Hidden Omega At Alpha Academy

MICAH

The first thing I learned about Black Ice Alpha Academy was that it didn’t care who you were.

The second was that it could smell fear.

The doors to the rink slid open with a hydraulic hiss, and the scent hit me instantly—raw Alpha dominance layered thick in the air like frostbite. Sweat, iron, ozone, wolf. My lungs locked for half a second before I forced myself to breathe normally.

In.

Out.

Slow.

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, grounding myself as my boots stepped onto the concrete. The suppressants burned low and steady in my veins, like a warning flare that never went out. I took my dose an hour ago. Another one waited in my pocket, just in case.

Just in case, if you lose control, you’re dead.

Publicly, this place was called the World Hockey Academy—a factory for champions, Olympians, prodigies. Cameras loved it. Sponsors poured money into it. Parents bragged about it.

Privately, it was something else entirely.

Alpha Academy.

An institution built to break wolves and rebuild them stronger. A hierarchy carved in blood, sweat, and enchanted ice. The rink beneath my feet was warded to withstand supernatural force—so Alphas could hit harder, skate faster, and fight without restraint.

Omegas weren’t allowed.

Officially, we didn’t exist.

I adjusted my duffel bag on my shoulder and kept walking, posture relaxed, head up. Confident, but not cocky. Visible, but not loud. The way an Alpha was supposed to move.

Around me, the other students gathered in clusters—tall, broad-shouldered, radiating dominance. Some laughed. Some shoved each other. Some stared openly, assessing, ranking.

I felt it immediately.

The attention.

It crawled over my skin like static.

New blood always attracts predators.

I hadn’t come here for glory.

I came because this was the only place left where I could learn control without being exposed.

My father had been very clear about that.

Black Ice wasn’t just an academy—it was a shield. Warded ice. Controlled violence. Alphas too focused on dominance hierarchies to notice what didn’t fit neatly into them.

“If you can survive here,” he’d told me, voice calm but unyielding, “you can survive anywhere.”

This place would sharpen me. Teach me restraint disguised as strength. It would give me a rank, a name, a record that said Alpha loudly enough to drown out anything else.

And when the world eventually came looking—

I would be ready.

I still remembered my father’s warning.

“Build power. Build trust. Hide what doesn’t fit,” he’d said. “Move like an Alpha. Speak like one. Never show fear. This place doesn’t reward weakness—it hunts it.”

He’d chosen Black Ice for a reason.

Not because it was safe.

Because it was controlled.

If I could survive here, where dominance was expected, violence was structured, and mistakes were punished publicly, then nothing outside these walls would ever break me.

I reached the edge of the rink and stopped, skates dangling from my fingers, and let my gaze sweep across the ice. It was darker than any rink I’d trained on before—obsidian-smooth, etched faintly with glowing runes beneath the surface. The wards shimmered when an Alpha skated too hard, absorbing the impact.

This ice didn’t crack.

Players did.

“Fresh meat?”

The voice came from behind me. Casual. Amused.

I turned slowly to face a tall Alpha with silver-blond hair and a grin too sharp to be friendly. His scent pressed against mine, testing.

I didn’t flinch.

“First year,” I said evenly.

His eyes flicked over me—lean build, controlled stance, no obvious signs of submission or challenge. His grin faded just a fraction.

“Huh.” He tilted his head. “You don’t smell like much.”

My heart skipped once.

I shrugged. “Guess I don’t sweat under pressure.”

That earned a laugh—from him and a few others nearby. The tension eased, just enough.

He lost interest and turned away.

I exhaled through my nose and knelt to lace my skates, hands steady despite the way my pulse hammered in my ears.

Control is survival.

That was what my adoptive father had taught me long before I understood what I was.

Before I knew why my scent had to be hidden.

Before I knew why every Alpha made my instincts curl inward and bare their teeth at the same time.

Before I learned that this academy—his academy—was the only place powerful enough to shield me from the world.

And the most dangerous place I could possibly be.

The sound hit first.

A heavy thud against the boards, followed by the sharp crack of bodies colliding on ice.

I looked up.

At the far end of the rink, a group of Alphas were already skating—fast, brutal, unrestrained. One player went down hard, sliding across the ice as another loomed over him, dominance flaring like heat distortion.

And then—

Everything shifted.

It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. Conversations dipped. Laughter quieted. The air thickened.

A presence stepped onto the ice.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t posture.

He simply existed—and the rink bent around him.

Tall. Broad. Dark hair cut short, eyes a striking, unnatural gold that caught the rink lights like fire beneath ice. His movements were efficient, predatory, every line of his body built for impact.

Alpha.

No—apex.

I felt it like a hand around my throat.

My wolf recoiled instantly, instincts screaming danger, dominance, submit or run. At the same time, something else stirred beneath my ribs—warm, traitorous, curious.

Hunger.

I swallowed hard and looked away.

Don’t stare. Don’t challenge yourself.

But I felt his gaze land on me anyway.

Sharp. Weighing. Unmoving.

As if he could sense the lie stitched into my bones.

“Alright!” the coach barked, skates screeching as he blew his whistle. “New blood on the ice. Ranked drills. Let’s see if you’re worth the funding.”

Groans and grins followed as players pushed off toward the benches. Names were called. Rankings announced.

When mine came, the coach didn’t hesitate.

“Tyler. High-tier group.”

My head snapped up.

A few Alphas turned to look at me, surprise flickering across their faces. I kept my expression neutral, though my stomach dropped.

High-tier meant dominance. Pressure. Close contact.

It meant him.

I stepped onto the ice.

The moment my blades touched the surface, the wards flared faintly beneath my feet, responding to the weight of my presence. I forced myself to skate smoothly, muscles loose, balance perfect.

I’d trained for this my entire life.

The drills were merciless.

Full-contact passes. Aggressive checks. Speed tests designed to push bodies past safe limits. Alphas slammed into each other with bone-jarring force, snarls flashing across faces when instincts slipped.

I adapted.

Where they relied on strength, I relied on timing.

Where they brute-forced openings, I slipped through gaps that shouldn’t exist.

I didn’t dominate.

I survived.

But survival here was enough to draw blood.

A shoulder clipped mine hard enough to rattle my teeth. I spun, recovered, stole the puck, and cut across the ice in a blur of motion. The crowd noise spiked—approval, irritation, interest.

And then a shadow crossed my path.

He was there without warning.

A wall of muscle and intent.

We collided.

The impact ripped the breath from my lungs as we went down together, skidding across the ice in a tangle of limbs and skates. My back hit hard, stars bursting behind my eyes.

Before I could move, a hand fisted in my jersey.

Strong. Unyielding.

His scent crashed over me—smoke, frost, something wild and feral beneath it.

My suppressants burned.

Too hot. Too fast.

For a split second, I was certain he could smell it.

The truth.

His grip tightened, not rough—but possessive. Curious.

Golden eyes locked onto mine.

Up close, they were devastating.

“Funny,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only I could hear it.

“For an Alpha… you smell like prey.”

“You do know that this skate is a test right.”

Ice flooded my veins.

I tore free and scrambled to my feet, heart slamming against my ribs as I pushed off down the rink, not daring to look back.

Behind me, I felt his gaze follow.

Black Ice didn’t forgive weakness.

And it never let prey go once it noticed the chase had begun.