Page 132 of Break The Ice

I play hockey. I own the ice.

I take it down the left side, skating into the gap between players, and then send it backwards with a wrist shot to a waiting Dimitri. He takes the shot, sending the puck flying at their goalie. It’s caught.

I spit out a curse while the Foxes start lining up to bring the puck down the ice. I skate as fast as I can back to the bench and go back in, while Kane, Benson, and Hodge take my place.

I sit on the bench and flick my mouth guard off my teeth, chewing it lightly, while I reach for the water.

The coaches and assistant coaches are talking, but I’m not paying attention, I’m looking for her again. She’s so far away that I can’t see her while she’s sitting down.

The bright white of the ice draws my attention, and I force myself to watch the play. It’s a surprisingly short amount of time before I’m tapped, and my line heads out again.

We explode into action, chasing the puck. Waraski manages to get the puck off their center and sends it down the ice towards Evans. He’s the second fastest on the team, after Inman, and when he takes it, we all fly up the ice.

He passes it to Hoffsfield, who sends it to me. The Foxes defense slams into him, and he hits the ice hard. Evans shouts, but I keep going. I can almost feel the guy chasing me, right behind my right shoulder. He slams into me a moment later, crushing me to the boards. We fight, and I struggle to free my stick enough to shift the puck, but I can’t. In desperation, I kick it with my skate, spitting a curse at the idiot holding me. It shoots out while another player slams into me. I hold them to me, giving Evans and Hoffsfield a few extra seconds.

The siren goes, and I almost close my eyes in relief.

A goal. Thank fuck.

Whoever has me pinned to the boards hits my kidney hard with a hidden punch, and when he gets off me, I glance at him and recognise it’s Corey Taylor. He’s a notorious hotheaded idiot who loves to trade low blows. I don’t give him a reaction as I skate to the bench.

The game heats and gets more violent. The sound of whistles and the cheer of the audience are the howls of the hungry baying for blood. The crack of sticks echoing around the rink wielded like weapons of war. All of this should have me in the right mindset, but I can’t get there. I’ve trained for this, I’m ready for this.

I should be able to forget everything else but work, but I cannot get my head in the game.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

I nod my head tightly, refusing to look at Evans. I like him; we don’t know each other well, but we work well together, and I can see us being friends, but I can’t tell him what’s going on.

Ramirez scores and comes off the ice. I stand up and head back on.

I’ve got the puck, and I’m watching the right defense skate backwards in front of me. He’s intent and damned good at his job. He’s making me work for it. I feint to the left and slap the puck to the right, straight into Dimitri’s waiting stick. He scoops it up and travels on with it. In seconds, he manages to sink the puck into the net, and the siren sounds, but I’m already skating back, looking up and scanning the crowd. I skid to a stop, turning to watch the team’s mascot walk down the stairs. I don’t know what it is about him being there that freaks me out. Perhaps it’s the way he moves.

He cocks his head to the side, that huge smiling demon head tilting wildly, and puts his hand on the glass right in front of me. I think he’s staring right at me, no, I know he is. I can feel it.

It sends a rush of ill ease up my spine. Where is my pack? I glance behind him and realise how close he is to Ryann.

He turns his enormous head really slowly, looking at her, and then just as slowly turns back to me. Just behind his shoulder, I can see Ryann sitting on her orange chair, but she’s all alone.

My heart thuds hard. The umpire is shouting at me, but I can’t move.

“Don’t do it. Leave her alone!” I say loudly.

There’s no one with her. There is no doubt in my mind that the stalker is hiding in that mask. I skate closer to the perspex, ignoring the shouts of my teammates.

The umpire shouts and gets in my face, trying to send me to the penalty box, but I refuse to move.

Why is she alone? That’s my beta. No!

I wish I had bonds. If I had them, I could warn her, find the others. What the hell is going on? Where are they? Something must be wrong? I get a wave of dizziness and shift closer, passing my stick from hand to hand, almost forgotten.

The mascot lifts his green arms and lifts that demonic visage up just slightly. I stop, curious about what he’s doing. The players shout at me, the coach, the umpire, but I ignore it all, desperate to be wrong.

The face is slowly revealed, and I gasp, stumbling towards the glass. I slam my fists on it, but he simply smirks and pulls the head back down.

Stalker.

That’s him

---