Chapter 14
Zoe
I was flying.
Not metaphorically, though the feeling in my chest suggested I had sprouted wings. I was literally flying across the ice at the Northridge Arena, carving figure-eights with a precision that felt effortless.
Sergei was watching from the boards, his arms crossed, his usual scowl replaced by a look of grudging respect.
"Again," he called out, but his voice lacked its usual bite. "The entry was… acceptable. More extension on the landing."
I grinned, skating back to center ice. Acceptable from Sergei was equivalent to a standing ovation from anyone else.
I felt unstoppable.
For weeks, I had been terrified. Terrified of failing. Terrified of my father. Terrified of Rory’s darkness.
But now? Now I had a secret weapon.
I touched the necklace hidden under my practice thermal. A small, silver chain with a tiny pendant shaped like a wolf’s tooth. Rory had given it to me two nights ago, pressing it into my palm in the dark of his truck.
"It’s not real bone," he had whispered, sounding almost shy. "Just silver. But it’s a promise. You carry the pack with you."
I carried the pack. I carried him.
I launched into the Triple Axel again.
I pulled in tight—small to be dangerous, Rory’s voice echoed in my head. I rotated. One. Two. Three.
I landed.
The blade bit into the ice with a satisfying shhhhk. I held the edge, extending my arms, feeling the flow of momentum carry me out of the jump.
Perfect.
"Good," Sergei nodded. "Enough for today. Do not overtrain. Save the legs for Nationals."
I skated to the gate, my breath coming in happy puffs. I grabbed my water bottle and took a long drink.
My phone, sitting on the bench, lit up.
Rory [4:15 PM]: Saw that from the tunnel. You looked like a Valkyrie. Meet me in the equipment room? 10 minutes. I have a craving.
I bit my lip to hide the smile.
The equipment room. It was our newest spot. It smelled of rubber and ozone, but it had a lock on the inside, and Rory had swiped a key from the manager.
Me: I’m sweaty and gross.
Rory: My favorite flavor. 9 minutes.
I looked around. Sergei was busy yelling at a junior skater. The rink was mostly empty, save for the Zamboni driver prepping his machine.
I grabbed my bag. "I’m heading out, Sergei. See you tomorrow."
"Rest, Zoe," Sergei called after me. "Ice the hip."
"Will do."
I walked toward the locker rooms, but instead of turning left into the women’s changing area, I took a sharp right down the service corridor.
My heart was hammering a frantic, happy rhythm. Thump-thump-thump.
It was reckless. Anyone could walk down this hall. Coach Gantry. The janitor. My father.
But the fear didn't stop me. It fueled me. It made every stolen kiss taste sweeter, every touch feel electric. We were getting away with it. We were winning.
I reached the heavy metal door marked EQUIPMENT STORAGE. I checked the hallway. Empty.
I knocked three times—our signal.
The door opened instantly. A hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the darkness.
"Hi," Rory growled, pressing me back against the door and locking it in one smooth motion.
"Hi," I breathed.
He didn't waste time. He crashed his mouth onto mine, his hands tangling in my hair, pulling my head back to deepen the kiss. He tasted of mint gum and desire.
"You were incredible out there," he murmured against my lips, his hands roaming down my back, squeezing my waist. "I watched for ten minutes. You looked… free."
"I feel free," I admitted, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Because of you."
"Good." He lifted me up effortlessly. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my skates—thankfully covered with guards—bumping against his thighs.
He carried me deeper into the room, navigating the maze of stick racks and hanging jerseys until we reached a pile of gym mats in the corner. He set me down on the edge of a stack of mats, stepping between my legs.
"We have twenty minutes before the team starts arriving for dryland training," he said, his eyes dark with intent.
"Twenty minutes is plenty," I teased, unzipping his track jacket.
"Is that a challenge?" He grinned, leaning down to bite my neck, right over the silver chain.
"Maybe."
We didn't go all the way—not here, not now. But we got close. His hands were under my thermal, exploring my skin. My hands were down his pants, stroking him until he groaned and shuddered against me.
It was messy and hurried and perfect.
"I love you," I whispered, resting my forehead against his as we caught our breath.
"I love you," he rasped, kissing my nose. "Now fix your hair. You look like you just got ravaged in a closet."
"I did get ravaged in a closet."
"Equipment room," he corrected. "Classier."
We laughed.
We were invincible.
We were idiots.
I walked out of the service corridor five minutes later, my hair smoothed back, my lips reapplied with chapstick. I felt flushed and happy.
