The Twin Alpha Bullies Made Me Theirs

Challenge

Kerensa's POV

Official practice started the next morning.

When I woke up and sat down to lace my skates in the locker room, the pressure behind my eyes from crying myself to sleep was still there. It wasn't as bad as it had been last night, though.

Manageable.

At least, that was what I told myself.

The twins didn't matter.

They didn't.

I sat on the bench longer than I should have, working my fingers through the laces and checking them twice even though I knew they were tight enough. I just needed another minute before I had to walk out there.

A whole arena full of unfamiliar faces was waiting.

Within the first few minutes of practice, they'd decide whether I belonged.

My hands kept moving without me thinking about them.

Muscle memory.

I'd been doing this since I was little, ever since my father taught me how to lace my skates properly. He'd drilled those lessons into me on frozen ponds before I was even old enough to tie my own shoes.

He'd done the same with hockey.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He used to say technique was the only inheritance worth passing down. Talent faded. A properly taught edge didn't.

I'd forgotten how much of him was still buried in the way I skated.

The angle of my ankles.

The way I tightened my laces.

The way I shifted my weight without thinking.

My hands remembered even when I didn't want them to.

By the time I stepped onto the ice, the rink was packed.

Every player in the regional pool seemed to have shown up. Dozens of competitors skated warm-up laps, circling beneath the harsh lights while the cold air filled with the smell of fresh ice, sweat, and too many bodies packed into one place.

Blades hissed across the surface.

Pucks snapped against sticks.

Players shouted to one another.

Coaches lined the boards with clipboards, barking instructions and sorting everyone into groups with the bored efficiency of people who had done this a hundred times and expected to do it a hundred more.

"Listen up!"

The head coach's voice cut across the rink.

She was a big woman with a whistle hanging from the chain around her neck. Somehow, her voice always managed to carry over a hundred snarling, chattering wolves.

"We're scrimmaging today. Let's see what you're made of before you start chewing my ass about qualifiers."

A few players laughed.

"Groups are pre-assigned. Check the board. Find your number."

She pointed toward the player entrance.

"And don't waste my time complaining about your group. Talent speaks for itself. Complaints don't."

I found my number.

Group Four.

It was scrawled in white paint on the board.

I skated toward the far end of the rink and spotted the rest of the group almost immediately.

Then I understood.

Nearly every wolfless competitor in the regional pool had been shoved into the same group.

There were also a few players who looked so clearly outmatched that they seemed embarrassed just standing there.

Perfect.

A wave of laughter rolled across the ice.

"Look at that!"

One of the players wasn't even trying to hide his voice.

"They got all the rejects in one group. Bold choice, Coach. Real outside-the-box thinking, baby."

More laughter.

"Should've just started the losers' bracket already."

The group around him cracked up.

They didn't even bother looking at us.

Apparently, eye contact wasn't necessary when you were trying to make someone feel small.

I kept my face blank and my shoulders straight as I skated toward center ice.

Seven years of practice had taught me how to ignore things.

Or at least pretend I could.

I let the comments slide past me.

I'd spent seven years skating behind a mask instead of my real face. A few insults weren't going to break it.

"Ignore them."

Caleb appeared beside me.

"They're compensating for something."

I glanced at him.

"Probably their skating."

Despite everything, I almost smiled.

"I'm fine."

"I know you are."

He looked toward the group that had been laughing.

"Doesn't mean they get to say that s**t and walk away clean."

"Caleb—"

I was about to tell him to let it go.

He was already turning.

The boy who'd made the comment was broad-shouldered but young, probably barely old enough to be a junior in high school. His limbs were still a little too long for his body, and he wore the smug expression of someone who'd never had to wonder whether he belonged in a room.

Caleb skated toward him.

"You wanna talk strategy?"

His voice was loud enough for half the rink to hear.

"Then you should know who you're laughing at."

The boy's smile faded slightly.

"This is Rhys."

Caleb gestured toward me.

"His father trained half the players who've gone pro in the last decade. He skated with Xavier and Hunter when they were kids, before anyone ever called them prodigies."

The boy's smirk came right back.

"Sure she did."

"I'm serious."

"Yeah?"

He shrugged, balancing his stick across his shoulders.

"And I'm the Alpha King's cousin, born and raised."

A few people laughed again.

"I've watched this guy skate for exactly zero seconds so far, so forgive me if I don't buy the bedtime story."

Heat crawled up my neck.

Not because of the insult.

Because Caleb was still defending me.

He was spending goodwill he didn't need to waste on people who would've happily crushed me if given the chance.

"It's fine."

I reached over and grabbed his sleeve.

"Drop it."

"It's not fine," Caleb muttered.

But he let it go.

The boy didn't.

He skated closer, his stick still resting casually across his shoulders.

"Here's what I'll do."

His eyes traveled over me.

My height.

My build.

The amount of space I took up compared to everyone else on the ice.

"Since your buddy here has apparently swallowed your name whole, why don't you prove it?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"One-on-one."

He tapped his stick against the ice.

"Right now. Before the scrimmage even starts."

Caleb stiffened beside me.

"Beat me, and you can tell this whole arena you're the better player. Say whatever you want. I'll apologize in front of everyone."

His grin widened.

"But if you lose, maybe we can all stop pretending your friend's bedtime stories mean anything."

I looked at him.

"And if I lose, what happens to you?"

He blinked.

"Nothing happens to me."

He shrugged.

"The rest of the players in this arena just get to stop pretending your friend's bedtime stories mean anything."

Caleb shifted beside me.

I could practically feel him getting ready to step in.

Maybe to pull me out of this.

Maybe to argue.

Maybe, knowing Caleb, to start a fight himself.

I lifted one hand before he could say anything.

"Fine."

The boy blinked.

For half a second, his confidence slipped.

"Fine?"

"Just like that."

I pushed away from Caleb and headed toward center ice.

Something in me had already settled.

It always did.

My father had taught me something when I was little.

The ice didn't care who I was.

It didn't care where I came from.

It didn't care what anyone thought of me.

It only cared what I could do on it.

I could do this.

I always could.

I turned back toward the boy.

"Let's go."

Behind me, the rink erupted into whispers.

Conversation spread from one group to the next, moving along the boards as everyone figured out what had just happened.

The wolfless reject from Group Four had accepted a one-on-one challenge.

Now I had one shift to prove them wrong.

No pressure.

None at all.