Taming The Ice King : He Went Wild After Rejecting Me

"Kneel and apologize to my skates, or I'll make sure you're off this team before tonight's over." I froze at the rink barrier, gripping the telephoto lens tight in my hands. I was just an intern assistant photographer who'd been on campus a week. My job tonight was simple: carry the head photographer's camera bag and set up the tripod rinkside for a closed practice. I didn't even know the building names yet, let alone the hockey players. But I knew bullying when I saw it. Ten years of it at home meant I could spot it from a mile away. One look was all it took. Under the dim stadium lights, a huge player in jersey 09 stood tall. His left hand rested on his hockey stick, and his skate blade pressed down on the back of another player's hand. The guy was already crumpled on the ice. He was shaking hard, wincing, too scared to fight back. "You hear me, you useless Crone? This is what happens when you forget your place." Number 09 pressed the blade down harder, like he was putting out a cigarette. I could smell the blood from where I stood. The guy's glove was tearing, dark red seeping through. The nausea snapped me back. No. I shouldn't get involved. I should leave and pretend I didn't see anything. Like I'd promised myself. My scholarship could get pulled if I got into trouble. And if that happened, my father would drag me home and force me into some arranged marriage with an old widower alpha just to expand his territory. I should've walked away. Just hoped the kid could survive it like I did. But my legs moved before my brain caught up. I dropped the camera bag on the bleachers, climbed over the barrier like an i***t, and ran onto the ice. Like some girl who never learns. My winter boots slipped immediately, letting out a loud squeak that echoed through the empty stadium. "Hey! Stop it!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. No thinking. No weighing consequences. He didn't even turn around. Like I was nothing. Panicking, I ran straight at him and threw my whole body into shoving his padded chest. I hit him with everything I had—the strength of a wolfless omega girl. Dumbest move ever, but I did it anyway. It felt like running into a concrete wall. He didn't move an inch. I stumbled back, arms and legs shaking, barely keeping my balance on the ice. That's when he finally looked at me. Blond hair damp with sweat, messy across his forehead. Under the rink lights, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and these sapphire blue eyes that looked me over slow. Like I was something gross on the bottom of his shoe. Classic rich alpha asshole who always got what he wanted and figured everyone else should kneel. His mouth curled into a smirk. "Who let this stray mutt onto my ice?" His voice was cold and flat, the kind of casual mean that came from never hearing the word no. He twirled his stick in one hand, bored. "Get your skate off his hand, you asshole!" I glared at him, pointing at the guy on the ice. "What the hell is wrong with you? You could cut his fingers off!" The guy snorted. A crooked, dismissive smirk spread across his lips. He yanked off one of his thick gloves, tossed it carelessly onto the ice, then stepped forward—one, two steps—closing the distance between us until I could smell his weird scent; a mix of frozen air, sweat, and this heavy pine wood smell that somehow made me uneasy. "And who the hell are you? Some lost freshman looking for the bathroom?" He leaned in, looking me up and down. "This isn't the place for some nosy little girl." "My name is Maya Miller," I hissed, refusing to back up even though my whole body was shaking hard from the physical intimidation. "And I'm the campus assistant photographer. Let him go, or I'll report your criminal ass to the dean's office tonight." The player huddled on the ice widened his eyes at me in horror and shook his head hard. I knew what that meant. That head shake from someone who should've been fighting back told me I'd just screwed up by defending him. The tense silence was suddenly shattered by the laugh of the guy with number 9 on his back. A low, dry laugh that didn't come anywhere near his eyes. "Report me?" He moved faster than my eyes could track. His big bare hand shot out, grabbing my jaw in a rough, tight grip. "Go ahead and try." I didn't know what was happening, but fear suddenly gripped me. "Let go of me!" I yanked my hand with all my strength. My jerk worked because he let go on purpose. The guy stumbled back one step. "Listen closely, Maya Miller," he hissed, spitting my name out like it disgusted him. He stepped forward, pointing right in my face. "You just stuck your nose into Kaelen Vance's business. You picked the wrong enemy on your first day." Kaelen Vance. Captain of the hockey team. I'd heard that name in passing in the newsroom—someone you don't mess with, an untouchable figure feared by almost everyone on campus, including the deans, professors, and school officials. He was the academy's golden boy, and his parents were the biggest donors to the school. I should've guessed this spoiled brat in front of me had the balls to act like this because his daddy ran things here. "I don't care who you are," I shot back, trying hard to keep my voice from cracking. "Don't ever touch me or him again." "You think just because your parents have power you can do whatever you want, Mr. Vance?" I said with courage I absolutely did not have left, because once again I'd just gambled away my shot at this campus to save someone else. Damn it. I immediately ducked down, grabbed the injured player's arm, and helped him to his feet. Holding up his shaking body, I guided him as we stumbled off the ice. Kaelen didn't chase us. He just stood there like an ice sculpture, staring at our backs. But right when my hand pushed the wooden barrier door to exit the rink area, an insanely loud slam deafened me from behind. CRASH! I whipped my head around in shock. Kaelen had just smashed his hockey stick against the rink barrier with a brutal force no ordinary wolf should be capable of. The carbon fiber stick shattered into pieces, fragments scattering across the ice. He stood in the middle of the debris, his chest heaving with irrational rage, staring straight across the distance until our eyes collided before the door shut tight. MAYA My footsteps hurried down the hallway of the sports building, which was starting to empty out after I'd dropped the player off at the security post outside. My jaw and wrist still felt hot, carrying this weird burning sensation from Kaelen Vance's touch. I was planning to head back to the medical room at the end of the hall to grab an ice pack for my bruised knee from hitting the ice earlier. But right after I rounded a dim corner of the hallway, a huge shadow suddenly appeared from the opposite direction. "I guess you should start getting used to taking photos from the floor, Miller." That baritone voice was followed by a sudden movement. A leg wrapped in training pants deliberately tripped me. My body lurched forward before I could brace myself. The empty ice pack I'd just grabbed went flying, and my knee slammed into the tile again, hard, sending a sharp pain through me that made my eyes water. I looked up fast, immediately hugging the DSLR camera around my neck protectively to make sure the lens wasn't broken. In front of me stood a pair of skates dangling over Kaelen Vance's solid shoulders. He towered over me, blocking the hallway lights and casting a dark shadow that caged my body still sitting on the floor. "You did that on purpose, Vance!" I hissed, trying to stand, gripping the edge of a metal locker beside me to push through the pain. "Me? Trip you?" He looked down. Those eyes stared at me cold, without a shred of guilt. He actually stepped closer, pressing in until my back hit the cold locker door. "You're just too short and don't know how to walk properly, New Girl." A few hockey team members walking behind him laughed under their breath, watching us like I was free circus entertainment on my first day. "Get your oversized body out of my way," I said, using up the last of my courage to shove his broad chest so he'd back off. But the second my palm touched his thin jersey, that weird electric shock hit. A burning heat shot straight to my fingertips, making my heart pound twice as fast in a panic I couldn't explain. Kaelen flinched slightly, his chest muscles hardening under my palm. He stared at my hand pressed against his chest, then shifted his gaze to my face, his jaw clamped tight. In that split second, the aura around us suddenly shifted into something thick and heavy, like the oxygen in the hallway had just vanished. "Don't. Ever. f*****g touch me." Kaelen grabbed my wrist, yanking it away so roughly I winced. He leaned down, whispering right in my ear with a low voice that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Or I'll make sure your scholarship gets pulled before the end of the week."