Chapter 19 Damian's Pov
1137 Words
The second half starts with a tension that feels like it’s squeezing the air out of my lungs. The crowd is loud, but it sounds distant, like everything is happening behind a glass wall. My team skates out looking drained. Heads down. Shoulders tight. No one says it out loud, but the scoreboard sitting at three–zero is already hanging over us like a death sentence.
The coach blows the whistle. “Focus!” he shouts. “I don’t care what happened earlier. Fix it now.”
I nod even though he’s not looking at me. My grip tightens on my stick. My wolf paces inside me, restless, annoyed, irritated with me for playing like a rookie during the first half. His growl is low and sharp, like he’s calling me useless.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter under my breath. “I got it.”
The referee drops the puck.
The other team charges.
Within seconds, they’re already slicing through our defense, moving fast, aggressive, confident. Our goalie shifts, ready, but the formation is too clean. Too sharp. And when the puck rockets toward the net, I know it’s going in.
Everything in me snaps.
Before I even think, my body moves.
I shoot forward, closing the gap in a blur. It’s instinct, pure, sharp instinct. I swing my stick down and block the puck at the last second, knocking it off course with enough force that it skids halfway across the rink.
Gasps explode around me.
My own breath stops.
My wolf lifts his head inside me, satisfied. Finally.
Something inside me clicks into place, almost violent.
And then everything shifts.
...
It feels like the ice belongs to me again.
No—not feels like. Is.
My skates hit the surface and I know exactly where to go. Exactly who to pass to. Exactly how to move. I cut through the other team before they even know I’m coming. My body reacts a full second faster than my thoughts. It’s like I’m seeing the game several beats ahead.
Jason shouts, “D, left!”
I’m already there.
I steal the puck from the biggest defender like it’s nothing and shoot it across the rink. Liam catches it, shocked, but he recovers fast and scores.
The crowd erupts.
One point.
But my wolf isn’t impressed. He wants more. He wants everything.
“Again,” I whisper to myself, skating back into position.
The opposing team tries to regroup. They’re irritated now. They slam their sticks on the ice, shout at each other, try to form new patterns, but I can read them like a textbook.
The second goal happens so fast the goalie doesn’t even react. I intercept a pass mid-air, swerve around two defenders, and send the puck right into the corner of the net with a clean hit.
Two points.
My team skates over, pumped, shouting in my direction.
“Where the hell was this earlier?”
“Man, you’re possessed!”
“Keep going—keep going!”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Everything in me is wired, focused, burning. My wolf is right at the edge of my skin, pushing, guiding, sharpening.
Across the ice, I catch the rival Alpha staring. His grin is gone. His shoulders tense. His confidence is bleeding out of him one drop at a time.
Good.
He wanted a show? He’s getting one.
...
The third point happens off a rebound. I don’t even think before diving in front of another defender to block him. He tries to slam into me with full Alpha force, but something inside me snaps again and I shove back harder.
He hits the rink like he’s been thrown by a truck.
The crowd roars.
Geneva screams somewhere behind the glass, “YES! THAT’S MY CAPTAIN-IN-LAW!”
I shake my head, trying not to laugh. Can’t afford to break the focus now.
We get another point, fast, clean, no hesitation. Then another. And another. My teammates match my pace without question. They trust me. Follow me. Move with me. It feels familiar and strange all at once, like I’ve been asleep for weeks and I’m finally waking up.
Six points.
The rink feels smaller now, like I’m stretching across it with every breath.
Seven points.
The other team crashes into each other trying to catch up.
Eight.
The coach is shouting something from the sidelines but I barely hear him.
Nine.
The rival Alpha growls every time I pass him, but I don’t bother looking at him.
Ten.
The stadium shakes.
It’s over.
The referee’s whistle cuts through the noise, sharp and final. I stop moving, chest heaving, adrenaline still spiking through every nerve.
Then I hear it:
“Home team wins! Ten to three!”
The cheers hit like a wave. Deafening. Heavy. Electric.
But I’m not looking at the scoreboard.
I’m staring straight across the ice at the arrogant Alpha.
He’s frozen, jaw clenched so tight I can practically hear his teeth grinding. His eyes flick to the stands, toward where Jane had been sitting earlier. His expression twists into something ugly.
Too late.
Way too late.
My wolf rumbles inside me, proud. “Ours,” he says, smug.
I shove him back. “Not yours. Not yet,” I mutter.
Still, no one is taking anything from me. Not my position. Not my strength. Not the people I care about.
Especially not Jane.
...
My teammates swarm me, slapping my helmet, yelling, dragging me into a rough group hug that nearly knocks the breath out of me.
“Dude, what the hell happened to you?”
“You were on fire!”
“I swear you were teleporting—what was that?!”
I shrug them off with a tired grin. “I played properly. That’s all.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. ‘Properly.’ You looked like you were trying to kill the entire team at once.”
“Maybe I was.”
Everyone laughs.
But the truth is sitting somewhere deep in my chest, heavy and quiet.
I wasn’t just playing for the team.
I wasn’t just playing for pride.
I was playing because someone thought he could take something from me, someone who had no right.
My wolf growls at the memory of the rival Alpha touching Jane. Even thinking about it sends a sharp heat down my spine.
Not happening.
Not now.
Not ever.
...
As we skate off the rink, the arena still echoing with cheers, that victorious feeling settles into me. Warm. Steady. Familiar.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like myself again.
Stronger.
Clearer.
Unshakeable.
And the thought hits me with perfect clarity:
No one is taking anything from me, not Jane, not my position, not my future.
Not now.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever.
- Writer
