THE ICE QUEEN AND HER GREATEST RIVAL

CHAPTER ONE The dressing room was loud, but Riley Hart sat dead-center in the noise, completely detached. She pulled the laces of her left skate, locking the ankle with a vicious jerk. Two years ago, this very tournament had ended with her femur snapping against the boards and a six-month sentence to a hospital bed. She wasn’t that girl anymore. For eighteen months, she had ruled the league, reclaiming her crown game by game. Tonight was the official opening match of the tournament, and she was here to set the tone. “Riley! Focus up, caps,” Maya barked, throwing a damp towel straight at her shoulder to break her trance. “The sports blogs are already calling this your anniversary ghost match. You going to let the Wolves dictate the pace tonight?” “The Wolves don't dictate anything on my ice, Maya,” Riley said, her voice flat and dangerously calm as she stood up, towering on her blades. “Check the lines. Play heavy on their left wing. I’m taking the center.” Coach Miller banged his clipboard against the metal doorframe, cutting through the music. “Listen up, Vipers! The tournament bracket is locked and live. We have a target on our backs, and the world is waiting to see if our Captain fractures under the pressure of the anniversary. Hart, lead ’em out.” “Let’s go, Vipers!” Riley yelled, the team roaring behind her as she marched down the concrete tunnel. The bright light of the arena gleamed at the end of the corridor, but ten feet before the exit to the ice, a towering shadow cut off the light. Brian Mercer was leaning casually against the plexiglass, dressed in a sleek, tailored black Sirens coaching jacket. His arms were crossed over his chest, his gaze steady, heavy, and completely fixed on her. Riley’s skates ground to a sudden, aggressive halt, forcing her team to stack up in a tense line behind her. “Looking for the VIP lounge, Coach Mercer?” Riley sneered, stepping directly into his personal space. “You’re on the wrong side of the rink. The Sirens don’t get to play until later.” Brian didn’t flinch. He leaned off the glass, his dark eyes tracking the sharp line of her jaw. “Just wanted a front-row seat for the opening night of the tournament, Riley. You look tense.” “I’m impatient,” she snapped, her fingers tightening around her stick. “I’ve spent eighteen months wiping your dirty influence off my league. Watch closely tonight, Brian. You might actually learn how real hockey is played.” “I’m always watching you, Riley,” Brian whispered, leaning down just a fraction until his lips almost grazed the edge of her helmet, his voice dropping to a dangerous baritone. “I’ve analyzed every second of your tape since you left that hospital. You’re faster now. Your edge work is sharper.” “Are you scouting me, or are you just admiring the view?” “I’m calculating,” Brian muttered, his eyes darkening. “Because your team has to get through mine if you want to survive this bracket. Don’t let the boards get inside your head tonight, Hart.” “Get out of my way, Mercer,” Riley said, her jaw clenching as she violently shoved past his shoulder, cutting the connection instantly. She exploded onto the blinding, deafening ice, leaving him behind in the dark of the tunnel. The crowd’s roar was like a cold wave, completely erasing the lingering heat of his voice. The referee blew the whistle, and the game officially began. The Wolves tried to play savage, but the Vipers outclassed them from the first period. Riley commanded the ice flawlessly, setting up plays and breaking down the Wolves’ defense shift after shift. By the time the third period wound down, the Vipers had a comfortable 3–1 lead, entirely dominating the ice. With thirty seconds left on the clock, Maya forced a turnover at the blue line, sending the puck sliding into the open zone. Riley didn’t hesitate. She intercepted the puck with a burst of explosive speed, tore through the neutral zone, executed a lethal crossover to fake out the final defenseman, and fired a brutal slapshot straight into the top-right corner of the net. The red light flashed. The horn wailed. The arena completely erupted. Riley slammed hard against the plexiglass in celebration, her face lit with adrenaline. Maya threw her arms around her neck, lifting her off her skates, and the rest of the Vipers swarmed them in a chaotic huddle of flashing jerseys. Gloves pounded against Riley’s shoulders as she celebrated fiercely with her team, the hard-earned victory cementing her place as their undisputed leader. But as the team finally separated to skate back toward the locker room after the final buzzer, Riley’s eyes instinctively flicked toward the luxury executive boxes towering high above the ice. Standing right against the glass of the VIP suite, illuminated by the arena lights, was Brian. He wasn’t clapping with the rest of the crowd. He slowly raised a single gloved hand, pointing one finger directly at her, before deliberately tapping his wrist where a watch would be. Your time is running out.