I turned the corner toward the exit.
And ran straight into Tyler.
The linebacker. The one whose wrist Rory had almost snapped at the party.
"Whoa," Tyler said, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder. "Slow down, Carmichael."
I flinched away from his touch. "Sorry. In a rush."
Tyler didn't move. He stood in the middle of the hallway, blocking my path. He was wearing his varsity jacket, chewing gum loudly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me.
"Coming from the back?" he asked, tilting his head toward the service corridor. "What’s back there? Just storage and the ice plant."
"I got lost," I lied. "Looking for the trainer."
"The trainer’s office is on the other side of the building," Tyler drawled. He looked past me, down the hall. Then back at me.
He sniffed.
He wasn't a shifter, but he hung around them enough. And I knew, with a sudden, sickening drop in my stomach, that the scent of sex and cedar was clinging to me like a second skin.
"You smell like the locker room," Tyler observed, a smirk spreading across his face. "Specifically, the hockey locker room."
"I was just at the rink," I said, my voice tight. "It all smells the same."
"Does it?" Tyler stepped closer. "Because I just saw Thorne's truck in the lot. And I’m pretty sure I saw him heading this way about twenty minutes ago."
My heart stopped.
"I don't keep track of Rory Thorne," I said coldly. "Now move, Tyler."
"You know," Tyler said, leaning against the wall, "people talk. There’s a rumor going around that the Ice Princess has melted. That she’s slumming it with the mutt."
"Rory isn't a mutt."
The defense slipped out before I could stop it.
Tyler’s smirk widened into a grin. "Defensive. Interesting."
He pushed off the wall. "Careful, Zoe. Your dad hates Thorne. Like, biblical hate. If he finds out you're sneaking into closets with him… things could get ugly. For both of you."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Me? Nah. I’m just an observer." Tyler winked. "But information is currency, right? See you around, Z."
He walked past me, whistling.
I stood there, shaking.
He knew. Or at least, he suspected enough to be dangerous.
I should tell Rory. I should text him right now. Tyler saw me. He knows.
But Rory had a game tomorrow. A big game. If I told him Tyler was sniffing around, Rory would hunt him down. He would confront him. And this time, he might not stop at a sprained wrist.
If Rory hurt a human student, he was gone. Expelled. Arrested.
I couldn't risk it.
I took a deep breath. I can handle Tyler, I told myself. It’s just talk. He has no proof.
I walked out of the arena, the feeling of flying replaced by the heavy drag of dread.
Rory
The locker room was buzzing.
We were playing Michigan State tomorrow. It was a huge game for the scouts. The room smelled of tape adhesive and nervous energy.
I sat at my stall, taping my stick.
Heel to toe. Overlap. Smooth.
My mind wasn't on the tape. It was on Zoe. The way she had looked in the equipment room—flushed, wild, mine.
I touched my neck. I could still feel the phantom sensation of her fingers there.
"You're smiling at your stick," Jax said, sitting down next to me. "It’s disturbing."
"It’s a good stick," I muttered, smoothing the tape.
"Uh-huh." Jax leaned in. "So. The equipment room? Really? You know there's only one exit, right? If Gantry had walked by…"
"He didn't."
"You're getting sloppy, Rory." Jax’s voice was low, serious. "I cover for you. Svensson covers for you. But you can't rely on luck forever."
"It’s not luck," I said. "It’s strategy."
"It’s hubris," Jax countered. "You think because you're happy, you're invincible. You're not. The Dean is still watching. The scouts are watching."
"Let them watch," I said, shoving my stick into the rack. "I’m playing the best hockey of my life. My grades are up. I’m not breaking any rules."
"Except the one rule that matters," Jax pointed out. "Don't touch the Princess."
"She’s not a princess," I growled. "She’s a queen."
Jax rolled his eyes. "God, you're gone. You're so gone."
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed in my locker.
I checked it. An unknown number.
Unknown: Nice necklace she’s wearing. Silver wolf tooth? Subtle.
My blood ran cold.
I stared at the screen. Who was this?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Just a fan. Saw you guys coming out of the forestry lot last week. Saw her wearing your chain today. Just wondering… how much is that info worth to the Dean?
A blackmailer.
I stood up, my chair scraping violently against the concrete floor.
"Rory?" Jax asked, alarmed. "What is it?"
"Someone knows," I whispered. "Someone has proof."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
I looked around the locker room. Was it one of the guys? No. The pack was loyal. Even the guys who didn't like me wouldn't sell me out to the Dean. We protected our own.
