4. Kel
Ihaven't slept a single fucking wink.
My boots thud in a relentless rhythm against the rubber floor of the locker room. Pacing from the showers to the main exit doors and back keeps me from climbing the walls. Heat burns under my skin. I curl my hands into tight fists. The muscles in my arms wind up, ready to snap.
It's barely seven in the morning. The team's private practice facility is too quiet, but the air inside our locker room chokes us with tension. It smells like stale sweat, expensive hockey tape, and the sour edge of three frustrated Alphas.
Stopping for a second, I drag both hands over my face. Hitting something sounds real good right now. Getting on the ice and checking someone into the boards until my shoulders go numb might burn off this energy.
Squeezing my eyes shut only makes it worse. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle floods my memory. It hits the back of my throat with the acidic edge of panic rolling off her last night.
My teeth grind together as my jaw locks tight.
Glaring at the stalls lined up along the wall brings me back to the present. Last night, we just stood there and watched our match turn around and run away. Wally threw his arm out to block me from going after her, forcing me to stay put.
It was a massive mistake. Chasing her down was the right move. Pulling her out of that crowd, wrapping her in my jacket, and keeping her there until we figured out why she smelled like our entire world would have fixed this.
Wally sits on the wooden bench in the center of the room, staring at his phone screen. He stays frozen in place for twenty minutes. His jaw remains locked tight. The calm, collected captain of our team is gone. He looks ready to snap.
Simon sits in front of his stall, knocking his knuckles against the wooden bench.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound grates on my last nerve. I shoot him a glare. "Cut it out. You're driving me crazy."
Simon drops his hand to his side and glares right back at me. His blue eyes are bloodshot. He looks just as wrecked as I feel. The charming PR golden boy vanished the second that Omega disappeared into the crowded lounge.
"You pacing a hole in the floor makes my headache worse, Kel." His voice is rough and stripped of its usual humor.
I cross my arms over my chest and face the entrance.
We need Henry. He shows up early for the morning skate to get some extra time in the weight room.
He serves as our only connection to the red-haired Omega who shattered our reality last night.
We only know her first name and her friendship with his sister.
The double doors swing open, sending an echo down the hallway. Footsteps approach the locker room.
I straighten up and crack my neck to the side. The familiar pop of my joints settles my nerves a fraction. Wally looks up from his phone. Simon pushes up from the bench and stands tall.
Years of playing on the same line lets us coordinate our movements in silence. The three of us operate as a single unit on and off the ice.
Henry walks through the doorway carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder and a massive protein shake in his hand. He wears a pair of gray sweatpants and a backwards ball cap. He looks well-rested with a relaxed, easy smile on his face.
His boots halt the second he spots us staring at him.
The smile drops off his face. He takes one look at my scowl, shifts his gaze to Wally's dead stare, and then checks Simon's tense posture.
Henry swallows hard. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat. He tightens his grip on the strap of his duffel bag. Veering left, he aims straight for his designated stall in the corner of the room to steer clear of us.
I step right into his path.
Crossing my arms over my chest lets my size do the talking. I stand six-foot-four and carry enough muscle to drop guys twice his size. Wally steps up to my right side, blocking the path to the benches. Simon shifts to my left, cutting off the exit back out to the hallway.
We trap him in a neat, suffocating triangle.
Henry looks between the three of us with his brows pulled together. He shifts his weight. The sudden spike of stress in his scent betrays the casual act he tries to put on.
"Uh, hey guys." He points a thumb at the exit Simon is blocking. "What's going on? You need something?"
"We need Vayda's number, Henry." I keep my voice low and flat. "Now."
Henry takes a slow, careful step back. His heel hits the wooden bench behind him.
He looks at me, then at Wally, then at Simon. The poor guy looks like he just skated blind into a three-on-one defensive trap.
"I can't do that, man." Henry shakes his head. He drops his gaze to the floor, avoiding my eyes. "If I give you her number, Kristy will kill me. I fear her way more than I fear the three of you. I'm serious. She will bury my body in the woods and leave our mother in the dark."
A harsh, frustrated breath escapes my lungs. My fingers twitch with the urge to grab his collar and shake the information out of him. It's a rough, aggressive instinct usually saved for the penalty box.
Getting that damn phone number is the only priority.
Calling Vayda and hearing her voice will confirm she is okay.
We need to talk to her and sort this out.
That silver bite mark on her skin proves she has a pack, yet her scent called out to us anyway.
Being stuck in some bond of convenience makes this entire situation messy.
Knowing the facts helps us figure out how to work around it.
Simon scoffs from my left side. He rolls his eyes, dismissing Henry's panic. "We aren't going to stalk her." He runs a hand through his messy copper hair, pushing the hood of his sweatshirt back. "We just need to talk to her. You saw what happened last night. You have to know this is serious."
Henry shifts his weight from foot to foot. Conflict writes itself across his face. He knows the rarity of a true scent match, but he stays fiercely loyal to his sister.
"I know it's serious." Henry crosses his arms, getting defensive. "But Vayda is family to us. Kristy protects her like it. Handing out her cell phone number to three Alphas she just ran away from guarantees I'll end up dead." He shakes his head and sets his jaw. He holds his ground.
"Talk to Kristy first." Henry offers the compromise with a shrug. "If she gives the okay, then maybe."
Dropping his duffel bag on the floor, he pulls his phone out of his sweatpants pocket.
He unlocks the screen and scrolls through his contacts.
Wally grabs his own phone to take it down.
Henry rattles off the digits. He looks up at Wally and offers a grim, apologetic smile.
"Good luck. You're going to need it." He brushes past us to get ready for practice.
Wally jumps right into action.
