehehe that erupts from his throat brings my head snapping around. He’s grimacing. This can’t be good. Why would he—
No.
“It’s Felix Ansas,” Erik says, punctuating the cold suspicion that just flooded me.
Of course it fucking is.