BREAKING THE ICE:MOON PRIESTESS RISING

Logan's Pov The interview was supposed to be routine. Five questions about the upcoming playoffs, maybe a joke about my reputation as the league's "bad boy," and I'd be back on the ice where I belonged. Instead, I sat across from Sarah in the cramped studio, watching her perfectly manicured fingers tap against her notes. The harsh TV lights made everything feel surreal, like I was watching someone else's life unfold. What I couldn’t see was how her pulse quickened every time she looked at me ,not from attraction, but from the primal fear that humans feel when they're near something that could hunt them. "So Logan," Sarah leaned forward with that practiced smile, "the Silver Ridge Wolves are heading into the playoffs as underdogs. How does that feel?" "Feels like every other season." My jaw tightened. "We're used to people underestimating us." I could smell her nervousness, a sharp, metallic scent that reminded me of copper pennies. Three floors below us, unbeknownst to either of us, two black SUVs were already parked outside the building. Their occupants had been monitoring supernatural activity for months, and my name had been circled in red on their watch lists for weeks. "Your aggressive playing style has earned you quite a reputation. Some fans love it, others think you're too dangerous on the ice. "What's your response to critics who say you play like an animal?" My hands gripped the chair arms, knuckles white. In the corner of my vision, I could see the red recording light blinking steadily. What I didn't know was that this wasn't just going out to the local sports network, a technical glitch had pushed our feed to the national emergency broadcast system, reaching millions of viewers who'd tuned in expecting weather updates. "Like an animal?" My voice came out rougher than intended. Sarah's eyebrows rose slightly. "Your words, not mine. But you have to admit, your style is... primal. Instinctive." Something snapped inside me. Twenty-eight years of lies, of pretending, of watching my teammates joke about werewolf movies while I bit my tongue. "You want to know the truth about how I play?" My amber eyes locked onto hers. "I play like what I am." "Which is?" The studio fell silent except for the hum of equipment. I could hear Sarah's heartbeat, smell the coffee on the producer's breath three feet away. My enhanced senses picked up everything: the nervous energy, the anticipation. In a monitoring station in Washington D.C., alarms were beginning to sound as facial recognition software flagged my biometric anomalies. "I'm a werewolf." Sarah blinked. Once. Twice. "I'm sorry, what?" "You heard me." I leaned back, a bitter smile crossing my face. "I'm a werewolf." Have been since I was born. That's why I play the way I do. It's not aggression—it's instinct." "Logan, this isn't…" "Funny? "A publicity stunt?" I shook my head. "I wish it were." You want proof? Before anyone could stop me, I closed my eyes and let the change begin. My muscles tensed, bones shifting slightly. When I opened my eyes, they glowed pure gold. Sarah's clipboard clattered to the floor. "Holy cow," the camera person whispered. My eyes returned to normal, but the damage was done. The producer stood frozen by the door, his phone already buzzing with incoming calls. "This is live," Sarah stammered. "We're... we're live right now." "I know." My voice was steady, but my hands trembled. "I'm tired of hiding. Tired of pretending to be something I'm not." Sarah gathered herself, journalistic instincts kicking in. "How... how long have you known?" "Always. My pack was killed when I was twelve. Hunters." The words came out flat, emotionless. "I've been alone ever since." "Pack?" "Family. Other werewolves. "There are more of us than you think." I stood, towering over the small woman. "Were more of us." Sarah's phone exploded with notifications. Twitter, i********:, news alerts, all go insane. The producer was frantically gesturing at the camera person, who seemed torn between stopping the recording and capturing history. "Logan, the implications of what you're saying…" "They are exactly what you think they are." I moved toward the door, then paused. Tell me something, Sarah." How many unexplained animal attacks have you reported this year? "How many missing persons cases in national parks?" Her face went pale. "We're not the monsters you think we are. "Most of us just want to live in peace." My expression hardened. "But there are others who won't be happy about this conversation." "What do you mean?" My phone buzzed against my hip. Then again. And again. The notifications are coming in waves now:texts, calls, social media mentions. My enhanced hearing caught fragments of conversations from the hallway: "...did he just say werewolf…" "... the stock market's going crazy…" "...need to get security…" "You've just changed everything," I said quietly. "For better or worse." Sarah stood on shaky legs. "What happens now?" "Now?" I reached for the door handle. "Now everyone knows what I am." And there are people out there who've been waiting their whole lives for this moment. My phone rang. Coach Grizz's number flashed on the screen. I answered without looking at Sarah. "Yeah?" "Son." Grizz's voice was tight with barely controlled panic. "Please tell me you didn't just…" "I did." Jesus Christ, Logan. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" "I know exactly what I've done." My jaw set in a hard line. "I've painted a target on every supernatural being in America." "Get out of there. Now. Come to the complex and we'll figure out." The line went dead. I stared at my phone, then at Sarah, who was watching me with a mixture of terror and fascination. The producer was shouting into his phone, and the camera person was checking his equipment like it might explode. Another was actually checking his weapon, his finger hovering over the safety. "This interview is over," I said. But as I reached for the door, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "We know where you sleep." Then another: "Dead wolf walking." And another: "Thanks for the heads-up, monster." My enhanced hearing picked up the sound of boots in the hallway. Heavy. Military. Moving fast. I looked back at Sarah one last time. You wanted a story about playing like an animal? Congratulations. You have just started a war.