Ice King (The Kendrick Brothers #1)

Chapter 1

Ford

Seattle Sentinel: Ford ‘The Wolfman’ Kendrick: A Legend is Born

Portland Herald: Ford ‘The Wolfman’ Kendrick Lives Up to his Genealogy!

Vancouver Times: Is Ford ‘The Wolfman’ on his Way to the Vancouver Kingpins?

“We have a hot one tonight, ladies and gentlemen. With the score tied two to two and less than two minutes on the clock in the third period, it’s now or never for the Seattle Wild.”

Battling through a crosscheck in the corner, I swept the puck away from the boards.

I had no intention of hesitating. The weight of the moment was intense, the crowd already on their feet in breathless anticipation.

I sliced through the defenders, dangling the puck.

The only sound were blades skimming across the ice along with the brutal hammering of my heart against my ribcage.

While my legs were burning, the urgency kept me focused. On point.

I scanned the goalie’s eyes, the rush of the high thrilling.

This was what I lived for. There was nothing as important as winning the game.

And I was damn good at doing so.

Ticktock. Ticktock.

As I controlled the pace, the puck settled onto my blade while a grin slid ever so silently across my face. The goalie wouldn’t know what hit him.

A flash on my left hit my peripheral vision a split second before my entire world was thrown off kilter. The sound of the crowd that had been a dull roar shifted, skates digging hard into the ice.

I didn’t expect a hit, let alone a ride into the boards.

The crack of plexiglass was followed by a brutal thud of my shoulder pads a split second before the air was ripped from my lungs. All I could smell was the acrid stench of ice shavings mixed with the metallic taste of blood.

Everything drifted into both slow motion and utter chaos.

Unable to feel my legs, I slid to the ice, concentrating on the explosive sound as a fight broke out. The referee’s whistle was a scream drowned out by the thunderous roar of a furious crowd.

In those seconds, even as I tried to stand, the lights in the arena began to dim.

“Ford. Look at me. Shit. We need a medic!”

“Huh?” I managed while gasping for air.

“Somebody call 9-1-1!”

Shouts faded.

Screams echoed.

My mind was shutting down, my vision murky.

The forest.

Trees.

Darkness.

Animals.

Food.

* * *

“Mom. I’m not a child,” I said while half laughing. My words had fallen on deaf ears. “I can take care of myself.”

Margaret Kendrick might as well be called Mama Bear. Even after enduring the pain of birthing four huge babies, three of whom had turned into brutal savages as men, she hovered over each one of us whenever she believed we were incapable of caring for ourselves.

From my point of view, that was way too often.

At twenty-eight years old, I’d been around the block a few times. If I couldn’t take care of myself now, then I might as well hang it up.

“Maybe I’d feel better if you didn’t act like a child.” She was a spitfire and a powerhouse at five foot nothing, acting as if she oversaw all of us. That’s the way it had been since we were all kids.

My father? Right now, he was doing exactly the same thing as he’d always done.

He was looking the other way with a smile on his face. Then again, Patrick Kendrick knew his place in the pecking order of the pack.

Behind his woman.

Something he’d shared with his sons in our formative years. Never argue with a woman.

“Mama, seriously,” my sister Samantha chided. “Ford has lived on his own since he was eighteen. That’s ten years.”

My mother, choosing to ignore all of us, plumped the pillows on my couch, positioned a comfy throw within reach, and turned on ambient lighting before glaring at my father.

“Pat. Make a fire. We need to keep him warm.” After that, she grabbed my sister’s hand, forcing her to take the bag of goodies as she called them.

The same phrase she’d used when I was eight and cried when I was going to the dentist and she’d been bribing me.

“Make him some tea. Chamomile. He needs to get a good night’s sleep. ”

Tea wasn’t going to cut it.

My mother intended on changing my bad habits.

When I chuckled, I winced while my sister rolled her eyes. She had finals to study for, her college graduation only a few weeks away. The last thing she needed was to babysit her big brother.

“Yes, Mom,” Samantha said instead. There were other battles to pick.

“Don’t you ‘yes, Mom’ me. Our son was almost killed.” Mom fisted her hand, acting as if she was taking a swing at the jerk who’d caused my injuries. She was being nice. The thoughts I had were vicious through and through.

I adored my mother. She was the family rock, the woman who’d birthed and had dealt with my savage childish shifter ways. She’d been there when my hormones had me streaking in fur for four weeks until my father could get me under control.

