Chapter 34
Sébastien
I should be watching the game. Laurent is fast, like lightning on the ice with a grin that says he knows exactly how good he is. The crowd roars every time his stick touches the puck, and the energy in the arena hums like a live wire. He’s magnetic out there. A showman, but with the skill to back it up.
And yet I spend most of my time watching Rowan.
She’s perched on the edge of her seat, oversized Knights jersey draped over her frame like it was made for her, because it was. Laurent made sure of that. She’s got sunglasses pushed up in her hair now, forgotten. Her eyes sparkle and track every shift, every breakaway, every check. She bites her lip when the play gets intense, leans forward when Laurent takes a shot. She gasps, cheers, claps; completely invested.
She’s beautiful like this. Alive. Lit from within. It’s only been three weeks since everything changed. Since I met her. Since I scented her. Since I moved into her apartment instead of bothering with a lease. It was supposed to be temporary. Just until I got settled. But somehow, I never left. And I don’t want to.
We’ve been inseparable. When we’re not working, we’re together. Nesting. Laughing. Cooking in that tiny kitchen while music plays low in the background. Making love until neither of us can breathe.
We haven’t slept with anyone else. Not yet. The others are courting. Slowly. Respectfully. Cole brings food. Mass sends soft blankets and candles with notes. Even Laurent, as chaotic as he is, brought us here in style, showering us with attention like he’s got something to prove.
Xavier, ever the contradiction, sends me gifts, but never Rowan. Custom-blended teas, a new silk robe that still smells faintly of cedar and clove. Like he’s trying not to care. Like he’s telling himself, this doesn’t mean anything while still making sure I’m warm, fed, comforted. It’s infuriating. It’s telling. It’s him.
I’m attracted to him, but I won’t act on it. Not when he’s keeping Rowan at arms' length. And for no good reason. The other alphas asked us to be patient, but it’s wearing thin. But none of them have touched us. Not yet.
My hand brushes hers on the armrest between us, and she looks over, smiling in that way that makes my heart do something soft and stupid. Her cheeks are flushed from excitement, eyes wide and bright.
“You okay?” she whispers, leaning close.
I nod, the warmth of her breath on my jaw making my skin prickle. “Oui. Just... watching you watch the game.”
She laughs under her breath and nudges me lightly with her shoulder. “That’s not how this works. You’re supposed to be watching him.”
“I am,” I murmur, eyes drifting back toward the rink. Laurent flies past the glass, checking someone into the boards hard enough to rattle the suite windows. Rowan winces, but I grin.
Gods, he’s beautiful too.
My gaze flicks back to Rowan. She’s mine already. Even if she doesn’t know the full weight of it yet. And that truth. Our truth settles into my bones like gravity.
I reach for her hand, tangling our fingers together as the Knights score and the arena erupts. She squeezes mine tight, shouting with the crowd, and I let the sound roll over me.
Let it anchor me here, in this moment, with her. With them.
With what we’re building.
The final buzzer is still echoing through the arena when we slip out of the suite, weaving past cheering fans and arena staff. Rowan clutches the sleeves of her jersey, flushed with adrenaline and grinning like she’s been the one scoring goals. We move through private corridors, security nodding us along until we reach the hallway just outside the locker room, far enough from the chaos, close enough to feel it in our bones. The echo of victory still vibrates through the walls, and now we wait. For Laurent. For whatever comes next.
The Knights won, obviously. Laurent scored a hat trick and spent the final minute of the game grinning like a devil. The arena had lost its collective mind, and Rowan screamed herself hoarse beside me. I can still hear the echo of her laughter in my ears.
Tonight is our first real date. Just the three of us. No distractions. No hovering packmates. No looming questions. Just dinner, laughter, and maybe a little trouble.
A few feet away, I hear a group of puck bunnies. They’re hard to miss; high heels, big hair, sharp nails, and voices that carry down the corridor like a warning bell. Lingering near the locker room like they’ve done this before. Maybe they have. Maybe this is what always happens after a win. I wouldn’t know. This is all new to me.
“Think Laurent’s gonna stop tonight?”
“He winked at me after the second goal. I’m telling you, I’m in.”
“I heard he likes blondes. Maybe I should’ve worn the tighter dress.”
They don’t even glance our way. I shift closer to Rowan. She’s standing tall, arms loosely crossed, chin high, but her scent whispers the truth. Burnt cobbler. Not enough to raise the alarm, but it’s there. She’s unsettled.
“They’re not worth your energy,” I murmur under my breath, brushing the backs of my fingers against hers.
“I know,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I just hate the type.”
“Predatory in heels.”
“Exactly.”