20. Wraith
Wraith
Ivy is here.
I feel her somewhere in that crowd, hidden in plain sight, drawing my eyes to a section where I can somehow sense her.
Maybe because I'm feral.
Who the fuck knows.
She's watching me destroy Wade in the only way she’ll let me.
She kissed my face in that storage room.
She called me her mate.
She looked at every horrifying inch of what I am and loved me anyway.
If I can't breathe through the fucking mask, I can't play.
If I can't play, I can't protect her.
My mask, or my mate.
There's no fucking contest.
The fabric rips away from my face in a single pull. Cold arena air hits skin that hasn't been exposed in public since I was a kid. The sensation is so fucking wrong that for a moment I can't process anything else.
Then the sound hits me.
Or the absence of it.
The silence is so complete, I can hear the ice crackling beneath my skates.
Twenty thousand people seeing what I really am.
Warm blood streams down my face, coating my teeth.
I must look like something from a nightmare.
But I can breathe.
The silence shatters into shouts and gasps. Thousands of people horrified at once. Phones rise in a wave, flash strobing. Kids scream and cry.
That hurts the most.
This is the end.
The last game I'll ever play.
But I don't give a fuck.
All of this is for her.
And Wade Kelly is staring at me with his mouth hanging open, his face white as a sheet beneath the flush of exertion.
Guess even alphas like Wade fear ferals like me.
That's right. Look at me. Look at the REAL fucking demon you're up against.
I skate back into position with blood still dripping from my exposed face, my eyes still locked on Wade.
He scrambles to put distance between us.
The puck drops.
Whiskey crashes the net and buries a rebound despite being distracted by my bleeding face. Plague threads a pass through three defenders. Thane blocks the Demons twice.
The Demons are imploding, Wade unable to rally them, their defense crumbling under our relentless pressure.
Complete fucking domination.
And I'm the sideshow.
By tomorrow, there will be thousands of new pictures.
But Wade Kelly is staring at me with naked horror on his perfect face, and that makes everything completely fucking worth it.
A Demons forward dumps the puck into our zone, and suddenly Wade and I are both chasing it into the corner. His shoulder catches mine as we collide, and for a moment we're tangled together, sticks locked, faces inches apart.
Wade's eyes are screwed shut like he can't look at me without puking.
But then his nostrils flare.
"Honeysuckle?" he grits out through his teeth, his eyes cracking open, burning with rage.
The world stops.
He knows.
Somehow, despite all the neutralizers, despite all the precautions, despite everything we did to hide her scent, he fucking knows.
"She's with YOU?" His face contorts as his voice cracks on the last word. "My omega ran off with a fucking FREAK?"
Walk away.
My stick creaks in my grip.
You promised Ivy. Walk away.
"No. No, no, no. There's no fucking way. There's no fucking way my omega looked at—at THAT—" He gestures at my face with his stick, his hand shaking. "—and spread her legs."
The roaring starts in my ears.
NOT YOURS.
"Did she fight you off? HUH?" Wade slams his stick against my chest, and I let him. Let the impact rock me back. "Or did she just give up when she saw you? She sure fucking fought me when I—"
I slam Wade into the ice and my jaws lock on the junction of his neck and shoulder.
Wade's hot blood floods my mouth.
Don't even remember fucking moving.
When you what? I want to snarl.
WHEN YOU FUCKING WHAT?
My jaws clamp down harder.
Teeth tear through jersey.
Padding.
Flesh.
Wade shrieks.
His fists pound against my head, my back, anywhere he can reach. Fingers digging into my exposed jaw muscle. His hands shred on my teeth.
The arena falls away, leaving only the frantic rabbit-pulse of his carotid slamming against my tongue.
I could kill him.
Right fucking now.
Do it, the feral voice howls.
He HURT her.
MARKED her.
FORCED her.
End him.
End him.
END HIM—
A new thought surfaces through the red haze like a body floating up from deep water.
Ivy is watching.
A child is screaming.
The sound tears through the arena, through the crowd noise and the roaring in my skull.
My eyes snap up.
The glass behind Wade reflects back at me.
I'm a blood-drenched fucking nightmare.
Exposed teeth buried in flesh.
Eyes bright with feral rage.
This is me.
This is what I really am.
What Ivy swears I'm not.
The screaming from the girl behind the glass doesn't stop. It spirals higher, desperate, the sound of a child who will have nightmares about this moment for the rest of her life.
Because of me.
Because of what I'm doing.
You promised.
Ivy's voice whispers in my head.
You promised me.
My jaws loosen a fraction.
I see Wade's stick coming.
Can't move fast enough.
The blade catches me across the face with a crack that echoes through the arena, snapping my head sideways.
My vision whites out from the pain surging so hot, it barely registers.
I stagger back.
Wade doesn't waste the opening, his flesh ragged from where I tore him open when he hit me with his fucking stick.
"Is this what she has to deal with?" He swings again, wild and desperate. The stick connects with my face again, driving me to one knee. "Huh? Getting held down by some fucking MONSTER? At least I was GOOD to her—"
Another swing.
My hand flies up and catches the stick inches from my face, my fingers tightening until the stick shatters in my hand.
I let out a savage roar, blood splashing onto the ice.
Wade dies tonight.
Wade fucking dies.
Something slams into me from the side.
The impact sends me staggering sideways. Before I can recover, there's a hand on my chest, holding me back.
Silver eyes.
Bone-white hair.
Valek?
"Not you," he says, his accented voice cutting through the feral haze. "Not tonight."
MOVE, I try to snarl. HE'S MINE.
But Valek's already spinning away from me.
Wade is trying to stand, one hand braced against the boards, still gasping for air. Blood streams from his savaged shoulder. His mangled hand hangs useless at his side.
Valek's fist buries itself in his solar plexus.
All the air leaves Wade's body in a whoosh.
He folds, but Valek doesn't let him fall. He hauls the bleeding alpha up by the jersey with one hand and drives his other fist into Wade's liver.
Spleen.
Kidney.
Each blow landing exactly where it will do the most damage. Not the face or the head. Nothing that would knock him out and end his suffering.
"You know what I promised?" Valek's voice is conversational as he leans close to Wade's ear. "I promised not to kill you."
His knee comes up into Wade's diaphragm.
Something crunches.
"I never promised," Valek continues, punctuating each word with another systematic impact, "not to hurt you."
Wade vomits.
The Demons players have stopped advancing.
Nikolai's face gives nothing away.
Raven looks like he's fighting back a smile.
Nobody is coming to save Wade Kelly.
Valek spins him around, drives an elbow into his spine, and lets him crumple.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he stomps down on Wade's knee.
The wet crack echoes through the arena.
Wade's scream is barely a wheeze.
Valek stands over him, barely breathing hard, his silver eyes catching the arena lights like chips of ice. His expression is as empty as if he just took out the trash.
The medical team swarms Wade's battered form.
He moans.
Still fucking alive.
Valek skates past us toward the tunnel, his expression serene.
The others must be somewhere, but I can't make myself look.
My shaking hand drifts toward my face, checking automatically for a mask that isn't there under twenty thousand eyes.