The Wolves Arena

~Sera’s POV~

The Wolves Arena was colder than I expected.

Not the kind of cold that made you shiver. No. This one snuck into your skin like it belonged there—sharp, sterile, impersonal. I tightened my grip on the strap of my duffel bag and stepped into the hallway, the sound of my boots echoing off the polished concrete floor.

New city. New job. New version of me.

No pressure.

The corridor smelled like pine disinfectant and testosterone. Posters lined the walls—faces of men who ruled the pro-league like gods. Muscles, teeth, and confidence. One in particular caught my eye.

Dante Kade.

Captain. Number 17. Ice-blue eyes. A name that came with a hundred headlines and at least five fangirl forums I pretended not to browse.

He looked lethal. The kind of lethal that made smart girls run and stupid girls fall.

I wasn’t here to do either.

I tore my eyes away from the poster and squared my shoulders. The heel of my boot clicked against the tile with more attitude than I felt. I could fake it. I’d faked worse.

The front desk security guy gave me a nod as I passed. No smile. Just a “we’ll see if you last” kind of look.

Perfect. We’re already judging.

The main doors to the arena opened with a hiss of hydraulics. Empty bleachers stretched into shadows. The rink itself glowed beneath the overhead lights, freshly resurfaced, slick like glass. It was beautiful, in a brutal kind of way.

For a second, I just stood there and let the chill kiss my face.

This used to be my world.

Until one snap of bone, one bad fall, and a medical file labeled “career-ending” sent me straight into oblivion.

Now I was back. Not as a player, but as something else entirely.

Assistant Coach.

The title still felt foreign. Like a hand-me-down that didn’t quite fit. But I wasn’t here for titles. I was here to prove that my story wasn’t over.

A voice echoed behind me, sharp and male. “Coach Lane?”

I turned, smile locked and loaded. “That’s me.”

A man in his fifties approached—Coach Renner, I recognized him from the Zoom calls. Grey hair, hawkish nose, clipboard in hand like a weapon.

He gave me a once-over. Not sleazy. Just calculating.

“You’re early.”

“I’m punctual,” I replied smoothly. “There’s a difference.”

He didn’t laugh. Noted.

“You’ll be shadowing practices until the team gets used to you. Try not to step on toes.”

I smiled again, tight. “Only if they’re in my way.”

Still no laugh. Tough crowd.

Footsteps echoed down the opposite hallway. I turned just in time to catch a blur of movement—someone tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. Moving like he owned the place.

I only caught a flash of his profile—sharp jaw, icy eyes, that cocky, clipped gait—and then he was gone.

But my skin prickled anyway.

I didn’t need to be introduced to know who it was.

Dante.

Of course, he was here.

Of course, he was already watching.

I rolled my shoulders and followed Renner toward the locker rooms, jaw tight, blood humming louder than the arena’s hum.

Welcome to Wolves territory, Sera.

Don’t let them smell fear.

The locker room hallway smelled like sweat, pine-scented laundry detergent, and fresh ego.

Coach Renner’s footsteps were brisk in front of me, like he wanted to shake me off without outright saying it.

"Most of the team’s already on the ice," he muttered, holding open the door to the staff room. "You’ll meet them officially after warmups."

"Looking forward to it," I lied.

The staff room was sleek—charcoal walls, silver countertops, big screens on every corner displaying stats, rosters, and live heat maps of the rink. Everything screamed expensive. Everything screamed controlled.

Two people were waiting inside.

One of them was a tall man in dark scrubs, scrolling through something on a tablet. His dark brown hair was buzzed short, and his eyes flicked up the second I stepped in.

"Assistant Medic," he said, offering a nod instead of a handshake. “Nico Vale.”

I raised a brow. “Vale as in…”

“Yeah.” His lips curled at the corners. “Those Vales.”

Rich. Secretive. Politically loaded in werewolf society—though I wasn’t supposed to know that.

He didn’t offer anything else, but his eyes? His eyes said he was already dissecting me.

The next woman walked in like she’d been personally invited by the gods. Perfect cheekbones. Glossy red lips. Heels way too high for a sports facility and a walk that said centerfold turned executive.

"Evie Carrow," she said, reaching out with a manicured hand. "Public Relations. We’re going to be very familiar."

“I bet we are.” I shook her hand. Firm. Not too nice.

Her grip tightened slightly before she let go.

“So,” she drawled, flicking her gaze down my body and back up again. “You’re the new miracle wrist girl. That story made headlines. Collapsed mid-game, came back four weeks later like nothing happened. Sounded... fabricated.”

I smiled. "Only miracle here is that I didn’t sue the league."

Coach Renner coughed into his fist.

Evie tilted her head. "You’ll find things run a little differently here, Sera. The Wolves aren’t just a team. They’re a legacy. Reputation matters."

"And I’m here to build it, not break it." My voice was silk-wrapped steel. "Unless someone hands me a shovel."

Nico chuckled lowly. Evie did not.

Before she could respond, the radio on the desk crackled.

“Captain Kade requesting an extra set of eyes on line drills.”

Coach Renner looked at me. “Looks like you’re up.”

I nodded, clipboard in hand, spine straight.

But just before I stepped out, Evie’s voice slid in behind me like a knife.

"Word of advice, sweetheart?" she purred. “Don’t confuse attention with interest. Especially his. Dante doesn’t do distractions.”

I turned my head slightly, smirking.

"Good. Because I don’t do men who bark."

She blinked.

Then I left.