Ice Beast (The Masters Brothers #2)

Chapter 1

Philadelphia, PA

Steven

Chicago Sun: Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters is Setting His Sights on Another Stanley Cup!

Chicago Bullet: Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters, the Werewolf Can Do No Wrong!

NY Times: The Chicago Wild Dogs are Lucky to have a Werewolf on their Team!

USA Today: Congress is Set for Hearings Regarding the Legality of Werewolves on Sports Teams. Is their Participation Fair?

Los Angeles Times: Is There Anything Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters Can do Wrong?

The growl erupting from my throat was natural, needed at this moment. There was nothing contrived about the deep, dark warning sound. Why the hell was my brother getting all the accolades? I was a much better hockey player if I said so myself.

But Saint was the golden boy of the National Hockey League, a man who was gathering trophies like he used to do with women. I, on the other hand, remained on the down-low. The grand master of hockey’s little brother, a kid considered bad to the bone.

“I could tell you about a million fucking things he does wrong.” Grumbling the words, I raked my hand over the scruff on my face while jerking up from the kitchen table.

With my thumbs doing the work, I continued scrolling through my brother’s Instagram profile, still snarling as I did.

When another headline with an old, ridiculous photograph of my brother appeared along with the polished one used by a major network anchor, I was ready to beat the crap out of someone.

Or to rip them limb from limb.

I pressed play and instantly wished I hadn’t.

The Today Show, Carter Wainwright: “Join me this Friday with my special guest, Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters, center with the Chicago Wild Dogs, a man considered to be the best athlete in the world. But his success isn’t without controversy, including whether he continues to hunt human prey as his mainstay of food. ”

“What. The. Fuck?” Yes, the entire shifter nation had heard that crap right after we’d been forced to come into the light.

But now that so much time had gone by since being outed, why couldn’t people leave it alone?

When we had neighborhood barbeques, the choice meat wasn’t ground humanburger, for God’s sake.

My fucking God. Were there any intelligent humans on this planet? My eyes almost bugged out of my head when good ole Carter played another dark and gloomy video.

A photograph had managed to slide past the very tight military-style security surrounding the oldest shifter park in the country, the one used by the family pack a well as thousands of others over a full decade.

The hundreds of acres had been legally purchased and were used for hunting purposes, following all laws. It was protected for a reason.

So that wayward humans wouldn’t wander into the forest and find themselves the object of wolfen desire or any of the other wild animals frequenting the site.

The park was for recreational use only, allowing shifters to burn off steam and frustration from the week by being in their natural state and hunting small animals.

Not humans.

The longer the lies were perpetuated, the more fuel would be given to the politicians trying to destroy our rights and the shifter hunter groups that had developed since we were outed.

While Saint had learned to handle his emotions under pressure, along with a helping emotional hand from his lovely human mate, this was going too far.

How were we all supposed to live in harmony when shifters could walk down the street and have human children start to cry, terrified the big, bad werewolf was going to eat them? Fuck. I was furious.

Time for fucking coffee. Maybe I’d add a little bourbon to the brew. After the crappy week I’d experienced, I deserved a little self-healing. I could not believe we’d lost the damn game last night. And to the San Diego Serpents of all fucking teams. They were last in the league.

At least they had been until last night.

Cringing, I reached for the bottle before curling my fingers as I thought about what was on my schedule for the day.

Well, shit. With practice later, I guess my foray into indulgence and debauchery would need to wait.

“And we aren’t fucking werewolves!” I snapped out loud, puffing up like some huge gorilla.

“We’re shifters. There’s a big difference and if you don’t know what that means, come to my house and let me show you.

Werewolves will tear you from limb to limb.

Shifters will at least offer you a drink first.”

Taking a fighter’s stance, I growled and even howled a couple of times for good measure while slashing the air with invisible claws. As if shifters behaved that way any longer. We weren’t predators, unless you crossed us.

We didn’t enjoy killing people, only small animals for fresh, furry snacks and only in designated areas such as shifter parks and specialized hunting grounds.

“Wow. I’m terrified.” My best and one of my only friends Tyler Wilson stood in the doorway, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You have nothing to worry about. At least for now.” At least I could still manage to laugh, even though I remained in a shit-kicking mood.