And she’d been there to remind me not all women were horrible when my pseudo girlfriend had left me for a two-bit actor. What my mother hadn’t understood was that I hadn’t cared about Shanna’s betrayal. Relationships were the last thing on my mind.

When my mother grabbed my arms as if I was incapable of walking, I allowed her to guide me to the couch.

“Here you go, baby boy. Get off your feet. You’ve been through such an ordeal.”

The ordeal had been a nightmare, but not because of medical reasons. Yeah, my ribs still felt bruised every time I took a deep breath and according to my orthopedic doctor, my shoulder wasn’t healing properly, but I was alive and kicking.

And planning on returning to the game.

After I secured the team a place in the playoffs, maybe I’d hunt down the motherfucker who’d put me in this position. Maybe I’d allow my beast out of his cage for a night. The thought had kept me from falling into bouts of rage over the last few days.

“Mom, seriously. I’ll be just fine,” I reassured her.

“You can’t stay alone. I’ll stay with you.”

“Mags,” my father finally chimed in. “I’m with our son on this one. He is fine. As long as he takes it easy and stays off the damn ice, he’ll heal.” With the last few words, he glared at me. He knew how I was. Refusing to take a day off under the worst of circumstances.

At least I’d convinced them that I didn’t need to stay sequestered inside their house where I’d been since being released from the hospital.

I still couldn’t believe the doctors remained baffled when faced with the bloodstream of a shifter.

We’d been ‘out’ to mainstream society for over four years.

You’d think by now every hospital in the country would have at least one doctor dedicated to our bodily specifics.

“Don’t worry. Coach Stryker has no intention of allowing me back on the ice until I’m given the all clear.” Unless I sweet-talked him, which I intended on doing. At this point, given the muscle structure I’d been born with, I should soon be good as new.

Maybe my parents’ concern was more about why I hadn’t healed almost immediately. Sure, shifters weren’t immune to disease or injury, but we healed at a much faster rate.

Normally.

Mom insisted on placing the blanket over my legs and my father was performing his required duties by building a fire.

I sat back. Fighting her was of no use.

In the next several minutes, my house was made wolf proof, as I liked to call it, ensuring I wouldn’t hurt myself as I recuperated.

When Samantha brought the mug of tea, I lifted my eyebrow. She winked before nodding toward the steaming hot liquid. Thank God, my sister knew me so well. She’d added a couple of ounces of bourbon for me so I could at least tolerate the horrible concoction.

At least now that I was in my own space, I could enjoy fuming over the motherfucker who’d put me here. While the defenseman had been expelled, the act had pushed the game into overtime, which the Arizona Bluedevils had won.

I closed my eyes as the frustration tore through me and hadn’t realized I was growling until my mother sighed.

“See? My baby boy is still hurting.”

“Mags. He’s frustrated. We all are. But he’s fine. Let’s let the boy get some rest.” Pops grinned as he physically pulled my mother away from the couch.

“Are you sure? I can stay here,” she insisted.

“Mother. Come on. I need to get back to studying,” Samantha insisted.

“At this hour?” My mother wasn’t one to give in easily.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom. Promise.” Right after I headed to practice. While the coach might not let me back onto the ice, he couldn’t stop me from entering the building.

Mom kissed me on the forehead while grasping both sides of my face, hers pinched as if she was the one in pain.

When all the goodbyes were finished and the door closed behind them, I finally took a deep, long, and agonizing breath.

“Shit.” The pain was annoying as hell and unnecessary. I couldn’t remember the last time any injury had bothered me for longer than half a day. Maybe the tea would soothe the rising tension.

One sip and I knew otherwise, making a face from how disgusting the brew was.

I needed the real thing at this point. My mother had forbidden me from indulging while spending time in their house.

Tossing the blanket, I headed to the kitchen, pouring a tall glass of tea-free bourbon.

After that, I grabbed my iPad, moving a little more slowly than before as I returned to the living room.

Time to find out how the other teams were doing, especially since the Wild had lost the last game because of my absence.

At this rate, we’d be shut out of the playoffs.

That couldn’t happen. I needed the team to have a Calder Cup placed in our trophy case and a championship ring placed on my finger if I wanted to finally make the NHL this year.

Time was running out, as the tabloids liked to remind me. Golden boy, my ass.

Granted, with wolf blood running through my veins, my body didn’t age the same as full humans, but insisting shifters had superior attributes to humans would only fuel the fires of hatred. Our kind had enough of that shit to deal with.

So I had to play by the regular rules, which meant I was washed up at thirty-three.

