Chapter 19
Dante
Coach Vane’s office had always felt like a courtroom to me. The heavy oak desk was the judge's bench; the framed jerseys on the wall were the jury of my peers, silently evaluating whether I was worthy to hang among them.
Usually, I walked into this room with my head down, shoulders tense, waiting for the verdict.
Today, I walked in holding Arabella’s hand.
My grip was firm, interlaced with hers. Her palm was sweating slightly—she was human, after all, and walking into the Alpha’s den was intimidating—but she didn't pull away. She walked beside me, her chin held high, her free hand clutching her purse like a shield.
Coach Vane was sitting behind his desk. He looked tired. He was rubbing his temples as if he had a migraine the size of a Zamboni.
Thomas Reed, the Kraken scout, was sitting in the guest chair. He was scrolling on his phone, looking bored.
When we walked in, Vane looked up. His eyes widened when he saw Arabella.
"Dante," Vane said, his voice heavy with warning. "I told you to come explain yourself. I didn't tell you to bring a spectator."
"She's not a spectator," I said calmly. "She's the reason."
Reed looked up from his phone. He saw our joined hands. He saw the way I positioned myself slightly in front of her, shielding her. A slow, shark-like grin spread across his face.
"Well," Reed drawled, putting his phone away. "This is certainly more interesting than the usual apology speech."
"I'm not here to apologize," I said.
Vane stood up. "Excuse me? You walked out on a recruitment dinner. You disappeared for two days. You violated team curfew. And you're not sorry?"
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," I clarified. "I'm sorry I wasted Mr. Reed's steak. But I'm not sorry for leaving. I had to go get my wife."
Silence.
Vane choked on air. Reed raised an eyebrow so high it disappeared into his hairline.
"Wife?" Vane sputtered. "You... you got married? In two days?"
"In the eyes of the Pack," I said, my voice steady. "We're bonded. The ceremony is a formality. But as far as I'm concerned, we are a unit. Where I go, she goes. If you draft me, you draft the package deal."
I squeezed Arabella’s hand. She squeezed back, stepping forward.
"And," Arabella added, her voice clear and surprisingly strong, "if you investigate him, you investigate me. My father’s office has closed the inquiry. The statement stands. Whatever happened... it's over. Unless you want to reopen a case against a bonded pair, which violates the Treaty."
Vane stared at her. He looked at me. He looked at the mark on my neck, which I had deliberately left exposed.
He sank back into his chair with a groan.
"You kids," Vane muttered. "You're going to give me a stroke."
"So," Reed interjected, leaning forward. "Let me get this straight. You blew off the biggest opportunity of your life... to chase a girl... because you were afraid of losing her?"
"Yes," I said.
"And now you're back," Reed continued. "Does that mean you're ready to play hockey? Or are you going to run off every time she gets a papercut?"
"I'm ready to play," I said. "Because I'm not afraid anymore. Before, I was playing to survive. I was playing to prove I wasn't my father. Now? I'm playing for her. I'm playing to build a future. And that makes me dangerous, Mr. Reed. Because I have something to fight for."
Reed stared at me. His eyes were calculating, assessing. He was looking for the crack in the armor.
He didn't find one. Because the armor was gone. I wasn't hiding anything.
Reed laughed. A sharp, barking sound.
"I like it," Reed said. "It's melodramatic. It's messy. But it's real. Most of these kids just parrot what their agents tell them. You? You have fire."
He stood up and extended his hand.
"Welcome to the Kraken, son. Pending the draft, obviously. But... don't make me regret this."
I shook his hand. My grip was iron.
"You won't."
Walking out of the arena felt like floating.
The sun had finally broken through the perpetual Washington grey clouds. The snow was melting into slush, revealing patches of green grass. Spring was coming.
"Did that just happen?" Arabella asked, looking at me with wide eyes. "Did you just... talk back to an NHL scout and get drafted?"
"I think so," I grinned, swinging our joined hands. "I think we just won."
"My dad is going to be furious," she mused. "When he finds out the investigation didn't ruin you."
"Let him be furious," I said. "He's in London. We're here."
"We're here," she repeated. She stopped walking and turned to face me. "We're really doing this? The house? The dogs?"
"The library," I added. "Don't forget the library."
She laughed, throwing her arms around my neck. I caught her, lifting her off the ground, spinning her around right there in the parking lot where Markus had threatened her just days ago.
"I love you," she said, her face buried in my neck.
"I love you more," I promised.
"Hey! Lovebirds!"
We turned. Jax was leaning out the window of his car, honking the horn.
"Get a room! Or better yet, go to the Hive! We're throwing a party!"
"A party?" I asked.
"Graduation party! Draft party! 'Dante-Didn't-Ruin-His-Life' party!" Jax shouted. "Everyone is there. Even Elena brought cupcakes!"
I looked at Arabella. "You up for a party? Or do you want to retreat to the bunker?"
She smiled. "Let's go. I want a cupcake. And I want to show everyone that I'm not afraid of them anymore."
