X3

The transition from the suite to the locker room was like stepping into a furnace of testosterone and ancient, lupine power.

As the six Alphas filed into the Team Locker Room, the air grew thick with the scent of pine, musk, and the metallic tang of the coming hunt. They moved with a synchronized, predatory grace, shedding their civilian layers until the room was a gallery of lethal, sculpted muscle. Mateo Cruz slapped a hand against his midsection, feeling the iron-hard ridges of his abdominal wall. Even during the brief summer lull, he hadn't lost an ounce of his enforcer’s edge. At 6’5”, Mateo was built to be a walking barricade on the ice, a mountain of meat and fury designed to crush anyone foolish enough to challenge the pack's territory.

There was a frantic, hungry energy vibrating through the squad. This wasn't just the usual pre-season jitters; it was a collective snarl directed at the administration. They wanted to win, but more than that, they wanted to prove that they didn't need a handler. They wanted to shove their success down the owner’s throat—and perhaps show Lyon Navarro exactly what a Stormbreaker’s "pride" felt like in person.

"You really marked your territory in there, Rafael," Logan Hayes remarked, leaning against his locker. Logan was the pack's fastest hunter, a winger who lived for the blur of the chase. "Did you see his face when you staked your claim? I couldn't tell if he wanted to bolt for the exit or drop to the floor and start worshipping."

Mateo exhaled a sharp breath. He trusted Logan with his life on the ice, but the man’s mouth was a liability.

"The point is," Rafael said, already down to his briefs as he prepared to suit up, "he needs to understand that we aren't domestic pets. He can play his games in the press, but in this room, there are consequences for crossing the pack."

"He's a fine-looking specimen, though," Adrian Knox drawled, a wicked glint in his eyes. Adrian, the team’s most unpredictable defenseman, was currently adjusting a cowboy hat that looked absurdly out of place next to his hockey pads. "The way those slacks hugged him... makes a wolf want to do more than just growl."

"Enough," Mateo snapped, the sound of his locker door slamming shut echoing like a gunshot. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to think about Lyon’s sharp, observant eyes or the way the man’s throat had worked when he tried to maintain his composure. Mateo loathed the journalist—especially after Lyon’s report on a barroom scuffle at the Neon Wave Club had cost him three months of the season. Lyon had painted him as a mindless brute when he’d actually been defending a pack-mate.

"Whatever," Brandon Pierce grunted, his voice a low vibration. "I’d still take a bite."

Viktor Petrov, the massive goalie from across the sea, paused while unbuckling his gear. "He’s changed," Viktor noted, his accent thick and cold. "He didn't use to carry himself with that much... heat."

"Who cares?" Mateo growled. "The only thing I want from that man is a reckoning."

By now, the six of them were completely stripped, standing as a raw display of athletic dominance in the steaming heat of the locker room. Adrian joked that if the hockey career folded, they could probably make a fortune on a private feed, and looking around at the sheer amount of prime muscle in the room, he wasn't wrong.

"Don't worry," Rafael said, his voice carrying the effortless authority of a true Alpha. "You saw him. He’s fascinated by the danger. We’ll all get our turn to show him exactly what he’s dealing with."

Suddenly, the heavy door flew open.

"Which one of you thieves has my—"

Lyon Navarro’s voice cut through the air like a blade, but he stopped dead in his tracks. He had stormed in on a mission of fury, but he found himself standing in the center of a den of six naked, glistening gods.

Lyon wasn't some naive waif; he’d seen his share of men. But he had never seen anything that compared to the physical perfection of the Stormbreakers' starting lineup. It was a sensory overload of bronze skin, corded muscle, and heavy, resting power. A sudden, traitorous heat bloomed in Lyon’s chest, spreading downward as his breath hitched. He had spent years writing about these men, but seeing the legends in the flesh—entirely in the flesh—was a different reality altogether.

Mateo was the first to react. He shifted his weight, widening his stance to ensure Lyon took in every inch of his 6’5” frame. "What do you want now, Navarro?"

Lyon took a moment to find his voice. "My phone," he managed, trying to summon his usual professional mask, though his flushed cheeks betrayed him. "I know one of you swiped it from my bag."

"Do any of us look like we're hiding a phone on us?" Logan Hayes asked, spreading his arms and flashing a cocky, boyish grin that screamed trouble.

The room went silent as the Alphas simply watched him. It was predatory. It was hungry. They were posing like statues of ancient warriors, and Lyon was caught in the middle, his anger warring with an undeniable, primal attraction.

"I’m not leaving until I get it back," Lyon insisted, though his resolve was melting in the sauna-like temperature.

"Enough games," Rafael commanded, stepping toward Lyon. The Alpha’s presence was overwhelming. "If anyone has his device, hand it over."

Adrian Knox let out a low chuckle. Still completely bare, he swaggered over to his pile of clothes, bent over—giving Lyon a deliberate view of his powerful physique—and retrieved the phone. He sauntered back, smirking as he handed it over.

"Just wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of you, sweetheart," Adrian purred.

"Is that so?" Lyon snapped, finding his spark again. He took a daring step into the center of the circle, standing defiant amidst the sea of bare skin. "Judging by the state of this room, I’d say I’m the one getting a reaction out of you."

He glanced down at Adrian, whose body was visibly responding to Lyon’s proximity. The air was thick enough to choke on.

"Alright," Rafael intervened, his voice a sharp crack that broke the spell. "Adrian, give him the phone. Then, escort Mr. Navarro out before he suffers from heatstroke. The rest of you—suit up. We have ice to break."

The pack dispersed, returning to their lockers. Only Adrian remained, his eyes locked on Lyon as he pulled on a pair of dark briefs. Even through the fabric, the effect Lyon had on him was impossible to hide.

Adrian gestured toward the door with a sharp, wicked grin. "After you, Navarro."