Claimed by the wolves.

JULLIETTE.

Here’s the thing no one tells you about hockey: locker rooms smell like a crime scene.

Not blood, exactly, but sweat and leather and whatever unholy combination of protein shakes and desperation fuels professional athletes.

So, literally that was where I was sent on day one.

The Blackridge Wolves—the NHL’s golden boys, reigning champs, and a PR nightmare wrapped in skates.

But this was my dream job. My ticket to the big leagues.

My parents had cried when I got the offer. My friends had thrown me a champagne party. And me? I had spent the past week pep-talking myself in the mirror: You are a professional. You will not let a bunch of overpaid jocks intimidate you.

Then I opened the door and twenty conversations died mid-sentence.

Silence. Thick enough to choke on that I felt it coating my lungs.

Every head turned. Broad shoulders, sweat-damp hair, towels slung low around waists.

And eyes. So many eyes.

I froze. For one horrifying second I wondered if I had walked into the wrong room, maybe the wrong sport entirely. But no, these were hockey players. Big, bruised, mean-looking. And they were staring at me like I was—well. Like I wasn’t supposed to be there.

I adjusted the strap of my bag, pasted on my best bright smile. “Hi. I’m Julliette Mercer, your new sports therapist.” My voice came out cheery. Too cheery. Like a kindergarten teacher meeting parents on open house night and I realized too late that I sound too wrong.

No one said a word.

Great start, Mercer. Really commanding the room.

“Coach said I should check in with you all before drills.” I cleared my throat, gesturing at my clipboard for emphasis. “So. Hello. And, uh, don’t worry, I have seen worse than whatever you are hiding under those towels.”

A few players chuckled. Tension eased just slightly. Good. Humor was my coping mechanism. That, and copious amounts of coffee.

Then one of them stood.

The air felt different instantly like power sizzling around, believe it or not. Even the ones laughing shut their mouths, eyes snapping to him like iron filings to a magnet.

Captain Bryan Maddox.

I knew the name. Everyone did. He was the Wolves’ franchise star, the kind of player who filled highlight reels and broke records like it was a personal hobby. Six foot three, built like a battering ram, jaw sharp. Dark hair clung damply to his temples, his jersey half-unzipped, revealing chest and muscle that did not come from casual gym visits.

And when his gaze landed on me, I understood why the room had gone silent.

It wasn’t attraction. Not exactly. It wasn’t even hostility. It was… possession. Like he already knew I didn’t belong here. Like he was deciding whether to let me leave alive.

I told myself I was imagining it. That it was just first-day jitters. That his eyes weren’t actually flickering gold when the fluorescent lights hit them.

“Mercer,” he said. His voice was gravel, low and condescending. The kind of voice that made you straighten your spine whether you wanted to or not.

“That’s me.” I forced a smile. Don’t flinch, don’t fold. “Nice to meet you, Captain Maddox.”

His gaze dragged down, then back up again, slow and deliberate. When our eyes met, my stomach tightened.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

Excuse me?

“I think my contract says otherwise,” I shot back, words out before I could second-guess myself.

His mouth curved, not in a smile, but in something that seemed deadlier. A warning disguised as amusement. “Coach should’ve warned you.”

“About what? That hockey players bite?”

The way the locker room stilled again, the way Bryan gaze darkened, it felt like I had said the wrong thing.

Very wrong.

For one split second, I thought he might step closer. Thought he might prove me wrong.

Instead, he turned his head slightly, breaking whatever chokehold he had the room on. “Back to it,” he barked, and just like that, the room roared back to life.

Sticks clattered. Someone made a crude joke. The spell shattered, and I was just the awkward new hire again.

But my skin still buzzed, every nerve alight.

I dropped into an empty corner, pulling out rolls of tape and ice packs with hands that were steadier than my heart.

Professional. Detached. Untouchable. That was my mantra. I repeated it until my breathing slowed.

Of course, that didn’t stop the stares. I caught them, quick flicks of attention—curious, amused, hungry. The Wolves didn’t bother to hide it. If anything, they seemed to revel in it.

Except Bryan. He didn’t look again. He didn’t need to. He had already planted the warning like a burning fire between us.

Later, when the room emptied for drills, I gathered my supplies and started down the corridor. The arena was colder than I expected, the kind of cold that sank into your bones, but my skin was still hot. Still humming.

Footsteps followed. Heavy. Steady.

I didn’t need to turn to know.

He overtook me easily, stepping into my path. The hallway was narrow, shadows stretching long across the walls. He blocked the light without even trying.

“You need to understand something,” he said calmly and it felt like the deadliest storm.

He was an embodiment of power but I won’t cower. Juliette wasn’t made to cower, if anything I bite back.

“I understand plenty.” I crossed my arms, refusing to let him see me rattled. “Your knee ligaments, your scar tissue, the chronic shoulder damage you’re hiding from the trainers. Want me to keep going?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Not surprise. Interest. Like I had earned half a point in a game I didn’t realize we were playing.

“This isn’t about injuries.” He stepped closer, and God help me, I didn’t back away. “It’s about survival.” “Mine or yours?”

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. “Both.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. Not because I believed him, but because some traitorous part of me wanted to.

I forced a laugh, sharp and brittle. “You know, most captains welcome new staff. You might try it sometime. Could work wonders for team morale.”

“This isn’t about morale.” His voice dropped lower, intimate, dangerous. “You don’t belong here. And if you’re smart, you will leave before we make you ours.”

We?

My breath caught. He didn’t mean it like a flirtation. He meant it like a threat.

But my body, idiot traitor that it was reacted anyway. Heat flushed my cheeks, my pulse kicking fast. I tilted my chin, refusing to show it. “Thanks for the pep talk, Captain. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Something flashed in his gaze then—gold again, quick and impossible. I blinked, and it was gone.

He stepped back, shadows swallowing him as he turned away. But his voice lingered in the air between us, heavy and certain.

“Then you’ve already made your mistake.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone with the echo of his warning and the pounding of my heart.

That night, I told myself I wasn’t afraid.

The problem was, fear wasn’t the thing keeping me awake.

He was.