Chapter 4: The Devil's Bargain

Aurora's POV

The silence didn't last... it never does. It snapped like a dry twig underfoot, giving way to an explosion of sound. One second the arena was holding its breath, staring at the shattered glass and the Ironclaw Titan on the ice. The next, all hell broke loose.

Beer cups rained down from the upper tiers. The shrieks of horrified onlookers clashed with the roars of the hometown fans. Down in the lower bowl, fists flew as Titans supporters clashed with the few brave Wolves fans who'd made the trip. Security guards were overwhelmed, rushing the stands to restore order.

My camera felt like a block of lead, but muscle memory kicked in before my brain caught up. I raised the lens to my eye. 'Snap. Snap. Snap.'

I caught the blood on the ice. I caught the medics rushing out with a stretcher. And I caught Ronan... standing perfectly still amid the chaos, chest heaving, staring down at his own hands like he didn't recognize them. Like whatever had just moved through his body wasn't fully under his control.

The loudspeakers screeched with feedback. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's game has been officially called off. Please evacuate the arena in an orderly fashion."

Nobody was orderly. Fans screamed that the Wolves should be banned from the championship, hurling obscenities and garbage at the ice.

I didn't wait around to get trampled. I bolted down the concrete stairs, flashed my press badge at a panicked guard and sprinted into the bowels of the stadium, following the Wolves' footsteps to the visiting locker room.

I shoved the double doors open, raising my phone to record audio. I needed a quote. I needed the story.

The locker room was a war zone of flying gear and tension.

"Ronan!" I yelled over the noise, stepping into the fray. "What happened out there? Did he threaten you? Was the hit intentional?"

Ronan whipped around. The fury radiating off him hit me like a shockwave. He stepped toward me and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees... the same predatory weight I'd felt on the plane and in the loading dock filling the space between us.

"Get out!" he roared, the sound bouncing off the cinderblock walls.

I held my ground, chin jutting out of pure stubbornness. "I have a job to do, Blackwood. The fans are rioting up there. The league is going to..."

"I said get the fuck out of here, Hayes!" He slammed his fist into the nearest locker. The steel caved in... a dent no ordinary human hand should have been able to make.

My mouth clamped shut. I looked at the dented steel, then back at his eyes and remembered the amber-red glow I'd seen right before he nearly killed a man on live television. A cold shiver of survival instinct crawled up my spine. Whatever Ronan Blackwood was, it wasn't something a human reporter was supposed to challenge in a closed room. I backed slowly out and let the door swing shut behind me.

A moment later the head coach burst out, tie undone, face red. He clapped his hands, pointing at the equipment managers. "Pack it up. Everything. We're leaving right now. Everybody on that jet in twenty minutes!"

The flight back home was agonizing.

Nobody spoke. Nobody played cards. Nobody looked at anyone else. The jet felt like a flying tomb. I sat chewing on my thumbnail, replaying that moment on the ice over and over. 'His eyes glowed. I know what I saw. I'm not crazy.' My father's voice whispered in the back of my mind... warnings that had once sounded like the ravings of a broken man now felt like the only explanation that fit.

We touched down as the sun barely broke over the skyline. By the time we dragged ourselves back to the Blackridge Coliseum, I was running on stale airplane coffee and pure anxiety.

I didn't even make it to my desk before a security guard tapped my shoulder and jerked a thumb toward the PR office.

Victoria Kane was waiting, and she was furious.

"Sit," she commanded before I'd even closed the door.

"Look, if this is about me being in the locker room, I was just doing my job," I said, dropping into the chair.

"Your job?" Victoria snapped, pacing behind her desk like a caged animal. "Your job was to write a redemption piece. Instead, you brought bad press to our doorstep and now my captain's committed assault on live television. Do you understand the nightmare I'm dealing with?"

"Oh, so this is my fault?" I shot back, leaning forward, hands on her desk. "I didn't tell him to body-check a guy through bulletproof glass. And while we're on the subject... let's talk about what I actually saw out there. Right before that hit, his eyes glowed, Victoria. Red."