“Are you reading all the glow and show about your brother again? I thought you’d decided after landing your ass in jail for breaking that reporter’s jaw it wasn’t in your best interest.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t help it. My brother’s goddamn face is everywhere. Look at this.” I navigated to the Chicago Bullet page, tapping my brother’s grinning photograph. You bet he had every reason in the world to be happy.

A huge salary.

A fancy house and four cars.

A second Stanley Cup on the way.

And he had the beautiful love of his life curled in his bed every night. At least she had him wrapped around her little finger and then some.

The damn asshole had better not complain.

“Why in the fuck do you bother looking at news articles if they put you in a shitty mood? You need to focus on the upcoming game. We can’t lose.” Tyler pushed me out of the way before I snatched his favorite coffee mug, even grabbing the handle of the huge pot I’d made just to shit with me.

“Thanks, Coach. I didn’t know you’d taken on a new role. And I’m always in a pissy mood. Why are you shitting me?” I grinned, even though my proclamation was right.

“Good point, buddy, and someone needs to get your ass in gear. By the way,” he said as he poured a heaping mug. “I thought you and your brother were close.”

Huffing, I leaned my back against the edge of the counter, folding my arms. “We are. I adore him. We’re like this.

” I crossed my index and middle fingers before bending my index, leaving the middle loud and proud in the air.

The truth was being outed had created tension between us, beyond our already unhealthy level of competition.

And testosterone.

“Jesus.” He thudded his cup onto the kitchen table, grabbing my iPad. “It’s not like you aren’t in the goddamn newspapers every day yourself.”

“For what? Being a playboy? Breaking a reporter’s jaw? Being the most handsome player in the league? Getting all the hot little puck bunnies my heart could desire?” My tone of voice had changed, becoming the suave one my teammates hated. I even did a little spinning dance move for emphasis.

Tyler just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but also for your incredible skills. When you can hunt them down.”

I must seem completely depressed if he was shifting away from his usual harsh ribbing of my talent. Or as he always told me, lack thereof. Very slowly I turned my head in his direction. I’d lost the edge. I knew it. Hell, everyone knew it.

He could barely contain the smirk. When he burst into laughter, I resisted giving him the two-finger salute this go-around. “Dude. I know you’re jealous of Saint, but your time will come.”

“I’m not jealous of my brother,” I snapped.

He stared at me with clear amusement in his eyes. “Sure.”

“He’s just over the top with everything.

” The truth was that I was in his shadow.

Here I went feeling sorry for myself again.

There was no reason other than I’d been dubbed the bad boy of the American Hockey League, second tier to the NHL and not exactly the best moniker for being called up to the NHL.

It also didn’t help I was Saint Masters’ brother or that I was a goddamn wolf man, as so many of the ladies preferred calling me.

“Why don’t we stroke your ego this morning.

Again.” He grabbed my iPad and before I could snatch it from his hand, he’d already backed away.

Yeah, he knew my passcode. The dude knew almost everything about me, including all the sordid details about being arrested more than once in my youth.

Not my finest hours, but stories about the steamy altercations had certainly boosted my reputation.

As he scrolled through various screens on the handheld, I continued grousing. “My guess is you won’t find shit.”

“Ah, here we go. From the Philadelphia Star. Is Steven ‘The Beast’s’ bark worse than his bite?”

“Oh, come the fuck on. It doesn’t say that and that’s not my nickname.”

“Yeah, that was the exact quote and I don’t think the Puck Bunny Tormenter is something to write home to your mother about. Here’s another one. This one is ugly.”

“What are you talking about?”

He flashed the screen showing me what he was looking at. I had to narrow my eyes to figure it out. “That was a stupid party. I didn’t undress the girl. She just took off her clothes.”

“But that is you sucking Jell-O off her titties. Right? And how about the word written on her stomach? I don’t think the puck bunnies like to be called bitches.”

“We were kidding around, man.”

“Uh-huh. Oh, look. You’re being compared to your brother. A new bad boy is in town.” Tyler laughed at my expense.

Great. Just another time I was being compared to Saint ‘the Savage’ Masters. It didn’t matter how I played the game. Saint would always be better than his little brother.