Chapter 12 – VALEK
Chapter
Twelve
VALEK
Each arena has its own distinct personality.
Like people, they reveal themselves through scent first. The obvious notes hit you immediately—sweat, rubber, steel, and the mineral tang from the ice. But beneath those lie the subtler elements that truly define a space.
The soul of the building, if you will.
I pause at the players' entrance, several hours before I'm scheduled to meet my new team, and draw in a deep, appreciative breath. This arena's bouquet filters through my senses—sharper antiseptic than most places, perhaps a bit more salty brine, but otherwise familiar.
My boots click softly against polished concrete as I stroll through empty corridors. I've always preferred to scout new territory alone, unobserved. To taste it, to learn its secrets before others realize I'm even there.
I stop at an intersection where four hallways converge, head tilted slightly, listening. The arena breathes around me—the distant hum of machinery, occasional metallic pings, the soft whoosh of air through vents.
A sleeping beast with its own heartbeat.
Voices drift from the administrative wing. One deep and controlled, the other high-pitched and agitated. Curiosity pulls me forward, and I risk a glance around the corner.
Ah. There they are.
Thane Belmont—captain, alpha, self-appointed moral compass from the interviews I've seen—stands with his massive arms crossed while Coach rages at him.
The smaller man's face has bloomed into an impressive shade of crimson, wisps of white hair flapping like a bird's wings.
His smoke-stained mustache quivers with each shouted word.
It seems I'm doomed to hate this coach in record time.
But it is perfect timing. While Superman gets his ass chewed out by the human equivalent of a bulldog, I can explore uninterrupted.
I slip down a side corridor toward the locker rooms, feet barely making a sound despite my height. Years of practice make stealth second nature.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above a water fountain. Silver eyes stare back, framed by hair so pale it looks white under the fluorescents. A few strands have come loose from my swept back undercut, brushing against my skin where a fresh thin scar traces my cheekbone.
Apparently, this arena is not full of top minds. It's incredible no one has noticed me. I stick out like a sore thumb even before I speak.
I trail my fingertips along the nameplates as I move past each stall.
THANE.
PLAGUE.
WHISKEY.
WRAITH.
And then an empty space with a crater where a nameplate once sat. Must be the aftermath of Wraith's infamous meltdown with Daniels.
That space will soon bear my name.
It’s the spot directly beside Wraith's. How fitting—the two most dangerous alphas on the team, side by side.
The stories about Wraith circulate through the hockey world like ghost stories around a campfire.
Over seven feet tall. Solid muscle. Mute.
Lower face perpetually hidden behind a mask that likely conceals scars worse than the one slashing through his eye.
Rumored to have nearly killed the man whose spot I'm taking.
A feral alpha who communicates in growls and broken sign language.
My kind of alpha.
The thought pulls a smile from me as I continue deeper into the facility, moving past the weight room with its gleaming equipment, past the physical therapy suite with its stinging scent of menthol and alcohol.
Into the twisted maze of maintenance corridors that form the skeleton of any large arena.
These back hallways interest me most. They're the veins and arteries of the building. The places ordinary people never see. Where the real secrets hide. Where I can move undetected if necessary.
I'm halfway down a particularly dim passage when it hits me.
A scent.
Faint. Almost buried beneath industrial cleaners, mildew, and the bitter chemical notes of scent suppressants. But unmistakable.
Omega.
My nostrils flare as I inhale deeply, trying to capture more of that elusive fragrance. Not just any omega scent. This one is honeysuckle and summer rain, instantly pulling at me, but the undercurrent of something medicinal mutes its delicious notes.
Fever sweat. Illness.
A sick omega?
Here, hidden away in the bowels of the arena?
Curiosity prickles along my spine. I follow the scent like a bloodhound, each step bringing me closer to its source. The trail leads me through a series of increasingly narrow corridors, some barely lit by flickering emergency lights.
Most would turn back. Most would feel the primitive fear that dark, confined spaces trigger in the human brain.
I am not most people.
The scent grows stronger as I turn down another corridor. At the end of it is an abandoned locker room, the door hanging slightly ajar, and from within comes the unmistakable sound of running water.
A shower.
Steam billows from the gap, carrying with it that delicious scent, stronger now without the chemical overlay I detected earlier. Pure omega. Female.
And something else.
Something that alerts my alpha instincts like soldiers snapping to parade rest.
