Chapter 2: The First Crack

Five a.m. was an ungodly hour for anyone, but for a professional athlete, it was a sacred ritual. The ice was empty, the air crisp and cold, smelling of Zamboni fluid and potential. It was my church. Until today.

Today, my church had been desecrated by a six-foot-three devil with a god complex.

"Again!" Jax's voice boomed across the rink, echoing in the cavernous space. "You're skating like you've got a piano tied to your ass, Valdez!"

I gritted my teeth, forcing my burning legs into another punishing sprint from one end of the rink to the other. This was the tenth drill in a row. The tenth time he'd singled me out, pushing me harder than anyone else. The rest of the team watched from the benches, a mixture of pity and relief on their faces. Better me than them.

I glided to a stop, my chest heaving, plumes of white fog escaping my lips. "Sorry, Captain," I panted, letting just enough sarcasm bleed into my tone to be noticeable but not insubordinate. "I must have left my piano in my other bag. I'll be sure to check next time."

A few of the younger players snickered, quickly shutting up when Jax's icy glare cut in their direction. His focus snapped back to me, and he slowly skated over, his movements predatory and smooth. He stopped directly in front of me, so close our skates were nearly touching.

"You think you're funny?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. It was a different tone from yesterday's raw anger. This was colder, more calculating.

"I think I'm hilarious," I replied, straightening up despite the scream of my muscles. "But my sense of humor might be a bit warped from the lack of oxygen."

He didn't even blink. "Drop. Give me twenty."

I stared at him. "We're on ice."

"I don't care if you're on the goddamn moon. Drop. Now."

The sheer, ridiculous audacity of it almost made me laugh. Push-ups on ice? It was a stunt designed to humiliate, to make me fail. But I was nothing if not stubborn. Carefully, I lowered myself to my knees, then placed my palms on the slick, frozen surface. The cold immediately seeped through my thin gloves.

I managed ten before my hands slipped and I slammed chest-first onto the ice. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I lay there for a second, the cold seeping into my bones. I could hear the muffled sounds of the team trying not to laugh.

A shadow fell over me. Jax stood above me, looking down. "Get up."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, my pride stinging more than my chest. "Having fun, Captain? Is this your idea of team-building?"

He bent down, his face inches from mine. His scent, that clean, dangerous forest smell, washed over me, stronger now with his exertion. It made my head spin. "This is me figuring out what makes you tick, Valdez. So far, all I've found is a smart mouth with no stamina."

My breath hitched. The double meaning, whether intentional or not, landed like a punch. I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—satisfaction. He knew he'd gotten to me.

"Get off the ice," he commanded, standing up. "Everyone else, scrimmage lines. Valdez, you're with me."

A collective groan went through the team. Being singled out by the captain for "special training" was a death sentence.

He led me not to the benches, but to the small, cramped weight room tucked behind the locker room. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in the windowless space. The air was thick with the metallic tang of sweat and rubber.

"Grab the medicine ball," he ordered, pointing to a heavy black ball in the corner.

I did as he said, my arms protesting. He took it from me, his fingers brushing mine. A jolt, sharp and electric, shot up my arm. I pulled back quickly.

He didn't seem to notice. "Lie on your back. On that mat."

I hesitated. This was crossing a line. The ice was one thing; this was something else. "What's this about, Jax?"

His eyes hardened at the use of his name. "You want to play with the big boys, you train like them. Now lie down."

Swallowing my pride, I lay down on the worn exercise mat. He loomed over me, placing the medicine ball onto my chest. It was heavy, a solid weight pinning me down. Then, he straddled my hips, his knees on either side of my waist, hovering just above me. Not touching, but the threat of it was there, a suffocating pressure.

"Sit-ups," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Every time you come up, you touch the ball to my chest. Don't stop until I say so."

This was it. This was his game. He was using his Alpha dominance, his physical power, to break me. And the worst part was the traitorous response stirring in my gut. A dark, hot heat coiled in my lower belly, a primal reaction to being dominated by an Alpha this strong.

I started the sit-ups. One. I strained, lifting the heavy ball, and tapped it against his solid chest. He was like a wall of muscle. Two. Three. The burn in my abs was excruciating. On the fifth one, I gasped, my muscles screaming.

"Can't keep up, Comet?" he taunted, his voice a low rumble I felt through his thighs. "That fire in your eyes is dying out."

"Never," I gritted out, forcing myself up for a sixth.

That's when it happened. As I strained, a drop of sweat rolled down my temple, tracing a path down my neck. My scent blockers, pushed to their limit by the extreme exertion and his overwhelming presence, faltered.

A single, faint whisper of my true scent escaped.

Jax froze. His entire body went rigid above me. His head tilted, his nostrils flaring as he searched for the source. His eyes, which had been mocking and cruel, now blazed with a shocking, terrifying recognition.

He leaned down, his face so close to mine I could feel his breath on my lips. He inhaled deeply, right against the sensitive skin of my throat.

"Oh," he breathed, the sound a mixture of shock and savage discovery. "Oh, that's what you are."

My blood ran cold. He knew. The secret I had protected my entire life was out, discovered by the one man who wanted to destroy me.