Alpha on the Ice

Chapter 4

Sloane

Silver doesn't kill a wolf. It marks it. I need proof.The teams take the ice, and the crowd erupts. I scan the players until I find him, number seventeen, black and red, skating with a grace that seems impossible for a man his size. Rhys Kincaid moves like he owns the ice. Like he was born on it. Like the rest of the world is just an inconvenience he tolerates.He's different tonight. His jaw is tight, his eyes scanning the opposing bench with barely contained violence. The announcer's voice booms over the speakers, introducing the starting lineups, and Rhys doesn't acknowledge any of it. He's locked in.I watch him through my camera lens, zooming in on his face. There's something primal in his expression. My stomach flip.The puck drops. The game begins. Rhys Kincaid goes feral.He hits like a freight train, his shoulder catching an opposing player square in the chest and sending him flying into the boards. The crowd roars. The refs don't call a penalty... it's a clean hit, if brutal. But Rhys doesn't celebrate. He just skates to center ice, his eyes tracking the puck like a hawk.Dmitri Volkov is on the ice for the opposing team. I recognize him from the research I did, the rival, the one who fuels the "freak" rumors. He's a thick-necked powerhouse with a crooked nose and dark eyes. When he skates past Rhys, he mutters something I can't hear.Rhys's reaction is instantaneous. His jaw tightens. His hands curl into fists on his stick.Then Dmitri slashes him across the back of the legs with his blade.It's subtle, a quick flick of the wrist that the refs might miss. But I catch it on camera. Rhys stumbles, catches himself, and turns to face Dmitri with a snarl so animalistic I feel it in my bones."Watch it," Rhys growls, loud enough for me to hear in the press box.Dmitri grins. "Or what, freak?"The next few seconds happen in slow motion.Dmitri hip-checks Rhys into the boards, Rhys goes down hard, his helmet flying off, and Dmitri raises his stick... The blade catches Rhys across the arm. Slashes him open.Blood sprays across the ice. Rhys screams. A howl, raw and primal, the crowd falters, a ripple of confusion moving through the stands. I zoom in on the wound, my heart pounding... The flesh is bubbling. Blackening. Silver, I think, my blood running cold. The blade is silver.Dmitri skates away, his grin widening. He knows exactly what he's done.Rhys collapses to the ice, clutching his arm. The trainers rush toward him, but he shoves them away, his eyes wild.Then he's on his feet again, limping toward the tunnel. The crowd doesn't know what to do. They're cheering, booing, confused.I'm out of my seat before I can think."Where are you going?" the beat writer asks, but I don't answer. I'm already pushing through the press box door, racing down the stairs toward the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms.The corridor is dark, lit only by emergency lights. I can hear voices ahead, shouting, panicked. I round a corner and come face to face with Callum Ashford.He's immaculate, even in the dim light. His gray eyes are cold as winter, his suit pristine. He doesn't look surprised to see me. He looks like he's been waiting."Ms. Sloane." His voice is silk over steel. "You're not supposed to be here.""I saw the hit," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "The blade was silver. That's illegal. I have it on camera."Callum's expression doesn't change. "You saw nothing.""I saw everything."He moves faster than I can track. One second he's standing there, and the next his hand is wrapped around my arm, his grip like a vice. His face is inches from mine, his breath cold against my cheek."You see nothing," he hisses, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You write nothing. Or I will ensure you don't just lose your job...you lose your life."I freeze. He releases my arm and steps back, adjusting his cuff. "Go home, Ms. Sloane. Forget what you saw. If you know what's good for you."He turns and walks away. The primal part of my brain is screaming at me to run, to escape, to never look back.Instead, I duck into a supply closet.It's small and dark, lined with cleaning chemicals and mops. I pull the door shut and lean against it, my heart hammering against my ribs. I can't breathe. I can't think.A sound in the darkness. I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth, "Don't scream."Rhys's voice.He emerges from the shadows, and I see him clearly now. His shirt is torn, blood-stained. His arm is bare.The wound is gone. There's a faint scar, pink and new, but the flesh is whole. Healed. Like magic."You..." I can't form the words. "How...""Silver doesn't kill me." He slumps against the wall. "It marks me. But it takes time to heal."I stare at his arm. Then at his face. Then back at his arm."You're not human," I whisper."No." He meets my eyes, and for the first time, I see something vulnerable in them. "I'm not.""Callum will kill me," I say, the words spilling out. "He said he'd kill me.""He will." Rhys's voice is flat. "He's already made that decision. The only question is whether he does it quickly or if he makes you suffer first."I feel the blood drain from my face. "What do I do?"Rhys pushes off the wall, moving toward me. His eyes are silver-blue again, but there's something softer in them now. Almost human."I can help you," he whispers. "If you help me.""What kind of help?"His hand reaches out, brushing against mine. His touch is warm, electric. "I need you to trust me. I need you to stop digging and let me protect you."Before I can respond, the closet door explodes inward.Dmitri Volkov stands in the doorway, his camera raised, a malicious grin on his face. The flash goes off, blinding me."Well, well, well," he sneers, lowering the camera to reveal his dead, flat eyes. "Hellions captain assaults reporter in the dark. Again."Rhys growls, shoving me behind him. "Volkov. Put the camera down."