Then who?
Tyler.
The image of the linebacker’s smug face flashed in my mind. He had been at the party. He had seen me defending her. He had a grudge because I hurt his wrist.
I clenched my fists. The Wolf roared, demanding violence. Hunt him. Silence him.
"Rory," Jax warned, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Your eyes."
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the gold down.
"I have to fix this," I rasped.
"How?"
"I find out who it is. And I shut them down."
"With words, Rory," Jax hissed. "With words. If you touch him, it’s over."
"Yeah," I lied. "Words."
I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the locker room.
I sat in my truck in the parking lot, staring at the phone.
I should tell Zoe. She needed to know.
But if I told her, she would panic. She had Nationals in two weeks. She was finally sleeping. She was finally flying. If I dropped this bomb on her—that someone was watching us, threatening us—she would crumble. She would pull away to protect me.
Or worse, she would try to fix it herself.
No. This was my mess. I was the one who got sloppy. I was the one who marked her. I was the one who gave her the necklace.
I had to protect her. Even if it meant lying to her.
I started the truck.
I wasn't going to the dorms. I was going hunting.
I drove to the football house.
The football house was quieter than the Hive, but it still smelled of entitlement.
I parked down the street and walked up. I knew Tyler lived here.
I waited.
Twenty minutes later, Tyler walked out with two other guys. They were laughing, heading toward a car.
I stepped out of the shadows.
"Tyler."
They stopped. Tyler saw me. His smile faltered, but he recovered quickly.
"Thorne," he sneered. "What brings the mutt to the palace?"
"We need to talk," I said calmly. "Alone."
"I don't think so," Tyler said, gesturing to his friends. "We're busy."
"It’s about the text you sent," I lied, bluffing. If it was him, he would react.
He reacted. His eyes flickered. A micro-expression of recognition.
Got him.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Tyler said, too quickly.
"You do," I said, stepping closer. "The necklace. The forestry lot. You've been watching us."
Tyler laughed nervously. "Maybe I have. Maybe I just have good eyes."
"Delete it," I said. My voice was low, vibrating with the growl. "Delete the photos. Delete the texts. Forget you ever saw us."
"Or what?" Tyler challenged, emboldened by his friends. "You gonna hit me again? Go ahead. My dad’s a lawyer. You hit me, you go to jail. You lose your scholarship. You lose the girl."
He stepped into my space.
"You're trapped, Thorne. You know it. One phone call to the Dean, and your life is over."
He poked my chest.
"So here’s the deal. You stay away from her. You break it off. Publicly. Humiliatingly. You make sure everyone knows you dumped her."
"Why?" I snarled.
"Because I want to see the Ice Princess cry," Tyler grinned. "And because I bet she rebounds quick. Maybe with someone of her own species."
The rage hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't a red mist. It was a white-hot explosion.
Kill him.
My hand shot out. I grabbed his throat.
I lifted him off the ground.
His friends shouted. One of them grabbed my arm. I shrugged him off with a growl that sent him scrambling back in terror.
"You think this is a game?" I roared, my eyes fully gold, my canines lengthening. "You think you can threaten my mate?"
Tyler clawed at my hand, his face turning purple. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.
"Rory! Stop!"
The voice cut through the haze.
It wasn't Zoe. It was Jax.
Jax sprinted from across the street. He slammed into me, tackling me around the waist.
"Let him go!" Jax shouted. "Rory, let him go! People are watching!"
I looked around. Students on the sidewalk had stopped. Phones were out. They were filming.
Filming.
The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water.
I dropped Tyler.
He crumbled to the sidewalk, gasping for air, clutching his throat.
"You're crazy!" Tyler wheezed. "You're a monster!"
I stood there, panting, the gold fading from my vision.
I saw the phones. The flashing lights.
I had just assaulted a student. In public. On camera.
"Get in the truck," Jax hissed, dragging me backward. "Get in the truck now."
I stumbled back to Jax’s car.
I sat in the passenger seat, my head in my hands.
"I messed up," I whispered.
"Yeah," Jax said grimly, starting the car. "You really did."
My phone buzzed.
Zoe: Hey. Just got back to the dorm. Miss you already. Sleep well, Wolf.
I stared at the text.
I couldn't text back. I couldn't tell her.
Because by tomorrow morning, that video would be everywhere. The Dean would see it.
And the war wouldn't just be started.
It would be over. And we would be the casualties.