Chapter 14 – WHISKEY
Chapter
Fourteen
WHISKEY
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, expecting some bullshit from Coach about practice schedules, but it's the pack group chat.
It’s a text from… Wraith?
I stare at the screen for a second, sure I'm reading it wrong. Wraith texting is rare enough. Wraith texting words is unheard of.
“What the fuck does winger in locker room needs doctor mean?” I ask, flashing my phone at Plague.
He glances at the screen, frowning. “Guess it means we should go to the locker room.”
"This is fuckin' ridiculous," I mutter as we make our way through the arena corridors. "What's next? Zamboni races at midnight?"
Plague shoots me a sidelong glance, surgical mask firmly in place. "You would love Zamboni races."
"Damn right I would," I reply without missing a beat. "And I'd win. But that's beside the point."
The arena feels off today. Emptier. Like the ice is a little colder, the lights a little dimmer. Or maybe that's just my mood. Marine Corps instincts don't fade. They sharpen. And right now, every cell in my body is screaming that something isn't right.
Our footsteps echo through the hallway leading to the locker room. Plague walks with his usual precise steps, back straight, head held high like he's navigating a minefield of filth. Meanwhile, I'm fighting the urge to check corners and scan for threats.
"You think Wraith finally snapped and murdered our new teammate before he even suited up?" I ask, only half-joking.
"Don't be absurd," Plague responds, but there's no real bite to it. He's worried too. I can tell by the way his shoulders tense under that fancy coat of his.
We round the corner to find Thane pacing outside the locker room, phone in hand. His knuckles are red and swollen—like he's been punching walls again. Not a good sign.
"Any update?" I call out, forcing a lightness into my voice I don't feel.
Thane looks up, his face creased with tension. "Nothing beyond the text. There's no one in the locker room, and Wraith isn't answering follow-ups."
"Shocking," Plague says dryly.
"Thought we weren't meeting the new guy 'til later," I say, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms. "What the hell was he doing here already?"
Thane shrugs. "How the fuck should I know? Maybe he just wanted to get the lay of the place."
"And how'd that work out for him?" I chuckle, then immediately sober at Thane's glare. "Sorry, Cap. Bad timing."
A distant sound draws our attention—heavy footsteps approaching from the east corridor. We all turn to look, and holy fuck, I'm not prepared for what I see.
It's Wraith.
Shirtless.
With an unconscious alpha with platinum hair slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
My brain short-circuits for a second, trying to process too many things at once. First, our feral alpha's bare-chested in public, which is unprecedented. Second, our brand-new teammate is bleeding from the head. Third, the scars are... intense.
I knew Wraith had scars. We all did. The one through his eye is impossible to miss. But seeing the extent of the damage, the web of silver and tan scars spreading over his collarbone and upper chest like someone fucking dumped a bucket of acid on him, is something else.
No wonder he never changes in front of us.
Wraith storms straight past us into the locker room, not making eye contact with anyone. We follow, watching as he unceremoniously dumps Valek onto a bench. The new guy groans but doesn't wake up.
"He breathing?" I ask, even as I see Valek's chest rise and fall.
Thane nods, then turns to Wraith, who's standing there like some warrior after battle, all bruised-up rippling muscle and battle scars, looking everywhere but at us.
"What. The. Fuck. Happened?"
Wraith's hands move in a flurry of signs too fast for me to catch. I've learned some sign language since he joined the team, but when he gets worked up, I can't follow for shit.
"Slow down," Thane growls.
"You can't tell me you don't think this is suspicious as hell," I say, gesturing to Valek's unconscious form.
"He was supposed to replace Daniels, not join him in the graveyard of wingers you've demolished.
Were you put on this earth specifically to hunt wingers?
Are you like some kind of cursed vampire slayer with a very specific target demographic? "
Wraith's intense blue eyes lock onto mine, and I swear the temperature drops ten degrees. But I don't back down. That's not my style.
"What happened to your shirt?" Plague asks, moving closer to examine Valek's head wound while keeping a suspicious eye on Wraith.
Wraith's hands move more deliberately now. Torn. Fight.
"Gathered that much," I say, waving at Valek's unconscious form. "Question is, why were you fighting our new teammate before he even stepped on the ice?"
Wraith's jaw works beneath his mask, a sure sign he's pissed. He signs again, too fast for me to follow properly.
"Valek was sneaking in the tunnels?" Thane translates. "Making what up?"
Wraith hesitates, then signs back to him, fingerspelling this time.
O-M-E-G-A.
Every cell in my body goes on high alert. The dream. The fucking dream Plague and I both had. About an omega in the maintenance tunnels. With red hair and honeysuckle scent.
"What do you mean?" I push off the wall, taking a step closer.
Wraith's eyes narrow, his massive frame tensing defensively. He signs emphatically. Too fast again to catch all the signs. But I catch just enough to understand he's saying that Valek is seeing shit because he hit his head, and that there's nothing down there in the tunnels.
"And how would you know?" I challenge.
"Because he spends half his time down there," Thane cuts in, his tone making it clear the subject is closed. "If anyone would know what's down there, it's Wraith."
I glance at Plague, catching his eye. His surgical mask hides most of his expression, but I know he's thinking the same thing I am.
This is way too much of a coincidence.
