Chapter 9
Dante
The Hive was a war zone of celebration.
The bass from the speakers was vibrating my skull, turning my headache into a rhythmic, pounding drum solo. The air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, shifting pheromones, and the acrid smoke of celebratory cigars someone had smuggled onto the back porch.
Everyone wanted to touch me.
A slap on the back from a defenseman. A hand on my forearm from a puck bunny in a skirt the size of a belt. A punch to the shoulder from Jax.
"You're a legend, Cap!" Jax screamed over the music, his face flushed with adrenaline and vodka. "Did you see the Kraken scout? He was drooling! Drooling!"
I forced a smile. It felt like a grimace.
My knee was throbbing. A deep, persistent ache that radiated from the joint down to my ankle. The adrenaline from the game had worn off hours ago, leaving behind a cold, stiff agony. I had popped four ibuprofen in the locker room, but they were barely taking the edge off.
I wanted to leave. I wanted to go to my room, pack my knee in ice, and stare at the ceiling in the dark.
But I couldn't. I was the Alpha. I was the Captain. Leaving the victory party early was a sign of weakness. And after that hit—after the scout saw me go down—I couldn't afford any more weakness.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, swirling a glass of water I was pretending was vodka. I scanned the room.
Not for threats. For her.
Arabella was by the fridge, trapped in a conversation with Grant. Grant was drunk. He was leaning too close, invading her space, waving his hands as he recounted some save he’d made in the second period.
Arabella looked polite. She was nodding, smiling that small, tight smile she used when she was uncomfortable. She was clutching her purse with both hands, her knuckles white. She looked like a dove trapped in a cage of bears.
My possessiveness flared. Hot. Immediate. Irrational.
I pushed off the counter. My knee protested, sending a spike of pain up my thigh, but I ignored it. I cut through the crowd, my shoulder checking a freshman who didn't move fast enough.
"Grant," I barked as I reached them.
Grant spun around, nearly knocking over his beer. "Cap! I was just telling Ara about the—"
"I know," I interrupted, my voice low and flat. "But she's tired. And you're shouting."
Grant blinked, looking from me to Arabella. He sniffed the air. He smelled the ozone coming off me. He took a step back.
"Right. Sorry. My bad."
I turned to Arabella. "You okay?"
She looked up at me. Her violet eyes were wide, relieved. "I'm fine. Just... it's loud."
"Come on," I said.
I didn't ask. I reached out and wrapped my hand around her wrist. Her skin was cool, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my own.
I pulled her away from the kitchen, weaving through the crush of bodies in the living room. People called out to me, but I ignored them. I kept my eyes on the front door.
We burst out onto the porch.
The cold night air hit us like a slap. It was quiet out here, save for the muffled thumping of the bass from inside and the wind whistling through the pines.
I didn't stop. I led her down the steps, past the smokers, toward the gravel driveway where my truck was parked.
"Dante?" she asked, stumbling slightly in the snow to keep up with my long strides. "Where are we going?"
"Away," I growled.
I reached the truck, unlocked it, and practically lifted her into the passenger seat. I slammed the door, walked around, and climbed into the driver's side.
Silence. Blessed, heavy silence.
I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
"You're hurt," Arabella’s voice was soft in the darkness.
I didn't open my eyes. "I'm fine."
"You're limping worse than before," she said. I heard the rustle of fabric as she turned in her seat to face me. "And you're sweating. It's thirty degrees out."
"It's just the game," I lied. "Just the exhaustion."
"Dante."
She reached out. Her hand—small, gentle, brave—touched my forehead.
Her palm was cool. It felt like heaven against my burning skin.
"You're burning up," she whispered. "This isn't just a bruise. Is it... is it the fever again?"
I opened my eyes and looked at her.
She was staring at me with such raw concern it made my chest ache. She wasn't looking at the Captain. She was looking at the man.
"No," I rasped. "Not the Rut. Just... pain. Pain messes with my thermoregulation."
"We need to get you ice," she said decisively. "Drive me to my dorm. I have gel packs in my freezer."
"I have ice at the Hive," I argued.
"The Hive is a frat party," she countered. "You won't rest there. Jax will come pound on your door every five minutes. You need quiet."
She was right. I hated that she was right.
"Your roommate?" I asked.
"Gone for the weekend," she said. "Room is empty."
An empty room. With her. In a dorm that smelled like vanilla and lavender.
It was a terrible idea. It was dangerous. It was exactly what I wanted.
"Fine," I grunted, starting the engine.
