Chapter 9
Luna
I sit up slowly, holding my breath as I read the message over and over, even though I know it by heart now.
Part of me is screaming that this is a bad idea. This is how people get murdered, Luna.
I should delete the message and block the number.
But the other curious and stubborn part of me says go.
It has to be Zayden who sent it. He’s the one who called me an ice princess.
Throwing my blanket aside, I slide out of bed. My hoodie goes over my head, then I put on my coat and my gloves.
My skates are still by the door, and I grab them on my way out. When I step into the hallway, it’s quiet. The campus is asleep, just a few students passed out in the lounge, probably too drunk or high to make it to their room.
I quietly make my way down the stairs and through the back exit. Snow drifts gently from the sky, lanterns glowing like ghosts in the distance, casting long shadows across the stone path.
I follow the pin location on my phone, my boots crunching over fresh snow. I still have no idea where I’m going. What’s the saying? Curiosity killed the cat.
A few minutes later, I come to a stop at what looks like an old building no one uses anymore. This can’t be right. I check the location again, and yes, this is where this mysterious person wants me to meet them.
I reach for the door, and it opens. The air inside is somehow colder than outside. It’s dark, except for faint light from down the stairs.
The sound of blades cutting across ice catches my attention, and I follow it down the stairs. That’s when I see it.
An ice rink.
One that no one mentioned during my campus tour. I move closer, stepping through the bleachers as the skater jumps into a triple axel and lands clean. A fucking triple axel. It took me years to master that move.
Then I catch a glimpse of his face as he skates—more like flies—past me.
Zayden.
Part of me knew it was him who sent the messages, I just didn’t expect to find him moving like this. He hasn’t seen me yet, and I continue watching him from behind the glass.
A sense of déejà vu washes over me, like I’ve seen those movements before.
The tension in the way he moves, like he’s trying to outrun something.
Every spin, every push paints his pain, frustration, and the need to escape it all.
I can almost feel it like it’s bleeding through the glass and straight into me. He makes every motion look like poetry.
Even though I’m in awe, I’m still mad that he thinks he knows me. He wants me to prove that I’m not another ice princess? Fine.
I drop my bag on the floor and switch out my boots for my skates. He still hasn’t stopped.
Once I’m done, I step onto the ice, and the moment I do, he slows to a stop. Like he felt me before my blades even made a sound. Our eyes lock from across the rink.
No words, no smirks. Just…tension.
Show me what you got, hockey boy. Let’s see if you can keep up.
One foot crosses over the other, I lean into a curve as I push off the ice.
I stretch my arms for balance, letting my skates guide me.
With my right skate digging into the ice while the left toe pick drives upward, I launch into a toe loop jump.
I land clean on the back outside edge of my right skate, knees absorbing the impact.
I flow into a spiral with my leg stretching behind me before bringing my skates together and steadying myself.
I glance over my shoulder, and he’s mirroring my movements, like we’ve trained together.
Seriously?
I grit my teeth, pick up speed, and pour everything into my stride. He stays with me, and somehow, we start moving together.
Our skates cut clean lines across the ice, matching each other step for step, breath for breath. I shift into a turn—he mirrors me. I cross over to switch direction—he’s already there.
It’s infuriating.
And seamless.
I don’t even realize I’m drifting toward him until our arms brush. Something sparks beneath my skin. He reaches out for me, and I let him.
His hands find my waist, and my body reacts before my brain can. The next thing I know, he’s lifting me. No hesitation. No flinch. Just trust and chemistry.
When did I start trusting him?
I’m above him, and his hands are exactly where they should be. It doesn’t feel like a lift. It feels like I’m flying, that sweet, perfect second of weightlessness.
And for the first time since I got here, I feel free.
No pressure.
No judges.
I land back on the ice, breath catching in my throat. His hands linger at my waist. His scent, something icy and citrus, fills my head, and I forget everything.
Why I hate him.
Why I shouldn’t be here.
Why I thought I needed to prove anything at all.
I pull back, breathless, skating a few feet away just to give myself space. My heart’s still racing, too fast and too loud.
What the fuck was that? I have so many questions. He’s a hockey player and should know how to skate, but no hockey player moves like that.
“How the hell do you know how to skate like that, Zayden?”
He doesn’t respond, and that makes it worse.
“Say something,” I bite out.
Still nothing.
Finally, his lips part. “Why are you even here, Luna?”
“What?” I blink.
He skates slowly toward the bench, where his jacket and bag are waiting.
“Are you stalking me now?” he asks without looking at me.
“Seriously? You texted me,” I snap.
He stops and turns to face me. “No, I didn’t.”
“If you didn’t, then who did?” I grab my phone off the bench to show him, and it vibrates with a new message.
Unknown number: You two were cute together. But do you even know where you are? Or what happened here?
I look up slowly to find Zayden’s eyes glance between his phone and me. The screen lights up his face, and his brows pull together. So, he got the same message.
I don’t know who sent it, or what it means. But the chill that runs through me has nothing to do with the ice.
“Zayden…”
“Go back to your dorm.” He slides his phone into his pocket.
My head snaps back. “Are you serious?”
“You shouldn’t be here.” He sits on the bench to remove his skates and switch them for his sneakers.
“Why not? You’re here.”
He doesn’t say anything, instead, he grabs his bag, heading for the exit.
I want to yell at him, demand answers, but I figure now is probably not the right time. I grab my things, too, my skates off and over my shoulders as I follow him.
Whatever this place is…it’s hiding something.
And I’m going to find out what.