Victoria stopped pacing and stared at me, her expression freezing into pity and disgust.

"Are you listening to yourself, Aurora?" Her voice dropped to a condescending whisper. "Glowing eyes? You sound exactly like your father. He saw monsters in the shadows too. We all know how that ended."

"My dad wasn't crazy," I growled, my heart hammering. "And I know what I saw."

"You saw the strobe lights reflecting off his visor," she dismissed, waving a hand. "Drop it. The Ironclaw player survived... barely. Shattered collarbone, severe concussion. The league is drafting a suspension that could end Ronan's career."

A spark of dark satisfaction flickered in my chest. 'Good. He deserves it.' I couldn't fully hide the twitch at the corner of my mouth.

Victoria caught it instantly, eyes narrowing to slits. "Wipe that smirk off your face, Miss Hayes. You aren't safe either."

She picked up a tablet and shoved it toward me... the new viral piece about my dad and about my supposed bias against the Wolves. Another public reminder that anyone who suggested the league wasn't fully human was fair game for destruction.

"Ownership called an emergency meeting while we were in the air," Victoria said coldly. "We're facing backlash. Sponsors are threatening to pull out by noon. We can't afford the extra PR nightmare of keeping a journalist on payroll. Your contract's terminated, effective immediately."

The world stopped.

The dark satisfaction vanished, replaced by panic. My throat tightened so fast I could barely breathe.

"No," I choked out, jumping to my feet. "You can't do this. I signed a contract. I need this job."

"It's done, Aurora."

"Please." I hated begging, but I didn't care anymore. "My sister is in the hospital. Her treatment is fifty thousand dollars. If I lose this paycheck, she doesn't get care. She dies, Victoria. I'll write whatever you want. I'll spin the story. Just don't fire me."

Something flickered across Victoria's sharp features... brief, human... before she buried it. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "It's out of my hands. The board wants you gone. Get your things and leave."

My chest heaved. A single tear slipped free, and I wiped it away roughly, turned, and dragged my boots toward the door. I'd lost everything. Again. And this time it would cost Lila her life.

My hand touched the doorknob.

"Wait."

I froze, glancing back.

Victoria was staring at the wall, lips pursed in thought. "I have an idea," she murmured, mostly to herself. Then she looked at me, eyes darkening. "A bad one. But it might be the only way to save both your careers."

She pressed the intercom. "Security. Find Ronan and bring him to my office. Now."

We waited in tense silence for three minutes before the heavy door swung open.

Ronan stepped in... indifferent, exhausted and, to my shock, half-dressed. A towel hung low on his hips, water tracing paths down a chest scarred and inked. He'd come straight from the locker room showers. Even half-dressed and damp, he radiated the same impossible power that had shattered glass and dented steel.

I averted my eyes, cheeks flushing. 'Oh, come on.'

"You wanted to see me?" His voice was a low drawl. He didn't acknowledge me at all.

"Sit down, Ronan," Victoria said.

He didn't sit. He crossed his arms and leaned against the closed door.

"Here's the reality," Victoria began, switching into corporate mode. "Ronan, the league's ready to ban you for the season. Aurora, the board wants you fired over the video scandal. You're both standing on the edge of a cliff."

"Get to the point, Vic," Ronan muttered.

"The public needs a distraction," she said smoothly. "A narrative strong enough to bury the assault and humanize the captain of the Wolves. We need to turn Ronan from a violent monster into a protective hero."

She stood and walked around the desk, stopping between us.

"You two are going to fix this. You'll be seen together. You'll hold hands for the paparazzi, smile for the cameras, and sell the greatest love story this league has ever seen." She looked between our stunned faces. "You're going to be sweethearts. You're dating."

For the first time since I'd met him, Ronan Blackwood looked genuinely startled, the indifferent mask cracking, eyes going wide.

We looked at Victoria. We looked at each other. Then, in perfect, horrified unison:

“What the fuck?!”