Checking His Mate

Chapter One

Allison

If my brother Zane found out what I was wearing under his best friend’s hockey jersey, he’d probably have a stroke right here in the luxury suite.

The jersey belonged to Roman Greyson. Number 87. It was massive, made of heavy black-and-silver mesh that swallowed my frame, smelling exactly like him—expensive cedar wood, icy rink air, and a faint hint of pure, intoxicating male heat. It fell down to the middle of my thighs, completely hiding the ultra-tight, emerald-green silk dress I’d poured myself into for later.

To the six thousand screaming human fans packed into the arena below, Roman was a lethal, multi-million-dollar defenseman with a reputation for breaking jaws and hearts in equal measure.

To me? He was just Roman. The boy who grew up next door, the guy who checked under my bed for monsters when we were kids, and the absolute bane of my existence now that we were adults.

"If you pull that collar any lower, Allie, Zane is going to skate off the ice and physically blindfold every scout in the press box," Alexa warned with a smirk, leaning her shoulder against the suite's glass wall. She was wearing my brother's jersey, her blonde curls bouncing as she took a long sip of her champagne.

"Let him try," I laughed, tossing my long, dark hair over my shoulder.

I caught my reflection in the tinted glass. My blue-green eyes looked bright tonight. Almost electric.

They had to be. Tonight was the night. The clock on the suite wall was ticking down to midnight, and the second the buzzer sounded, I would officially turn twenty-one.

In the human world, twenty-one just meant legal drinks and bad decisions. But in our world—the hidden world of the Bloodmoon Pack—twenty-one meant the awakening. The exact moment the dormant scent of your fated mate finally unlocks.

"Are you nervous?" Sarah asked, stepping up beside me and handing me a fresh drink. Her eyes darted down to the ice where the red lights were flashing, signaling the final two minutes of the third period. "About the mate bond?"

"No," I lied, my fingers tightening around my glass.

"Oh, please. You're terrified," Sarah countered softly.

"Zane is the Beta heir, Al. He’ll handle whatever pack duties come next for the Vance family. But Roman... Roman is the Greyson heir. The second his dad steps down, Roman takes the Alpha throne. The pack expects him to choose a high-ranking Luna. If your scent changes tonight and he doesn’t notice..."

"Roman is my best friend," I interrupted, my chest tightening. "He looks at me like a kid sister, Sarah. Besides, you've seen the tabloids. The man changes women faster than he changes his hockey tape. He’s not looking for a mate. He's enjoying the fame."

A deafening roar suddenly erupted from the crowd below.

My eyes instantly locked onto a chaotic scuffle breaking out near the goal crease. A player from the opposing team had just taken a cheap shot at our goaltender. Before the referee could even blow the whistle, a towering, broad-supported figure in a black jersey blurred across the ice.

Number 87.

Roman didn't hesitate. He ripped his gloves off, throwing them onto the ice as his massive frame collided with the guy. The impact rattled the plexiglass. Even from all the way up here, I could feel the terrifying, dominant Alpha energy radiating off him. His dark hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead as he dragged the guy down by his collar, delivering a brutal upper-cut that drove the arena into an absolute frenzy.

Right beside him, cracking his knuckles and keeping the rest of the opposing team at bay, was Zane. My brother. The perfect, loyal Beta executioner to Roman’s ruthless king.

They looked identical in their brutality. Zane Vance with his piercing green eyes, and Roman Greyson with those bottomless, stormy blue eyes that looked like a trap you’d gladly walk into. Both of them were gods in this city. Both of them took full advantage of the puck-bunnies and human girls who threw themselves at their feet, sleeping their way through every VIP lounge in the state.

*They're just blowing off steam before pack duties call them home,* I reminded myself, my heart doing a strange, violent flip in my chest as Roman was led to the penalty box, a bloody, arrogant grin plastered across his face.

He wiped a smear of blood from his lip, tilted his head back, and looked directly up at our suite.

He knew exactly where I was sitting. He always did.

Through the thick glass, those stormy blue eyes locked onto mine. He lifted a gloved hand, pointing a single finger at me, then tapped his wrist.

*Midnight is coming.*

A hot, dangerous shiver raced down my spine. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away.

The final buzzer echoed through the rafters. The home team won.

Within ten minutes, the suite doors flew open, and the heavy, intoxicating scent of winter, sweat, and raw male dominance flooded the room. Zane walked in first, already stripped down to his training gear, his face flushed from the adrenaline.

"Happy almost-birthday, little sis," Zane boomed, lifting me off my feet into a crushing Vance-style hug. "Twenty-one. I can’t believe I haven’t locked you in a tower yet to keep the wolves away."

"Let me down, you giant gorilla," I laughed, kicking my legs until he set me back down.

Behind him stood Roman.

He had a towel draped around his thick neck, his broad shoulders practically filling out the entire doorway. The casual elegance he possessed off the ice was almost more frustrating than his violence on it. He didn't say a word. He just stood there, his gaze dropping slowly down the length of his own jersey hanging off my bare legs, before snapping back up to my face.

The air in the room suddenly felt devastatingly thin.

"You're stretching out my threads, Allie," Roman murmured. His voice was a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated right through the soles of my shoes. A dangerous smirk played at the corner of his bruised lip.

"You love it," I retorted, masking my sudden breathlessness with the easy chemistry we’d shared for a decade. "It's the closest this jersey will ever get to a trophy this season."

Zane snorted, grabbing a sports drink from the fridge. "Burn. He's got you there, Rome."

Roman stepped closer, completely ignoring my brother. He stopped just inches away from me, his massive height forcing me to tilt my head back. Up close, I could see the faint gold flecks in his blue eyes—the subtle mark of his inner wolf pushing close to the surface after a fight.

He reached out, his thick, calloused thumb catching a stray strand of my dark hair and tucking it behind my ear. His touch was surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to the knuckles that had just broken a man's jaw.

"Get ready for the club, little wolf," Roman whispered, his breath warm against my cheek, sending a sudden jolt of electricity straight down to my core. "The limo is waiting downstairs. Tonight, you get whatever you want."

I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't know it then, but the clock on the wall was exactly twelve minutes away from midnight. And by the time the night was over, my best friend would become the man who would either completely claim me—or utterly destroy me.