The bourbon was smooth, the liquor exactly what I needed to calm my nerves.

I flicked through the normal news sources and with ten seconds, wished I hadn’t. Also, there wasn’t enough liquor left in the bottle to cool down the fire sweeping through every vein.

Seattle Sentinel: Ford ‘The Wolfman’ Kendrick: Is He Washed Up Before Thirty?

Portland Herald: Ford ‘The Wolfman’ Kendrick. Not Even His Wolf Could Save Him

Vancouver Times: Is Ford ‘The Wolfman’s’ Career Finished?

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Saying the words out loud didn’t make me feel any better. I tossed the iPad before I went any further. Sure, the injury couldn’t have come at a worse time, but I wasn’t crippled, for fuck’s sake.

I took another swig.

Then another.

While I fumed, I hadn’t realized I’d finished the glass in less than five minutes.

Normally, I wouldn’t feel the effects of alcohol, but given the painkillers I’d been on, my head was already fuzzy.

Before I did something I knew at some point I’d regret, maybe what I needed was a good night’s sleep.

Then I’d tackle the bullshit news sources in the morning.

I forced myself off the couch, chuckling as I passed by a perfectly good fire. At least the house was warm.

Not that a wolf needed the extra heat. Tonight, my blood was boiling.

* * *

As I stood in the darkness, allowing my eyes to adjust to the shadows forming all around me, I took a deep, long whiff of the night air. The delicious scent of prey caused the ravenous hunger to expand.

Rain had blanketed the forest, the ground wet, slickened by mud. The moisture intensified every smell, my stomach growling because of it.

The sound of stretching skin brought a smile, my heartrate increasing with every passing second. Every bone in my body screamed in agony, bending in ways they were never meant to. I dropped onto all fours, shaking violently as the transformation continued.

My jaw extended into a snarling muzzle, tearing through my own human flesh. As my canines elongated, the stench of blood filled my nostrils. As my beast emerged, drowning out every last chrysalis of humanity, a deep eagerness pooled in my cavernous stomach.

I’d never felt so famished in my life.

In only seconds, the last vestige of my humanity was stripped away, replaced by a savage joy and freedom being human had never offered.

The scents of the forest, while overwhelming, provided fuel for the hunt.

Tonight I would feast on flesh and bone.

I threw my head back, offering the forest one last cry of warning in my howl.

There was no fun if there wasn’t a decent chase.

With my head heavy, I scanned the trees, my keen eyesight catching a vision of a perfect appetizer. After pawing the ground, I crept forward, racing through the dense underbrush, nothing but a shadow. A ghost.

Invisible to most, the prince of predators.

Every few seconds, I tipped my head, breathing in the sweet stench of fear. The creature knew I was coming for him. He could run and he could hide.

But I would find him.

Miles I traveled, following my prey until the beast thought he was safe.

Then I waited, taking my time to enjoy the moment.

With a single, low-slung growl, I advanced.

The startled cry was short lived as I tossed him to the ground, standing over him with my canines bared.

Sheer ecstasy rolled through me as I drove the sharp bone into the creature’s soft flesh.

“Fuck.” I jerked up, shocked by shards of pain like broken glass ripping through every muscle. While the room was completely black, my vision of everything around me came into focus.

With my chest rising and falling, I controlled my breathing as I concentrated on grounding myself even as my thoughts remained buried in the forest.

I was on the floor, completely naked. What the hell had I done with my sweatpants? Even as the images began to fade, every muscle in my body remained tense. Very slowly I struggled to stand, my breathing still labored.

The dream had seemed so real, so… very real. With my hand shaking, I turned on the lamp by the bed, stretching while I lifted my head, staring at the ceiling. A fucking nightmare. How long had it been since I’d experienced a dream that was so real?

Or euphoric?

While shifters enjoyed the hunt, we rarely fed on small creatures any longer.

Our experts warned us that our natural instincts were being bred from us, a gift stolen by modern technology and pretending to be completely human.

Our appetites had changed, hunting used for stress relief more than anything else.

Hunts had lost their sense of presence in my life ten years before. So why now?

My skin was on fire, my stomach rumbling differently than I was used to experiencing.

I rubbed my jaw as a strangled laugh pushed up from my throat. Wow. So much for lacing leftover painkillers with alcohol. As I thumped onto my bed, hanging my head, the light caught a silhouette of my feet.

A cold chill replaced the earlier fire as I lifted one foot.

My toes were covered with mud.