You don't smell like a human

Sera’s POV~

The practice rink smelled like cold steel and chlorine-cleaned ice, and for once, I was glad for the sting in my nose. It grounded me. Gave me something real to focus on.

I was early again—ridiculously early. Like “pretending-I-didn’t-accidentally-wake-up-thinking-about-him” early.

Dante hadn’t shown up yet, and I told myself that was a good thing.

He was probably in his own space. Doing broody-alpha stretches somewhere. Snarling at the sunrise. Snapping hockey sticks in half for fun.

Whatever.

I crouched near the bench, checking off gear inspections on the clipboard like it actually mattered that someone had left a helmet strap unfastened. Anything to keep my hands busy.

“Wow,” a voice said behind me, voice rich with fake surprise. “She’s back.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Blaze had that kind of voice—smooth, cocky, dipped in trouble.

“Was kinda hoping yesterday scared you off,” he added, stepping around the bench to block my light.

“I don’t scare easy,” I replied, standing up and fixing him with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

Blaze looked good in the worst way. His hair was still wet from the morning shower, curling slightly at the ends like it had no idea how to behave. His shirt was slung over his shoulder, forgotten, leaving his chest completely bare and unapologetic.

And of course, his smug little smirk was already in place.

“Didn’t peg you for a repeat offender,” he said. “I figured one run-in with the Captain would send you packing.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been shoved into lockers by scarier boys.”

His brows lifted. “And you lived to tell?”

“Barely.”

Blaze laughed—low, genuine—and damn it, he had a good laugh. Warm. Dangerous.

He leaned forward, arms braced on the bench as he looked at me sideways. “So… word is Dante told you to ‘stay still.’ You, uh... listen to that kind of thing?”

I snorted. “Do I strike you as the obedient type?”

He tilted his head, lips quirking. “Depends on the mood.”

“Wrong mood, wrong girl,” I said, stepping around him and heading toward the med cart like I didn’t just notice his eyes drop to my legs.

“Shame,” he muttered, trailing behind me. “Could’ve sworn you had a little bite to you.”

I opened the storage bin, grabbing a roll of gauze and a few strips of tape. “Only when provoked.”

He whistled low. “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”

I turned slowly, meeting his gaze over the top of the clipboard. “I’m saying… back off, pretty boy.”

His smile widened. “You think I’m pretty?”

“You think that’s news?”

Blaze held a hand to his chest like I’d wounded him. “Coach Lane, I’m starting to think you secretly like me.”

I raised a brow. “You’d need evidence. A confession. Possibly a delusion.”

The smirk stayed, but something flickered in his eyes. Just for a second. Like the teasing was a mask and he was watching for something deeper. Something… calculated.

“You should be careful,” he said, suddenly quieter. “This team—these guys—they don’t play soft.”

“I don’t need soft,” I said.

His eyes locked with mine again.

“No,” he said softly. “You really don’t.”

The moment stretched just a little too long before one of the players shouted from the rink, breaking the silence.

Blaze turned without another word and jogged onto the ice, grabbing his stick and helmet like the conversation hadn’t meant anything at all.

But I stood there for a second longer.

Staring at the door he disappeared through.

Because something about his smile felt wrong now.

Like maybe it wasn’t just flirtation.

Maybe it was a warning.

The whistle blew, sharp and shrill across the rink.

Players dropped into motion immediately, breaking into clean, crisp drills like muscle memory was stitched into their bones. I stood near the bench, eyes tracking Blaze’s footwork—perfect, of course—and flipping to the next name on my clipboard.

Line One was out.

Line Two was warming up.

Line Three was… missing someone.

I frowned.

And then I realized.

Dante wasn’t here.

Not on the ice. Not in the locker room. Not lurking in the shadows like some moody alpha version of Batman.

He just… wasn’t here.

My pulse ticked up without permission. Not because I missed him—don’t be ridiculous—but because it was weird. He was the captain. The face of this team. A no-show was… off.

I scanned the rink again, just to be sure, even though I’d already looked.

Still nothing.

“You’re looking for him, aren’t you?”

I didn’t jump, but I came close.

Nico Vale stood beside me now, one hand shoved in his jacket pocket, the other holding a half-eaten protein bar. His tablet rested against his hip like he’d been watching everything… including me.

I cleared my throat. “Looking for who?”

“Cute,” he said, chewing slowly. “But your eyes keep drifting to the same spot. Top left corner of the rink. You keep checking. That’s where he usually starts his warm-up laps.”

I raised a brow. “Is that part of your official medic observation protocol?”

He shrugged. “I notice things. Occupational hazard.”

I glanced back at the ice. “Maybe he’s late.”

“Dante?” Nico smirked. “He’s never late. You could set a clock by his mood swings.”

I exhaled through my nose, turning back to my clipboard. “Well, maybe I’m not looking for him.”

“Sure,” Nico said, folding his arms. “And I’m here for the snacks.”

He didn’t say anything else, but the weight of his stare lingered.

I hated that he was right.

And I hated more that I cared.

I scribbled something on the clipboard that didn’t need to be scribbled and muttered, “Not that it’s any of my business, but… is he okay?”

Nico tilted his head. “You tell me.”

I looked at him sharply.

“What?”

“You were with him yesterday,” he said casually. “Weren’t you?”

“In the locker room?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You make it sound like a secret rendezvous.”

He didn’t smile. “Just asking if something happened. You know. Something that might’ve… thrown him off.”

I blinked. “He’s the one who backed me into a locker and whispered creepy things. If anyone’s thrown off, it’s me.”

Nico watched me for a second longer, and I got the distinct sense he was trying to solve me like a puzzle he’d already solved once and was just double-checking the corners.

“You’re different,” he said quietly.

I forced a laugh. “You mean ‘not a man,’ right? Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”

“No,” he said, voice low. “I mean different. You smell…”

He trailed off. Looked away. Like he’d said too much.

I stiffened. “I what?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“No, no, don’t do that,” I said. “You can’t just drop a weird half-comment and walk away. I smell what?”

Nico’s jaw ticked. “It’s not important.”

“Yes, it is.”

He met my eyes. His were calm, but something behind them flickered—something feral.

“You don’t smell like a regular human,” he said finally. “You don’t smell like a wolf either. You’re something else.”