The party at the Hive was legendary.
The music was loud. The beer was flowing. But the vibe was different. It wasn't the frantic, aggressive energy of the mid-season ragers. It was celebratory. It was a release.
When we walked in, the room went quiet for a split second.
Everyone knew about the scandal. Everyone had seen the photo. Everyone knew Arabella had left and I had chased her.
Then, Grant started slow clapping.
Then Jax joined in. Then Elena.
Soon, the whole room was cheering.
It wasn't mocking. It was respect. In the shifter world, fighting for your mate was the highest form of honor. By chasing her down, I had proven myself more of an Alpha than any goal could.
Arabella flushed pink, burying her face in my shoulder, but she was smiling.
We spent the night holding court. Arabella sat on my lap on the big leather armchair, refusing to move. I kept my arm around her waist, my hand resting possessively on her hip.
Markus was there. He was standing in the corner, nursing a beer, looking sullen.
I made eye contact with him.
I didn't growl. I didn't threaten. I just looked at him with calm, absolute authority.
I won. You lost. Back down.
Markus looked at me. He looked at Arabella, safe in my arms. He looked at the team surrounding us.
He nodded, once, and walked out the door.
The threat was neutralized. Not by violence, but by unity.
Around midnight, the crowd started to thin out.
"I'm tired," Arabella whispered, leaning her head on my shoulder. "Emotional exhaustion is real."
"Let's go upstairs," I murmured. "My room is soundproofed. Jax promised to keep the noise down."
"Carry me?" she asked, looking up at me through her lashes.
"Always."
I stood up, lifting her effortlessly into my arms. She wrapped her legs around my waist, resting her head on my shoulder.
I carried her up the stairs, ignoring the wolf-whistles from the remaining guys.
I kicked my bedroom door open and shut it behind us with my foot. I locked it.
The silence was instant.
My room was simple. A massive bed (reinforced frame), a desk cluttered with architectural drawings, and a window overlooking the forest.
I set her down on the bed.
She looked up at me. Her hair was messy. Her lipstick was smudged. She looked beautiful.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi," I replied, unbuttoning my shirt.
"Are we... are we okay?" she asked, a flicker of the old insecurity surfacing. "Really?"
"We're better than okay," I said, tossing the shirt aside. "We're solid. Concrete."
I climbed onto the bed, hovering over her. I braced my weight on my hands, careful of my knee (which was healed, but I was still cautious).
"I want to celebrate," I said, my voice dropping to a growl.
"Celebrate how?" she teased, running her hands up my chest.
"By reclaiming you," I said. "By erasing every bad memory of the last three days. By making you scream my name until you forget your own."
She shivered. "That sounds like a good plan."
I kissed her.
It wasn't frantic like the airport. It wasn't desperate like the dorm room. It was joyful. It was a slow, savory exploration.
I took my time. I undressed her slowly, worshipping every inch of skin I revealed. I kissed the bruise on her knee from running. I kissed the tension out of her shoulders. I kissed the mark on her neck until she hummed with pleasure.
"You're so beautiful," I whispered against her stomach. "So perfect."
"I'm not perfect," she gasped as my hands moved lower. "I'm messy. I'm stubborn."
"Perfectly stubborn," I corrected.
When I entered her, it felt like coming home.
There was no pain. No hesitation. Just a smooth, deep slide that connected us completely.
She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me deeper. She looked into my eyes, her gaze open and trusting.
"Dante," she breathed.
"I'm here," I promised, moving with a slow, steady rhythm. "I'm right here."
We moved together in the darkness, a dance of friction and heat. It was emotional. It was spiritual. It was the physical manifestation of the promise we had made on the mountain.
When the climax came, it wasn't a shattering. It was a blooming. A warm, golden wave of pleasure that washed over us both, leaving us breathless and clinging to each other.
I collapsed next to her, pulling the duvet over us.
She rested her head on my chest, her hand playing with the hair on my sternum.
"Dante?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I want a Golden Retriever," she said sleepily. "For the dog."
I laughed, the sound rumbling in my chest. "A Golden Retriever? Really? Not a Husky? Or a Wolfdog?"
"Too much energy," she mumbled. "We need something chill. To balance you out."
"Okay," I agreed, kissing the top of her head. "A Golden Retriever. We'll name him Jax."
"Jax will hate that."
"Jax will love it."
She chuckled, her breath warm against my skin.
"I love you, Dante."
"I love you too, Arabella."
She fell asleep within minutes.
I lay awake for a little while longer, listening to the wind in the trees.
The future was waiting. The draft was in two weeks. The move to Seattle. The house. The life.
It wouldn't be easy. There would be away games. Injuries. Media scrutiny. My father’s shadow would always be there, lurking in the background.
But as I looked down at the woman sleeping in my arms—the woman who had walked through fire to save me, and let me walk through fire to save her back—I knew we would be okay.
We were the Alphas of our own story now. And we had already won the only game that mattered.