Page 1 of Break The Ice

Chapter one

Ryann

The drizzle has penetratedthe top layer of my clothes, making them heavy and chilling me to the bone. The bitter wind drives tiny drops of ice water to attack my unprotected skin. My fingers are long past numb, and my face no longer burns. I glance back and see a bus slowly move down the wet, dark street with ‘out of service’ illuminated in ominous glowing letters. I put my head down, my hands in my pockets, and walk quickly. With my hood up and my baggy camo jacket and backpack, I can easily pass for a guy, a homeless bum, or, especially, someone you would glance at and instantly forget. Being female and slight, out walking this time of night without a friend in sight, is an invitation to morons who think I’m just an easy target.

I hear a footstep behind me, just a whisper of sound, but that’s all it takes. My stomach knots, and adrenaline floods my body. I know I should move, but I can’t. I’m locked in place, a thousand memories playing the What-If game. Is it trouble? Is it danger? The desire to fight is low, I don’t have anything left, to flee is all I can manage. If I could turn around, maybe that might break the spell, but I can’t even force my trembling legs to do that. My breath puffs out of my lungs, turning to white clouds in front of my face. My ears strain almost painfully for any sound that would indicate what I should do to survive the next moment. I slide my foot, shifting my weight slowly to the other so I can spring into a run.

A feminine laugh rips through the night. Blinding, crushing relief hits me, and I’m released from the spell, slumping, able to draw a deep breath. I look over my shoulder anyway, needing to be certain. Two women, girls, really, stumble drunk and cheerfully towards me. They pass me, barely sparing me a glance in their tall, stiletto heels and shortskirts that make me feel cold just looking at them. The high pitch squeals of a conversation that makes no sense steal the loneliness from the frosty night. The threat of danger eases its stranglehold on me.

“Fuck!” I hiss, annoyed with myself. My adrenaline ebbs, and I’m left feeling even more exhausted than I was before.

I begin my shuffle again, scanning the dark road as I pass by. On one side is a row of closed shops, on the other a carpark. Ahead of me is a brightly illuminated pub called The Rose. That’s my destination, and the very thought of warmth and food has me staggering forward with purpose.

I get there quicker than I expect and press a hand to my stomach as it growls and tightens painfully. With a glance around to make sure no one is watching, I peel off my jacket, shoving it in my backpack. At least now, most of my wet clothes are hidden. With a quick toss of my head, my long auburn hair flows free, and I’m ready, presentable again.

I shove the door open with one hand, wincing at the sudden blare of noise that I couldn’t or didn’t register when I was outside. The thump, thump, thump of the bass is almost intrusive. The colours are blinding, the flicker of lights dizzying. Booze, perfume, and sweaty people assault the senses. I ease inside, stepping close to the wall so I can get my bearings.

The pub is full of guys and stunningly beautiful women laughing loudly and having a good time. They look like any other normal crowd of people. I envy them. I haven’t been that carefree or happy in years.

As I peer around, it all bleeds in with every other place I’ve been to. Same, familiar, similar, and not. Adrenaline smacks into me for a second time. I clutch at a stool behind me, staggering to hold myself upright.There’s no way. Just no way.The familiar face smiles and laughs, turning away from me as he reaches for a beer. He twists back and says something that makes his friends laugh.

No!

Why is the universe so cruel to me?

He looks different from the photos my uncle sent me. There is something strained about him, like everything here is one tap short of shattering his control. He looks like an angel. He’s a fucking demon on the ice. His skill is legendary. He’s a household name. A hockey god!

Raider Raines is a defenseman on my uncles pro ice hockey team. The Greene Alpha Demons are on track to win the championship this year, and Raider is my uncle’s star player. Years of hearing about how good this alpha is have both plagued my jealousy-filled yearnings for family and given me a sick fantasy to fuck myself with. I have seen those blue-green eyes in my dreams for years. I have stared at his photo and touched myself,bringing myself to orgasm as I imagined him moving in me. Hell, I’ve done a lot worse with the image of Raider Raines plastered to my eyelids.

He’s my ultimate fantasy, one I can never have.

It’s not fair.

His blue-black hair flops over the left side of his face, and, even from here, I can tell how well-muscled he is. He’s gorgeous, and everyone knows it. They all gravitate to him and around him, the puck bunnies glancing coyly, his team mates drawing him in with laughter and conversation. He looks like the kind of guy who never needs to ever worry about where he’s getting dick or pussy from.

I approach the bar.

“Hey, Jack and Coke, thanks.”

The bald-headed barman nods, walks away, and returns a minute later with my drink. I put cash on the bar, he wisely doesn’t say anything. I should drink this and get out of dodge. My stomach twists again, violently.

“Don’t suppose you do food?”

“Kitchen’s closed,” he says and stalks away. Rude bastard.

Course, it is.

I glance at the door as it opens, tensing until I see a man and woman walk in. Unfamiliar to me but clearly known to each other. People spot them and greet them with shrill squeals. The tension ebbs slowly but not all the way.

A guy leans close to me, his garlic scent is strong, and I discreetly lean away, sip my drink, and watch the hockey team. I’m hyper aware of the middle-aged man, though, almost to the point that I forget the rest of the room.

“It’s better, to be honest.” The drunk slurs to his friend, who lands against the bar heavily. “Always tell your missus everything. She’ll find out anyway and rip your balls off if you don’t.”

The friend laughs nasally, jostling me as his flying arms start speaking for him. “Nah, you always gotta keep some things to yourself. Your beta probably has five guys on the side and an escape fund. You can’t trust anyone. Especially the people you care about. They’re the ones who will screw you hardest.”

He’s not wrong. Even drunk, the guy has sound logic. Secrets are best kept.

“Your omega screwed me hardest.”

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