Claimed By My Rival Captain

ELIAS’S POV

The air in the Northwood Arena was always the same: sharp, freezing, and smelling of old sweat and fresh ice. For twenty-two years, the ice had been the only place where I didn't feel out of place. 

As the captain of the Northwood Titans, I was the one who kept the team going. I felt the weight of the "C" on my jersey, a constant reminder that the success of the team heavily depended on me.

"Line change! Carter, get out there!" Coach Daniels shouted from the bench.

I hopped over the boards, my skates biting into the ice. My breath came out in a white cloud, my lungs burning in the best way possible. I scanned the play, my mind already calculating three steps ahead. Jason Blake was on the wing, looking for the opening. I whistled and he looked my way.

I was in control. I was always in control.

Until I felt the shift in the atmosphere.

The crowd basically went into a frenzy and I didn't need to look to know who it was. The opposing team’s colors, deep crimson and black were swarming the neutral zone, led by the one man who existed just to ruin my life.

Ryder Volkov.

His black hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his blue eyes were fixed on me with. I knew he had the most annoying smirk underneath his helmet. I really hated this guy and words didn't do justice to how I felt about him.

"Watch your back, Elias," Jason yelled, but it was too late.

I felt the impact before I saw him. Ryder slammed his shoulder into my chest, pinning me against the boards with a force that rattled my teeth. The sound of our pads colliding echoed through the rink. I tried to hold my stance but his build wouldn't let me. My breath became ragged and my vision blurred.

Ryder didn't pull away immediately. He lingered, his heavy frame crushing me against the glass. Through the cage of his helmet, I saw those sharp blue eyes. There was no sportsmanship there. Only a dark, twisted kind of amusement.

"Miss me, Captain?" he murmured. His voice was a low rasp, barely audible over the screaming fans, but it was enough to make my skin crawl.

"Get off me, Volkov," I spat, shoving my glove into his face to create space. My heart was hammering against my ribs, not just from the hit, but from his suffocating presence.

He let go, skating backward with a mocking salute, leaving me gasping for air.

The rest of the period was a battle of pride. I didn't want to lose to him, I couldn't and he seemed to have noticed that and took it upon himself to stand in my way. He was unpredictable, unrefined and fast. I hated to admit it, but he was good even though I hated his play.

Every time I tried to set up a play, he was there, disrupting my rhythm.

By the time the whistle blew for the second intermission, I was vibrating with a rage I couldn't contain. 

As we headed toward the tunnels, the two teams converged near the benches. The tension was as clear as day, and no one wanted to ease it.

"Hey, Carter!" Ryder called out. He was leaning against the boards, casual as could be, while the rest of us were dripping sweat and fighting for air. "You look a little tired. Maybe the 'C' is getting too heavy for you."

I stopped in my tracks. Jason grabbed my arm, sensing the danger. "Elias, leave it. He’s just trying to get in your head."

But Ryder was already there. He stepped closer, invading my space, his height giving him just enough of an edge to make me look up. "You’re all technique, no soul," he whispered, loud enough for the players nearby to hear. "You play like a robot. I wonder what it takes to actually make you feel something."

The internal dam I’d built over years of training finally burst. My pride, the only thing I truly owned screamed at me to shut him up.

"You think you’re so much better?" I stepped into his chest, my voice shaking with fury. "You think being a reckless animal makes you a better player?"

Ryder grinned, looking beyond satisfied with how much he'd angered me. "Well that's why I always win."

"Then let's make it interesting," I said. The words felt like they were coming from someone else. I knew I shouldn't be giving in to his provocations but he has been getting on my nerves for way too long to simply ignore. "One game. If you’re as good as you think you are, prove it with this game.”

Ryder tilted his head, his eyes darkening. "And what’s the stake, Captain?"

I looked at his smug face, his expensive gear, the way he looked at me like I was a prize he’d already won. I wanted him gone. I wanted him out of my head and out of this league.

"If I win," I said, my voice projecting across the ice, "you transfer out. You leave this league and you never show your face in my arena again."

A low murmur went through the players. Ryder’s grin didn't fade; it grew. "And if I win?"

I should have walked away. I should have been the leader Coach Daniels expected me to be. But the way Ryder was looking at me like he knew my secrets, like he knew I wasn't as straight-laced as I pretended to be made me reckless.

"Whatever you want," I snapped. "You win, you get whatever you want from me for one night."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the distant sound of the stadium music seemed to fade. Ryder stepped so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body. He reached out, his gloved hand hovering just inches from the "C" on my jersey.

"Whatever I want?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.

"I won't lose," I countered, though my stomach churned.

Ryder leaned down, his lips brushing the side of my helmet. "Careful, Elias. I’ve been thinking about what I want from you for a very long time."

He pulled back, his eyes glistening with a predatory light. "Deal, Captain."

He turned and skated away toward his locker room, his movements fluid and confident. I stood there on the ice, my legs feeling weak. Jason was staring at me, his mouth slightly open, a look of pure confusion and worry on his face.

"Elias," he whispered. "What did you just do?"

I didn't have an answer. I looked down at my hands; they were shaking. I forced them into fists, trying to find that familiar sense of control, that rigid structure that defined my life. 

The buzzer sounded, signaling the start of the final period.

I looked toward the opponent’s tunnel. Ryder was standing there, the shadows of the hallway framing his large silhouette. He was looking directly at me. For the first time in my career, I wasn't thinking about the score. I wasn't thinking about the fans or the scouts in the stands. All I could think about was the look in Ryder’s eyes, the look of a man who had just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I had walked right into his trap, and the game hadn't even ended yet.