CHAPTER 2— ALPHAS SMELL WEAKNESS

MICAH 

Practice didn’t stop after the collision.

If anything, it sharpened.

The whistle shrieked, cutting through the air like a blade, and bodies surged back into motion. Skates carved into the ice. Sticks clashed. The rink swallowed sound and spat it back louder.

I forced my breathing steady as I skated, ignoring the lingering burn in my chest and the way my suppressants throbbed beneath my skin like an exposed nerve.

Don’t touch your pocket.

Don’t adjust.

Don’t react.

I’d learned early that Alphas noticed hesitation faster than blood.

The hit hadn’t exposed me.

But something had changed.

I felt it in the way heads turned when I passed.

On the way shoulders angled toward me just a second too late.

In this way space closed faster than it should have.

Marked.

Not claimed—yet.

Tested.

A puck slid toward me, hard and fast. I caught it cleanly, pivoted, and accelerated down the ice. A defender rushed me head-on, teeth bared, scent flaring sharp and aggressive.

He expected me to slow.

I didn’t.

I cut left at the last second, ducked beneath his reach, and sent the puck slicing between two others before slamming it into the net.

The impact rang like a gunshot.

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then noise exploded—shouts, snarls, sticks hitting the ice. Approval mixed with irritation in equal measure. I coasted to a stop, pulse racing but expression calm.

Don’t celebrate.

Don’t apologize.

I skated back into formation.

That was when the checks started coming late.

A shoulder slammed into my ribs after the puck was gone. Another caught my arm, sending pain flashing white-hot down to my fingers. A third clipped my skates just enough to throw me off balance.

I went down hard.

Laughter followed. Low. Predatory.

I pushed myself up immediately, jaw tight, ignoring the way my body screamed. Pain was easier to manage than instinct.

The coach didn’t call it.

Of course he didn’t.

This wasn’t a game. It was filtration.

I took the next pass and moved faster.

Speed was my shield. Precision my weapon. I stayed just out of reach, just unpredictable enough that they couldn’t corner me without breaking formation.

That only made them angrier.

“Smells wrong,” someone muttered as they passed me.

My stomach clenched.

I adjusted my breathing by instinct—slower, deeper, forcing my scent down, down, down. The suppressants held, but barely. Sweat trickled down my spine, ice-cold despite the heat building under my skin.

Then it happened.

A hit from behind.

Hard. Deliberate.

I didn’t see it coming.

My face hit the ice, teeth rattling as the impact knocked the wind out of me. Pain bloomed across my back, sharp and breath-stealing.

For a second, I stayed down.

Bad idea.

Before I could even brace myself to rise, a presence crashed into the space above me—violent, explosive.

A roar cut through the rink.

Not human.

The Alpha who’d hit me never stood a chance.

He went airborne, slammed into the boards with a sound that made the entire rink freeze. Ice dust rained down as his body slid bonelessly to the ground.

Silence fell like a held breath.

I rolled onto my side and looked up.

He stood there—broad shoulders tense, fists clenched, eyes burning gold. His dominance flooded the space, thick and absolute, pressing everyone back without a word.

Ronan.

No one challenged him.

No one spoke.

The coach stared for a long moment, then blew his whistle once—sharp, final.

“Penalty,” he said flatly, not looking at Ronan. “Both of you. Off the ice.”

Ronan didn’t argue.

He didn’t look at me either.

He turned and skated away as if nothing had happened.

The Alpha he’d flattened was hauled to his feet by teammates, shaking, furious—but silent. No one met Ronan’s gaze.

Message delivered.

I pushed myself up, muscles tight, and skated toward the bench. My ribs screamed with every breath, but adrenaline drowned it out.

He didn’t protect me.

He claimed territory.

And everyone had seen it.

The locker room was worse.

The moment the door shut behind us, Alpha scent flooded the enclosed space—thick, layered, territorial. Sweat-soaked gear hit the floor. Shirts came off. Wolves paced just beneath the skin.

I kept my head down and moved fast.

In the open, I could control distance.

Here, proximity was unavoidable.

I chose a locker at the far end, back to the wall, and stripped out of my gear with mechanical efficiency. My hands didn’t shake. I made sure of it.

Steam hissed from the showers. Laughter echoed. Dominance flared and receded in pulses as Alphas jostled for space and status.

I didn’t join them.

I reached into my bag, fingers brushing the injector case hidden beneath spare tape and wraps. Not yet. Not unless—

“Hey.”

The voice was friendly. Too easy.

I looked up to find a dark-haired Alpha leaning against the lockers, eyes bright with interest rather than hostility.

Jayden Bartels.

I recognized him from the ice—quick, clever, always watching.

“Good skate,” he said, smiling. “You surprised a lot of people out there.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” I replied.

He laughed. “That’s worse.”

His gaze flicked briefly to my bag. Then back to my face.

“You know,” he added lightly, “Captain doesn’t usually step in like that.”

I stilled.

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“I know.” Jayden’s smile widened just a fraction. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

“Do well and get fully admissions into the academy.”

Before I could respond, the locker room went quiet.

Not all at once—but enough.

I felt it before I saw him.

Ronan entered without announcement, presence filling the space like a storm front. Conversations died. Alphas straightened instinctively.

He didn’t look around.

He didn’t need to.

His gaze locked onto me immediately—sharp, assessing, unreadable.

For a moment, the air between us felt stretched thin, electric.

Then he turned away.

“Captain,” someone muttered.

Ronan didn’t acknowledge it. He stripped out of his gear with efficient movements, muscles flexing beneath scarred skin. Every line of him radiated authority.

I finished packing quickly.

The longer I stayed, the more dangerous it became.

As I slung my bag over my shoulder, I caught Ronan’s reflection in the metal locker door.

He was watching me.

Not hunger.

Not anger.

Calculation.

I walked past him without stopping, keeping my pace even, my scent controlled. My heart hammered as I pushed through the locker room door and into the cold corridor beyond.

Only when the door shut behind me did I let myself breathe.

I leaned against the wall for a second, chest rising and falling too fast, then straightened.

He hadn’t exposed me.

He hadn’t confronted me.

But he had stepped in.

And at Black Ice Alpha Academy, nothing was done without reason.

I didn’t know which terrified me more—

That he was suspicious.

Or that he wasn’t willing to let anyone else touch me while he decided what I was.

Either way, one thing was clear.

I wasn’t invisible anymore.

And on Black Ice, prey didn’t get second chances.