Chapter 2: An Unforgettable Scent

(Kaelan's POV)

The scent of blood and sweat usually fills the arena the moment I step inside. Adrenaline, hardened ice, the sound of skates scratching against a slick surface—it’s all familiar. The rhythm is always the same. Steady. Predictable. Safe.

But tonight was different.

The moment the locker room door opened and I stepped into the hallway leading to the rink, something suddenly hit me. Not roughly. Not sharply. But it pierced slowly, like embers pressed against the back of my neck. A faint scent slipped into my senses. Warm. Wild. Gentle and unfamiliar, and yet... intense.

My body froze for a second because of it, before I forced myself to keep moving.

What is this... Ah... No! That’s not possible.

But I knew that scent. My body reacted instantly, just from recognizing it.

For years, I’d never felt a pull like this. Not toward anyone. Not toward anything. And now, it hit me in the middle of a packed, overheated stadium, triggering my instincts before I could stop them.

I tried to ignore it, because the game was about to start. Warm-up time was over, and the coach was already shouting directions from the sidelines. But damn... my focus was wrecked. Tonight, I was playing with pure instinct instead of my usual strategy.

Several times during the match, my eyes would drift toward the stands on their own.

I didn’t even know who I was looking for, but my body reacted automatically. Every time that scent came back, I turned my head. Searching. In the middle of the cheering crowd, I caught a glimpse of a woman with dark hair, sitting slightly apart from everyone else. She wasn’t cheering. She just sat there quietly, like she was absorbing the atmosphere in a completely different way.

It was only a glance.

But it was enough to throw off my heartbeat completely.

Honestly, tonight’s win should’ve felt satisfying—Elaria Northern Blades finally beat the Victoria Ice Wolves. But instead, my thoughts kept drifting.

Who was she? Who was that woman?

When the match ended and we won, the crowd exploded in cheers. I quickly skated to the side, took off my helmet, and walked down the hallway. Sweat was still running down my temple as I slipped away from the cameras and teammates celebrating behind me.

And the farther I walked... the stronger that scent became.

Until I saw her... at the end of the hall.

She was standing there alone. Her hair down, wearing a simple jacket, and her eyes... locked onto mine. My heart stopped for a split second when she looked back at me. I couldn’t even speak. My body moved on its own, like it knew what to do—walking straight toward her and taking her hand.

As we stood just a few steps apart, I knew it was her.

My mate.

But her eyes were blank. No recognition. No pull in return. Just... confusion. And that threw me off.

“We need to talk,” I said, my voice lower than usual.

She looked tense, like a deer spotting a wolf but not sure yet whether to run or fight.

But before she could say anything, laughter and loud shouts erupted behind me.

“Kaelan!”

Two of my teammates burst into the hallway. They called me, pulled on my arm, completely ignoring the girl. Either they didn’t see her, or they just didn’t care about anyone outside our hockey circle.

“Reporters are waiting, bro! Come on before Coach loses it,” Tony urged.

I looked at her one last time. Her face was still full of confusion. But there wasn’t time to explain. Not enough space to talk. So I let go of her hand.

“I’ll find you. So... wait for me,” I said quietly before letting myself get dragged away.

But even as my steps carried me out of the stadium, part of me stayed in that hallway—with the blue-eyed girl.

I would find her.

I had to.

***

The post-game interviews were quick. Cameras, microphones, same tired questions I was already sick of answering. The media spotlight never left me alone—they always made me the “Face” of the Elaria Northern Blades.

“How does tonight’s big win feel, Kaelan?”

“When will you be ready for the next championship?”

“You’re still the season’s top scorer—do you feel pressured to keep that up?”

I gave the usual replies. Light smiles, a few nods, a steady voice. Like everything was under control.

But the one thing I really wanted to know... was about the woman I saw in the hallway minutes ago. And now she was gone.

After the interviews and a short celebration with the team, I finally went home. Surrounded by noise, lights, and praise I didn’t care about. My mind was still stuck in that hallway—with her empty stare.

And tonight... I needed silence. But not the kind that meant being alone.

***

Callum ended up showing up without being called. He always knew when to show up.

We sat on the balcony of my apartment. The cold bit through the air, but I didn’t care. City lights sparkled like stars. The night sky stretched endlessly above us.

He sipped canned coffee and glanced at me.

“You’re coming to the charity event at Elaria Gallery tomorrow, right?”

I slowly turned to him. “Yeah.”

“Good. Don’t bail without notice like last year. The committee almost lost it.”

I just nodded. My gaze went back to the sky.

Callum was quiet for a moment, then looked at me a little longer. “You’re way too quiet tonight. Even for someone who just won a game, this is... weird.”

I dropped my head slightly, avoiding his eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said briefly. I still wasn’t sure if I should tell him about the woman. Not yet... Not until I was certain.

“Okay,” he replied softly, though I knew he didn’t believe me.

I didn’t explain. And he understood me well enough to not push.

We sat in silence for a long time, the wind weaving through the iron bars of the balcony.

At the very least... I just needed quiet, even though my mind was screaming.

***

The day of the charity event at Elaria Gallery finally arrived. I got there just as the event was starting.

Important guests were arriving in gowns and formal suits. Photographers wandered around, catching flashes of celebrities and public figures. A few reporters recognized me and their cameras automatically followed as I stepped into the main hall.

But I didn’t care about the spotlight. My attention was instantly drawn to one thing: a painting at the center of the room, displayed with such exclusivity.

The Moon Painting.

Its frame was huge, the canvas old but strong, and the light shining on it brought out the soft fog and full moon hanging in the emptiness. The painting felt almost alive.

And the longer I stared at it... the scent returned. The same one from last night in the hallway. Only this time, it was stronger. Clearer.

I scanned every corner of the room. My eyes sharpened.

And when I looked west of where I stood... There she was.

That woman.

My mate.

She stood a few meters away from the painting, wearing a dark-colored dress—simple, but elegant. Her hair was loosely tied up. She was speaking to two important guests—probably a curator or collector. Her face calm, her voice soft. Professional.

I stood near the painting, blending in with the crowd. But my eyes never left her.

A few minutes later, she walked toward the Moon Painting with three others. They formed a half circle, and the woman began explaining.

“It’s called... the Moon Painting. This piece is unsigned but verified as part of a private collection belonging to an old noble family. It’s believed to serve as a bridge between the real world and the subconscious,” she said. Her voice was so gentle.

She paused for a moment. Her eyes swept over the crowd.

And the next second, our eyes met.

She looked slightly startled to see me, but quickly looked away. Her voice stayed steady as she continued the explanation.

“If you stand in front of this painting long enough, you’ll feel... something you can’t quite explain. As if the painting has a pulse of its own.”

I stepped closer. My voice low as I said, “I feel like this painting is alive too.”

She turned toward me slowly. Her gaze sharp, but controlled.

“You’re right, sir,” she replied curtly. “If we connect deeply enough with the painting, we might actually feel it come alive.”

An older woman beside me nodded. “What an incredible piece. It has... an energy to it, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” she said calmly. “Every pair of eyes sees something different.”

I looked at her for a long moment and read the name tag hanging around her neck.

Rhea Hale.

She knew I was watching her. But she stood tall, still guiding her little group like a pro.

Other guests joined in, and a light discussion followed. One man asked about the technique, a woman asked about the paint and age of the canvas. The woman—Rhea—answered them all patiently, even as her eyes occasionally flicked toward me.

And for the first time... I found myself wanting to stay in one place just to hear someone talk.

Not as a hockey player.

But as someone... drawn to her.

And I couldn’t understand why she looked like she knew me—yet chose not to remember.

***