Page 17 of Knot Sharing the Ice

This isn't helping.

Nothing's helping.

I've never felt so out of control, so... desperate.

Is this what it's like for other alphas? Alphas who aren't used to every omega they meet falling at their feet?

But I know the answer to that.

Those omegas aren't our mate.

They don't smell like home and desire and everything I never knew I wanted all rolled into one petite, feisty package.

They're not Ember.

I wind up for another shot, putting all my frustration into the swing.

The puck goes wide, ricocheting off the plexiglass with a resounding crack.

"Looks like you could use a goalie," a dry voice calls out behind me.

I turn to see Mason leaning against the boards, a wry smile on his face.

I shrug, trying for nonchalance. "If you're offering."

He pushes off, skating toward the goal with easy grace. "Might as well put all this pent-up energy to use, right?"

I snort.

That's one way of putting it.

We fall into an easy rhythm, the familiar routine of practice a welcome distraction. For a while, there's nothing but the scrape of skates on ice, the thud of puck against pads, the harsh sound of our breathing.

But even as I lose myself in the physical exertion, my mind keeps drifting back to Ember.

To the way she'd looked at us all—wary, confused, but with an undercurrent of... something.

Curiosity?

Desire?

Or am I just projecting what I want to see?

"You're telegraphing your shots," Mason calls out after blocking yet another attempt. "What's got you so distracted, hotshot?"

I roll my eyes, retrieving another puck. "Take a wild fucking guess."

He chuckles, but there's no real humor in it. "Yeah, stupid question."

I line up for another shot, focusing on my form. This time, the puck sails past Mason's outstretched glove, finding its home in the back of the net.

Small victories.

"You really stepped in it earlier, huh?" Mason says as he tosses the puck back to me.

I wince, remembering my clumsy attempts at flirtation. "Fuck off. Like you'd have done any better."

"Oh, I don't know about that," he drawls. "Our mate hasn't threatened to cutmyballs off, at least."

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