X2

From the second the pack scented the change in the wind, they had collectively marked him for a fall.

The plan was simple: Lyon Navarro was going to become their plaything. He deserved nothing less. While the owner and Coach Vargas had issued a mandate to tolerate this new PR strategist, the wolves were far from toothless. Rafael Stone, as the Alpha and captain, served as the unified roar of the squad—and that roar was currently promising to make Lyon’s tenure with the San Diego Stormbreakers a living, breathing nightmare.

Rafael wasn't averse to the spotlight. He had spent his life being trailed by eyes—first as the local prodigy, then as the phenom, and now as the powerhouse leading his pack onto the ice of the Pacific Ice Arena. They would have even more followers if not for the scathing exposés Lyon had splashed across the digital front pages for years.

The attention usually suited Rafael just fine. With his midnight-dark hair, eyes the color of glacial ice, and a jawline carved from granite, he was a specimen of predatory perfection. He knew how to use it. Years ago, when Rafael was still a rookie finding his feet, Lyon had published a detailed account of his nocturnal habits: the multi-partner encounters, the restraints, the raw, primal stamina that left his conquests breathless and broken in the best way possible. The headline had been legendary: Rafael Stone: What WON’T He Puck? Since then, Lyon’s elegant, watchful fingers had been all over the sordid details of Rafael’s private life.

It wasn’t that Rafael was shy about his prowess. If anything, Lyon’s tall tales of his endowment and skill had only increased the number of people lining up for a night with the captain. The issue was the violation of the pack’s secrecy.

The six Alphas were gathered around the heavy oak table in the arena's private suite when Lyon Navarro finally crossed the threshold. Every head snapped toward him, a coordinated movement of apex predators.

Rafael felt a jolt of something dangerous. He had expected a villain, but the man walking toward them didn't look like the architect of their misery. Lyon’s attire clung to his frame with agonizing precision—professional, yet so well-fitted that six pairs of athletic slacks suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. He looked like a screen idol, the kind of man Rafael would usually corner in a club and drag back to the Harborview Penthouse to see just how much noise he could make.

But this was Lyon Navarro.

Lyon glided through the suite as if he weren't walking into a cage full of monsters who despised him. Rafael had to begrudgingly respect the sheer nerve it took. He felt a surge of heat—an unwelcome erection straining against his pants. Hate or not, Lyon was effortlessly pulling every drop of Rafael's blood toward his lap.

"Look," Lyon began, his voice cool and controlled as he met every predatory gaze in the room. "You're well aware of my history and my work. Half of you have tried to take a swing at me on the sidewalk, and the other half are likely being bribed just to stay in your seats. But I know your history, too. You six are the heart of this franchise. You haven't touched a championship trophy since 1989, and you’ve scraped the bottom of the league for two of the last three seasons."

Rafael let out a low, dangerous rumble. "That’s because we lose our starters every other week because some vulture enjoys printing lies that get us benched."

Lyon’s eyes flashed with a sharp, amber light for a fleeting second. "That happens because some captains lack the discipline to keep their pack in line, Mr. Stone."

The air in the room crackled with electricity. Rafael felt the beast beneath his skin clawing for release. The man was either incredibly brave or suicidally arrogant to make it personal. Rafael saw the defiance written all over Lyon's sharp, elegant features.

"I understand everything there is to know about control," Rafael growled, leaning forward. "And it's about time someone brought you under mine."

"Stronger men than you have tried and failed," Lyon countered instantly.

Rafael doubted that. At 6’3 and built like a siege engine, most of the men stronger than him were already sitting at this table.

"Mr. Stone brings up a relevant point," Lyon continued, ignoring the tension. "Control is our new directive. You have passion, which is fine, but what this pack needs is restraint. You can display your team spirit on the ice, but..."

"Oh, we know how to display ourselves." Rafael slid his chair back, spreading his legs wide to ensure Lyon had a clear, unobstructed view of the heavy bulge stretching the fabric of his trousers. Even half-aroused, it was an intimidating sight.

Lyon didn’t flinch, but his eyes tracked the movement. He couldn't quite pull his gaze away.

"Impressive," Lyon remarked, his voice steady but his eyes lingering.

Rafael smirked. He’d heard the word many times before. Long, thick, and far more than a cold professional like Lyon could ever handle.

"If only you were that impressive during a game," Lyon finished, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The Alpha's temper snapped. The control he’d been touting vanished in an instant. "Oh, fuck you, Navarro."

"No, fuck you." A faint flush crept up Lyon’s neck, a dash of color on his otherwise composed face. "You think you're going to bully me out of this stadium, but I have one more story to tell: I can handle you, Rafael."

"It’s not just me." Rafael’s smirk returned, dark and predatory. He knew he held the high ground. These men were his brothers; they had bled together for years. They were a single unit. Against that, a lone man like Lyon stood no chance. "I’ve talked to my pack. We all want a piece of the action. If you want to prove you belong here, you’ll have to handle every single one of us."

The six Alphas rose as one, a wall of muscle and suppressed violence, and filed past Lyon toward the rink for practice. Lyon remained silent as they exited, his clever retorts finally failing him now that he was no longer protected by the safety of a keyboard.