Chapter 4: Whispers of the Hunt

Morning came cold and bright in Whistler. The mountains were quiet, but the training rink was already alive with noise—skates cutting ice, sticks clacking, coaches shouting.

Alex tied his skates tighter than usual.

His body still felt strange after the night at Jake’s cabin. There was a warm energy in his muscles, like he had more power than normal. The small mark on his neck where Jake had bitten him tingled slightly under his collar.

He tried to ignore it.

But the voicemail from the unknown caller kept echoing in his head.

Stay away from Harlow… or join the dead.

---

Back on the Ice

Practice started with hard skating drills.

Alex pushed himself harder than anyone else. His strides were longer and faster than usual. Even he noticed it.

Soon the coaches called for one-on-one battles.

And again it was Alex vs. Jake.

They skated to the faceoff circle and locked eyes.

For a moment the world felt quiet.

Then the puck dropped.

Alex attacked first, skating fast and weaving with the puck. Jake moved just as quickly, blocking every path.

Their shoulders collided. Jake checked him hard but clean.

“You’re holding back,” Alex muttered during a break in the drill.

Jake leaned closer, his blue eyes darker than usual.

“Trust me,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”

For a moment his glove brushed Alex’s leg while they reset for the next faceoff. The small touch sent a strange rush of heat through Alex’s body.

Alex quickly skated away before anyone noticed.

---

A Disturbing Discovery

After practice most players left the rink.

Alex stayed behind to lift weights.

While he was resting between sets, his phone buzzed again.

Another voicemail.

Same rough voice.

“He’s a killer. Check the archives.”

Alex frowned.

Curiosity got the better of him. He slipped into the trainer’s office where a computer sat open.

He searched for old hockey records.

At first nothing seemed strange.

Then he found an old photo.

Jake Harlow in a junior league team photo.

The date: 1954.

Alex stared.

Jake looked exactly the same.

No aging. No difference.

His stomach tightened.

---

The Hunter

That evening Alex walked along the edge of the training camp, where the trees started.

Snow crunched under his boots.

Then he saw someone standing near the tree line.

An older man in a long coat. A silver cross hung around his neck.

Alex walked toward him.

“You the guy leaving me messages?” Alex asked.

The man studied him carefully.

“Name’s Victor Kane,” he said.

The name felt heavy.

“I’ve hunted vampires for thirty years,” Kane continued. “Jake Harlow is one of them.”

Alex crossed his arms. “You expect me to believe that?”

Kane pulled out a faded photograph and handed it to him.

The picture showed Jake playing hockey in old-fashioned gear from the 1920s.

Same face. Same eyes.

“I’ve tracked him across continents,” Kane said coldly. “His kind killed my family.”

Alex’s jaw tightened.

“Stay away from him,” Kane warned. “Or you’ll die beside him.”

Alex didn’t answer.

He turned and ran back toward the cabins.

---

Confrontation

Jake opened the door before Alex even knocked.

“You look shaken,” Jake said.

Alex threw the old photo onto the table.

Jake stared at it.

For the first time, Alex saw real pain on his face.

“Victor Kane,” Jake said quietly.

“You know him.”

Jake nodded slowly.

“He thinks I killed his family in the 1890s,” he said. “I lost control once… long ago. I was close to becoming a monster.”

Alex stepped closer.

Jake looked at him with fear in his eyes.

“You should leave,” Jake said. “Before this gets worse.”

Instead, Alex pulled him into a hug.

“I’m not running,” Alex said.

Jake held him tightly, like he was afraid to let go.

---

Choosing Each Other

Later that night they sat together on the rug near the fireplace.

Neither spoke for a while.

Finally Jake broke the silence.

“There’s a big league gala tomorrow,” he said. “Sponsors, scouts, executives. Kane will probably show up.”

Alex nodded slowly.

“Then we face him.”

Jake studied him.

“You’re serious.”

Alex smiled faintly.

“I’ve played Game 7s in front of twenty thousand fans,” he said. “One angry vampire hunter doesn’t scare me.”

Jake laughed quietly.

They stepped outside onto the frozen lake behind the cabin and skated together under the stars. No crowds. No teams. Just the sound of their blades on the ice.

Jake’s phone buzzed suddenly.

A message from his Flames coach.

“Gala tomorrow. Mandatory. Rumors spreading. Be sharp.”

Alex’s phone buzzed too.

A message from his teammate.

“Heard some weird stories about Harlow. You okay?”

Alex put the phone away.

He looked at Jake.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” he said, “we face it together.”

Jake reached for his hand.

“Always.”

But somewhere in the dark forest beyond the lake, Victor Kane was already watching.

And the real game had only just begun.