Claimed by the Ice Captain

(Leo POV)

The scent of a hundred Alphas should have been overwhelming. It was a maelstrom of aggression, sweat, and cheap deodorant that clung to the walls of the Vipers' locker room. But the only one that mattered was the one standing in front of the door, blocking his exit.

Jax "The Ice King" Thorne.

Captain of the team that now owned my contract. The man whose championship trophy I'd stolen with a last-second, impossible goal three months ago. He looked even bigger up close, a mountain of muscle and simmering rage barely contained in a Vipers t-shirt and track pants. His ice-blue eyes locked onto mine, and the air grew thick, heavy with the promise of violence.

"Valdez," he said, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the floor. "Welcome to hell."

I refused to flinch. I'd spent my entire life learning not to flinch. "Just here to play hockey, Captain."

A humorless smile twisted his lips. He took a step forward, and I had to fight every instinct not to take a step back. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden silence. The other players, my new teammates, were suddenly very interested in their gear, pretending not to watch the show.

"Hockey?" Jax was so close now I could feel the heat radiating off him. His scent was different from the others—sharper, cleaner, like a winter forest right before a storm. It was an Alpha's scent, designed to intimidate, and it was working. My illegal scent blockers felt like a flimsy shield against a tidal wave. "You think what you do is hockey? That circus trick you pulled in the finals? That's not hockey. That's disrespect."

"I scored the winning goal," I said, my voice steady even as my hands curled into fists at my sides. "That's my job."

"Your job is to follow my lead," he snarled, his face inches from mine. "On this team, I am the law. You skate when I say skate. You pass when I say pass. You sit your ass on the bench when I tell you to sit. You got me?"

I met his glare, refusing to be the first to look away. "Loud and clear, Captain."

For a moment, I thought he might actually hit me. His knuckles were white, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. But then, he did something worse. He leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing my throat, and inhaled.

I froze. My blood ran cold. It was a gesture of pure dominance, a claim. An Alpha testing a lesser. He was trying to scent me, to find out what I was. And for a terrifying second, I thought my blockers had failed.

He pulled back, a flicker of confusion in his cold eyes. He couldn't place me. To him, I was a blank slate, a Beta with the fire of an Alpha. It was the source of his frustration, and my only protection.

"You smell like nothing," he whispered, the words a venomous secret between us. "And that pisses me off more than anything."

Before I could respond, he shoved me hard. My back slammed against the row of cold metal lockers, the impact rattling my teeth and knocking the air from my lungs. Pain shot through my shoulder, a familiar ache from an old injury.

"Get out of my sight," he ordered, turning his back on me as if I were nothing more than a piece of trash. "Practice is at five a.m. Don't be late."

He walked away, leaving me gasping for breath against the lockers. The other players finally moved, their chatter filling the void, but I barely heard them. My body was shaking, a cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and a dark, traitorous thrill.

I hated him. I hated his arrogance, his power, the way he looked at me like I was something he wanted to crush.

But as I stood there, the ghost of his scent still in the air and the pain in my shoulder a sharp reminder of his strength, a horrifying truth settled in my gut. A part of me, a deep, hidden part I'd spent years denying, didn't just hate him.

It was thrilled by him.