He hits the call button and puts the phone on speaker, holding it out in the center of our small circle. The three of us stare at the glowing screen like it's a bomb about to go off.
Every ring twists the anxiety sitting in the pit of my stomach. My leg bounces with restless energy. Getting sent to voicemail means losing my mind. Finding out where Kristy lives and knocking on her front door myself will be the next step.
The ringing stops.
"This is Kristy." Her tone clips through the speaker, crisp, professional, and annoyed. She sounds like a woman dealing with a telemarketer early in the morning.
Wally clears his throat. He squares his shoulders, stepping right back into the role of the pack leader.
"Kristy, it's Wally Nelson. Center for the Reapers. We met last night." He keeps his voice smooth and commanding, burying the desperate edge clawing at the inside of his chest. "I'm here with Kel and Simon. We want to talk about Vayda."
The line goes dead silent.
The call timer keeps ticking on the screen, proving she is still there. The silence stretches out, thick and uncomfortable. Leaning a little closer to the phone, my heart pounds a steady, furious rhythm against my ribs.
"Vayda's life is complicated." Kristy skips the small talk and gets right to the point. "Beyond complicated. She needs to see what the universe is offering her with the three of you, but she's stubborn. She spent years convincing herself she deserves nothing good."
My stomach drops. The words hit like a blow to the chest.
She deserves nothing good.
What kind of trauma makes an Omega believe something like that?
Packs treasure their Omegas. They sit at the center of everything, protected and adored by their Alphas.
Picturing our perfect scent match sitting somewhere in the city, punishing herself and pushing us away out of some twisted sense of guilt, makes me want to put my fist through a concrete wall.
Clenching my hands into fists, I step forward to crowd the phone. Wally holds up a hand to stall my demands for answers.
"We just want a chance to talk to her." Wally strips the aggression from his tone while holding his ground. "We promise to let her set the pace. Just a phone call."
Getting Vayda on the line to hear her voice is the only way to know she's okay. We need to figure out why our scent match terrified her so much. Wrapping her in my scent to prove those lies wrong sounds perfect, but treading carefully is the only option. Pushing her will guarantee she’ll bolt again.
We keep our desperation hidden from Kristy to secure the connection.
Kristy lets out a long sigh. "I'll try to get her to agree to a call." She sounds reluctant, treating the request like playing with fire. "But I make no promises. She has a lot on her plate right now. Expect an uphill battle."
The line clicks. She hangs up and ends the call.
The locker room falls back into a suffocating silence.
I stare at the phone in Wally's hand. She has a lot on her plate. It's a vague statement, leaving us in the dark about her living situation, her job, or the marks on her skin.
The three of us huddle up. We pull into a tight circle, dropping our voices to keep Henry out of the conversation while he suits up across the room.
Wally taps his phone, swapping the call log for a web browser. He holds the device up for Simon and me. Blocks of text from medical journals and pack dynamic forums fill the glowing screen.
"I stayed awake all night." Wally swipes his thumb down the screen, scrolling past a bunch of ads. "I looked up Omega scent matching for a previously bonded Omega. Finding out how this is even possible became my top priority."
Leaning in closer gives me a better look at the text. The science is straightforward. Once an Omega is claimed, their scent shifts to neutral, mimicking a Beta to any unbonded Alphas. They belong to their pack. Nature uses the change to prevent bloody, violent challenges over claimed mates.
But Vayda smelled like an open invitation. A perfect, intoxicating match.
"The forums point to two specific cases." Wally locks his phone and shoves it into his pocket. He meets my gaze with dead-serious eyes. "Either they bonded out of convenience with zero scent-connection, leaving their scent unaltered."
"Or?" Simon tightens his voice with impatience.
"Or they lost their Alphas." Wally finishes the thought. "Death or a severe trauma severed the bond."
The air in the locker room turns to ice. The words hang between the three of us, sinking deep into my bones.
"The second option makes the most sense." Wally lowers his voice. "Think about her reaction to us. She looked at us like ghosts. An Omega in an unhappy convenience bond acts differently. She just looked terrified. She’s grieving."
Simon drags a hand down his face. "My cousin lost her Alphas." He pauses, staring a hole into the floor. "She died six months later from bond rejection symptoms. Her body viewed their death and the loss of their knots as a total rejection."
Wally swears under his breath. He drags a hand through his dark hair as the color drains from his face.
A low, vibrating growl starts deep in the center of my chest. My body reacts involuntarily to the thought of our Omega suffering through that kind of agony. Picturing her system slowly shutting down turns my blood to ice.
Closing my eyes brings up the image of her pale neck.
I remember the silver, raised tissue of the bite marks.
They were old scars. Whatever happened to her pack occurred years ago.
She carries this grief around as a constant weight.
She survives on her own, fighting off a lethal condition while convinced she is unworthy of a second chance at a real pack.
A protective rage boils up, consuming the frustration from earlier.
It all makes perfect sense now. The exhaustion pulling down the corners of her eyes. The oversized sweater hiding her frame. The sheer panic taking over her face when she realized we’re scent matched. Her reaction goes beyond a simple rejection. She is drowning in grief for the pack she lost.
Her complicated life changes nothing for me. All the baggage she carries and whatever Kristy thinks she needs to do are irrelevant.
If she hurts, fixing it is our job.
Opening my eyes, I look at my packmates. Simon nods with his jaw set in a hard line. Wally stares right back at me, his leadership and resolve returning in full force. We are all on the exact same page, facing one massive hurdle.
Kristy holds all the cards right now. She serves as the only bridge between us and the Omega who smells like lavender and honeysuckle. Earning a chance to prove Vayda is safe with us means convincing her protective friend to grant us access.