The drive was short. We didn't speak. The tension in the cab was thick enough to chew on. It wasn't the angry tension of before; it was a heavy, magnetic pull.
Every time I breathed, I inhaled her scent. It soothed the wolf, but it woke up the man.
I parked in the guest lot behind the Honors Dorm. I killed the engine.
"Can you walk?" she asked as we got out.
"I played twenty minutes on it," I muttered, slamming the truck door. "I can walk up a flight of stairs."
I couldn't, actually. Every step was agony. But I gritted my teeth and masked it, forcing my body to move fluidly. I wouldn't limp in front of her. Not when I was trying to convince myself I wasn't broken.
We signed in at the front desk. The RA—a bored human girl—barely looked up from her textbook. She didn't question why the star hockey player was signing in at 1:00 AM with the quiet girl from 4B.
We took the elevator.
The silence in the metal box was suffocating.
We stood apart, not touching, but the air between us crackled.
I watched our reflections in the polished steel doors.
We looked like a mismatch. Me, massive and bruised in a suit that was too tight across the shoulders.
Her, small and soft in her oversized coat.
Beauty and the Beast, I thought cynically. Except the Beast eats the Beauty in the original version.
The doors opened. We walked down the hallway.
She unlocked her door and pushed it open.
The room was small, cozy. Fairy lights were strung across the ceiling. Books were stacked everywhere. The bed was a twin, piled high with pillows.
It smelled like her. Concentrated. Pure.
I stepped inside, and my shoulders instantly dropped two inches. The noise of the world faded away.
"Sit," she commanded, pointing to the desk chair.
I sat. The chair creaked ominously under my weight.
She busied herself, throwing her coat on the bed, rummaging in a mini-fridge. She pulled out two blue gel packs and wrapped them in a thin towel.
"Pants," she said, turning to me.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
She flushed pink, but her gaze held steady. "I can't ice your knee through suit trousers, Dante. Roll them up or take them off."
I looked at her. She was serious.
I let out a low huff of amusement. "You're bossy."
"I'm efficient," she corrected. "Now, leg."
I reached down and unbuckled my belt. Her eyes tracked the movement, her pupils dilating slightly. I undid the button and the zipper. I shimmied the pants down my hips, kicking them off, leaving me in my boxer briefs and the dress shirt.
It was intimate. More intimate than nudity. Being half-dressed in a girl's dorm room felt... domestic.
I extended my left leg.
She gasped softly when she saw the knee. It was swollen to twice its normal size, angry and purple.
"Oh, Dante," she whispered, kneeling in front of me.
She reached out, her fingers hovering over the bruising. She didn't touch it. She looked like she wanted to cry.
"It looks worse than it is," I lied.
"Stop lying to me," she said sharply, looking up. "This is bad. You shouldn't have played on it."
"I had to," I said simply.
She shook her head, gently placing the ice pack on the joint.
The cold was shocking. I hissed, gripping the arms of the chair.
"Sorry," she murmured. She held the pack in place with her hands.
She stayed there, kneeling between my spread legs, her hands on my knee, her head bowed.
I looked down at her. The curve of her neck. The soft wisps of blonde hair escaping her bun. The way she was tending to me with such singular focus.
Something inside me fractured.
The wall I had rebuilt in the car crumbled into dust.
I reached out. My hand, large and scarred, cupped her cheek.
She froze. She looked up slowly.
Her eyes were wide, dark pools of violet. Her lips were parted.
"Arabella," I whispered.
"Does it hurt?" she asked breathlessly.
"Everything hurts," I said. "Except this."
I ran my thumb over her bottom lip. It was soft, plush.
"Why do you do this?" I asked, my voice rough. "Why do you take care of me? I'm mean to you. I'm dangerous. I'm a mess."
"Because," she whispered, leaning into my hand. "You let me see you. The real you. Not the Captain. Just... the guy who likes architecture and frozen peas."
I chuckled, a low, dark sound. "The frozen peas were a low point."
"They were human," she said. "And I like the human."
"What about the wolf?" I asked, the playfulness vanishing. "Do you like him?"
She hesitated. "I respect him. I'm learning to understand him."
"He wants you," I said bluntly.
Her breath hitched. "I know."
"He wants to claim you," I continued, my thumb dragging down her jawline to her throat. I felt her pulse hammering against my fingertips. "He wants to mark you so every male on this campus knows who you belong to."
"And what does Dante want?" she challenged.
"Dante wants the same thing," I admitted. "Dante is just trying to be a gentleman about it."
"Maybe I don't want a gentleman right now," she whispered.
The air left the room.
My hand tightened on her jaw.