I freeze, surprised by my own reaction. I've encountered omegas before. Plenty of them. But never has one's mere scent affected me this way.
And then the air shifts.
A new scent fills the corridor.
Alpha.
A massive shadow detaches itself from the darkness at the far end of the hall. A hulking figure with a black mask covering the lower half of his face moves toward me with surprising grace for a giant, eating up the distance between us with long, purposeful strides. Like a lion given human form.
My lips curl into a smile.
This must be Wraith. My new teammate.
How convenient.
"Ah, perfect timing," I call out. "I was hoping to meet you before the formal introductions. I'm Valek. Your new winger. I believe I'll be occupying the locker beside yours."
No response. Just the steady approach of seven feet of violence incarnate. He's close enough now that I can see the feral rage burning in his cold blue eyes.
Someone doesn't play well with others.
"Just getting the lay of the land," I continue, gesturing lazily around us. "And I picked up the most interesting scent down here." I tap my nose, grinning wider. "Omega. You caught it too, I see."
His fist cracks against my jaw before I register the movement. The blow rocks my head back, my vision exploding white as blood gushes into my mouth.
No one has landed a clean hit on me in years.
A surprised laugh bubbles up from my chest as I straighten, rolling my shoulders. "Well, that's one way to welcome a new teammate."
Wraith doesn't waste breath on pleasantries. He comes at me again, a freight train of focused aggression. I sidestep, but he anticipates the move, catching me with a glancing blow to the ribs.
I respond with a sharp jab to his kidney, testing his defenses. He barely flinches. Instead, he grabs my arm, using my own momentum to slam me into the wall with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
The concrete cracks behind me. Or maybe that's my spine.
"You're protecting the omega," I realize aloud, grinning through the pain. "How chivalrous."
A growl rumbles from behind his mask, low and threatening. Not a word, and not a sound a human throat would normally produce. But the message is crystal clear.
Get out.
I have no intention of doing so.
With a sharp twist, I drive my knee into his solar plexus. He grunts—the first sound I've heard from him—and his grip falters just enough for me to break away.
We circle each other in the narrow corridor, two alphas locked in a dominance display as old as time itself. Blood trickles from a cut on my cheekbone. Must have split my fresh scar. Wraith's breathing is slightly labored, the only indication that I've managed to do any damage to him at all.
"I was told the Ghosts are a tight-knit group," I mutter, spitting blood. "But I expected at least a handshake before the beatings began."
Wraith lunges again. I duck under his arm, landing a solid uppercut to his masked jaw. His head snaps back, but he recovers instantly, catching me with a backhanded blow that sends me crashing into the opposite wall.
Pain blossoms across my shoulder blade. Good. Pain focuses the mind.
I launch myself at him, feinting left before driving my fist into his right side—the same spot I hit earlier. This time, he flinches, and I press the advantage, landing another jab to his jaw.
He responds by grabbing my hair and slamming my head against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I drive my knee up between us, creating just enough space to free my right arm. With a snarl of my own, I channel all my remaining strength into a single, targeted strike straight to his throat.
The effect is instantaneous.
His grip releases as his body's survival instincts override everything else.
He stumbles backward, one hand clutching his throat, the other braced against the wall.
A wet, choked sound escapes from behind his mask—half cough, half growl.
For the first time since our encounter began, the huge alpha looks vulnerable.
"Interesting," I mutter, cataloging this significant vulnerability for future reference as I push off the wall and roll my aching shoulders until they pop. "Your Achilles heel is your throat. Good to know."
Wraith's eyes snap back to mine, burning with hatred through the pain. Even with his airway compromised, he moves to position himself between me and the door to the shower room.
As if on cue, the door to the shower room flies open with a bang. Steam billows out, and with it comes a wave of that alluring omega scent, far stronger than before. Unhindered by doors or distance or scent suppressants.
My senses narrow to a single point of focus as the steam parts to reveal her—the omega whose scent has been calling to me since I first caught its trace.
She stands in the doorway, dripping wet and wrapped in nothing but a thin white towel one hand is clutching to her chest with white-knuckled intensity.
Her other hand grips a fire extinguisher like she's readying a baseball bat as water droplets trickle down her pale skin, tracing paths down her neck, her collarbone, and disappearing beneath the edge of the towel.
Eyes the very color of the sea lock onto me, pupils blown wide.
The world stops.
Time freezes.
My… scent match?
The realization hits me like a sledgehammer.
So does the fire extinguisher.