CHA-1

"Lose the puck, and you lose your throat."

Lucas "Luke" Navarro didn't flinch as the snarl vibrated through the locker complex. He just tugged his skates tighter, the leather groaning under his grip. In the shadowy, frost-bitten territory of the Silver-Moon Pack, the hockey rink wasn't just a game—it was the designated killing floor for the young wolves of the Navarro Memorial Stadium.

"You're late, Luke."

Jax Mendoza dropped onto the bench beside him, his scent heavy with pre-game adrenaline and pine needles. He slammed his stick against the floor. "Heard about Daniel Baxter?"

Luke didn't look up from his laces. He kept his chin tucked under the brim of his cap, eyes tracking the entrance. He wasn't looking for Jax. He was looking for the wolf who had haunted his scent-memory for two moons.

"Collision on the Graveyard Trail," Luke muttered. "Heard his playing hand is shredded. Sucks."

Jax snickered, a low, predatory sound. "Sucks for him. For you? It’s a goddamn throne. Coach Carter needs a new lead Enforcer for the Ice-Claw squad. You’re the only one with the speed to hunt the puck and the teeth to keep it."

"I'm a freshman, Jax. Quiet."

"Freshman? You're a Navarro." Jax leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial growl. "Stop acting like a pup. Look at you. You’re already staring."

Luke’s gaze had already drifted.

At the far end of the ice, near the player’s tunnel, a new figure had appeared. Castel "Cass" Castillo. He wasn't a girl, but he moved with a fluid, dangerous grace that made Luke’s inner wolf pace behind his ribs. Cass was wearing a jagged black jersey with a silver wolf-skull—the mark of the outcast clans from the Blackwood Haunted Mansion district.

"That's him," Jax whispered, following Luke’s eyes. "The one you’ve been howling about at practice. Castel."

"I don't howl about him," Luke lied. His heart slammed against his ribs.

"You do. But seriously? The one on the right? Brandon Cole’s rival?" Jax made a face. "He looks like he’d rather read a scroll than skin a deer. Now the guy in the middle—Andre Walker—that’s a wolf who’d do you dirty. He’s fifty times sharper."

Luke’s back straightened. His claws pricked at his gloves. "No. Cass is the one."

"Easy, alpha," Jax whistled. "You have it bad. You even know his name?"

"No," Luke bit out.

"Talk to him. Now. Or hand over your phone and I'll tell the whole pack you’re a celibate omega."

Jax swiped Luke’s phone off the bench.

"Give it back, you prick."

"Talk to him first." Jax grinned, flashing canines. "Think of it as training. If you can’t corner a male, you’ll never lead a hunt. Go."

Luke stood. His knees felt like water, which was pathetic for a wolf of his standing. He stomped toward the tunnel, the scent of the rink—cold, sharp, and metallic—filling his lungs.

Cass was turning to leave, laughing at something a teammate said. He wasn't looking. Luke was too busy trying not to hyperventilate to calculate his trajectory.

They collided. Hard.

Luke’s heavy frame didn't move, but Cass stumbled back, his shoulder hitting Luke’s chest.

"Oomph," Cass gasped. He looked up.

His eyes were amber—pure, molten werewolf gold. Up close, he smelled like woodsmoke and mountain rain. It was a scent that promised a lifetime of winters.

"I’m so sorry," Cass murmured.

Luke froze. His brain short-circuited. He saw it all in a flash: their first shift together on the ice, the blood-bond ceremony, a den in the Navarro Ridge, raising a litter of pups, growing old and gray-furred together while watching the moon rise over the Pacific Coast peaks.

Then Cass stepped back. The touch was gone.

"You okay?" Cass asked, brow furrowing. He reached out, his hand gripping Luke’s bicep to steady him. The heat of the contact was a brand. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Uh... yeah. Fine." Luke squeezed his eyes shut. "Sorry. Didn't mean to block the way."

"No, you're okay." Cass gave an uncertain, sharp-toothed smile. "Well... see you on the ice."

He disappeared into the tunnel.

"Stupid," Luke hissed.

Jax appeared at his side, leaning against the wall. "Wow. That was just plain painful. You really suck at this, Navarro."

"Shut up. Give me my phone."

Jax handed it over without a fight. His eyes actually looked sympathetic. Which was a thousand times worse than a mockery.

"Don't worry," Jax said, throwing a heavy arm over Luke’s shoulders. "I’m the Love Doctor. By the end of the week, I’ll have you marking your territory and sweet-talking him into your den. Trust me."

"Just kill me now," Luke muttered.

The ice was cold, but his blood was on fire. He was doomed.