Wraith signs again. Something about needing a new shirt and going back to the pack house.
"You have clothes here," I point out, gesturing to his locker. "You always keep spares."
Wraith doesn't sign a response, just stares at me with those intense blue eyes, daring me to challenge him again.
Fuck that. I'm not backing down.
"We've got practice soon and Coach is already on the warpath," I press.
A low rumble emerges from Wraith's chest. It isn't a full-blown growl, but close enough to make the hair on my arms stand up. His hands fingerspell three slow, clear words.
O-U-T… O-F… T-I-M-E.
"Out of time for what?" I ask, confused. "Arguing with me?"
The glare Wraith is giving me could melt steel. The implied threat hangs in the air between us.
I'm about to push it anyway when Thane interjects with a tired sigh.
"Just let him go," Thane mutters. "I've called the team doctor. We need to focus on Valek for now."
Wraith nods once at Thane, shoots me another warning look, then stalks out of the locker room with another low growl. The door slams behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges.
"What the actual fuck is going on?" I demand once he's gone. "You can't tell me you don't think this is suspicious as hell."
Thane drags a hand through his shaggy dark hair. "All I know is that our new winger got knocked unconscious before his first practice, and Coach is going to lose his fucking mind when he finds out."
"That's your concern? Coach's blood pressure?" I shake my head in disbelief. "Not the fact that Wraith just showed up shirtless, which is weird as fuck for him, and carrying our brand-new winger over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes?"
"Whiskey," Thane warns, his voice dropping into captain mode. "Not now."
I turn to Plague instead, who's been suspiciously quiet. "You got anything to add, or are you too busy counting dust particles in the new winger's hair?"
Plague finishes his examination of Valek's head wound before answering. "The wound is consistent with blunt force trauma. Not Wraith's usual fighting style."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning Wraith typically uses his fists, not objects. This looks like Valek was hit with something cylindrical and heavy." Plague straightens up, adjusting his gloves with a snap. "Something doesn't add up."
"No shit," I mutter.
The sound of approaching footsteps announces the arrival of the medical team. Thane moves to intercept them, leaving Plague and me momentarily alone by Valek's prone form.
I lower my voice. "The dream. The omega in the tunnels. Valek says he saw one, and suddenly Wraith's acting weirder than usual? Come on."
Plague's eyes narrow above his mask. "I don't believe in coincidences."
"For once, we agree on something."
I glance over at Thane, making sure he's out of earshot. "So what's the play here? Because my gut says Wraith is hiding something big."
"We need more information," Plague murmurs. "And right now, our only source is currently unconscious."
We both look down at Valek, whose eyelids are starting to flutter. The alpha is coming around, groaning softly as his hand moves to his head.
"Perfect timing," I say. "Let's get our answers straight from the source."
The medical team bustles in with Thane leading the way. They immediately push Plague and me aside to attend to Valek. I hang back, watching as they check his pupils and vital signs, murmuring medical jargon I mostly tune out.
Valek's eyes open fully. He blinks slowly, taking in his surroundings with a predator's awareness despite his injured state. Like we're a bunch of zookeepers gathered around a tranq'd white tiger.
"Welcome to the Ghosts," I say with a grin that doesn't reach my eyes. "We usually save the head trauma for actual games, but I guess you got the VIP treatment."
"Whiskey," Thane warns.
Valek attempts to sit up, letting out a low growl and shrugging off the medic who tries to keep him still. "I've had worse," he says, his accented and decidedly not-Canadian voice surprisingly deep.
"What happened?" Thane asks, positioning himself where Valek can see him without straining.
Valek's light eyes narrow slightly. "I was... exploring. Getting familiar with the arena. Wraith did not appreciate the surprise visit."
"In the maintenance tunnels?" Plague interjects smoothly.
A flicker of something—recognition, wariness, I can't tell—passes across Valek's face. Then a smile spreads across his lips, wolfish and dangerous despite his state.
"I needed to familiarize myself with all aspects of my new home," he says simply, evading the direct question.
Plague doesn't back down. "Wraith mentioned you claimed there was an omega down there."
The locker room goes silent. Even the medics pause in their work, sensing the tension.
Valek stares at Plague for a long moment. Then that grin returns, wider than before.
"An omega?" he repeats as if it's the craziest thing he's ever heard. "Of course not. Only rats and your feral teammate."
He's lying. I can feel it in my fucking bones. But why?
One of the medics clears his throat. "We need to get him to the hospital for scans."
Thane nods and turns to us. "Let's give them space. We've got practice in an hour, assuming Coach doesn't cancel to deal with this clusterfuck."
I open my mouth to argue, but Plague catches my eye and gives a subtle shake of his head. Not now, the look says. Later.
Fine. We'll table this. But I'm not letting it go.
As we file out of the locker room, I take one last look at Valek. He's busy arguing with the medics about how he's fine and he isn't going to the hospital, so I can't make eye contact to get a better read on him.
But I know he saw something in those tunnels. Something worth lying about. Something that has Wraith acting like a cornered animal.
And I'm going to find out what it is.
Because one thing's certain.
There's definitely an omega in this arena.
And not just any omega.
An omega that makes my fucking heart sing even in my dreams.
And for some reason, Wraith is keeping her all to himself.