ICE 3

"Isaac," the mountain of a man rumbled, his voice vibrating through the chain-link fence and deep into Isaac’s marrow.

Camila had managed to secure two passes to the San Antonio Ice Arena because a couple of her clients had zero interest in watching their husbands grunt over a puck. It cost the salon a year of complimentary grooming for their entire lineage. Isaac felt a brief pang for the husbands' friends who got bumped, but his desperation outweighed their weekend plans. Camila had offered to come, but Isaac didn't need both of them ending up in a silver-lined holding cell.

Getting the tickets was the easy part. Infiltrating the team parking zone was a suicide mission. Isaac had slipped through before, but only when Derek Coleman was barking orders at the guards to let his "mate" pass.

Today, for the series opener, the guard at the back gate was a stranger—short, blocky, and smelling of burnt coffee and suspicion. Isaac wove through a cluster of reporters, their phones out like daggers, waiting for a scent of the visiting pack.

The guard wore a Capital Ice Dome polo. Northern security.

"Roster and staff only," the guard snapped, his eyes raking over Isaac.

"I’m aware," Isaac said, trying to keep his scent neutral. "I was hoping for a professional courtesy."

"No courtesies. Fan entrance is three blocks that way."

"I'm with the team." Isaac didn't mention he used to be the "flavor of the moon" for the Bobcats’ lead jerk. "I need a word with Santiago Vega. It’ll take thirty seconds."

"I know who Vega is, kid. You press?"

"Sure," Isaac lied, bracing himself.

"Pull the other one. Vega doesn't talk to press. Not before, during, or after he draws blood."

"I know the drill," Isaac countered, having memorized the Enforcer’s dossier. "He’s a loner, he doesn't mate, he hates cameras, and he breaks the fingers of anyone who tries to track his scent. I’ve done my homework. This is vital."

The guard’s eyebrows shot up.

"Fine, it’s vital to me," Isaac admitted.

"The answer is no, pup. Santiago Vega doesn't do groupies. Move before I have the Enforcers toss you for trespassing."

Isaac was about to argue that a private security guard had no legal standing when the bus door hissed open. A man stepped out who didn't just command space—he owned the atmosphere. Santiago Vega. He was wearing a custom-tailored suit that looked like it was struggling to contain his massive, corded muscles. He looked less like an athlete and more like a high-ranking Alpha warlord.

Twenty feet away, the "Woolly Mammoth" locked eyes with the guard, then shifted his dark, predatory gaze to Isaac. His face was a mask of granite, framed by a thick black beard and wild, dark hair.

"Santiago! Are you Santiago?" Isaac called out, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Can I have a moment?"

The reporters nearby recoiled, sensing the shift in the air. They’d seen the footage of Vega putting a man into a coma with one punch. They weren't sticking around for an encore.

But Isaac held his ground. Vega froze, a black duffel slung over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed as if looking at a glitch in the world. Isaac pulled out his phone. The guard went into a tailspin.

"Are you death-wishing? Put that away!" the guard hissed. "I’m sorry, Mr. Vega. I’m clearing the area. I’ll get the local security to sweep this trash out."

"What’s his business?" Vega’s voice was a low, subterranean growl.

The guard scoffed. "Standard groupie nonsense."

"I’m not a groupie!" Isaac shouted, teeth gritted. "I want a photo. An 'ussie.' I want you in the frame with me."

"No."

"No? You won't help out a guy who just got his heart shredded?"

"No. You’re wearing Bobcats colors," Vega rumbled, his eyes scanning Isaac’s blue and yellow striped shirt.

Isaac looked down. Right. Wearing the rival pack’s sigil while asking their lead killer for a favor wasn't his brightest move.

"What if I lose the shirt?" Isaac shot back.

The guard chuckled. "Definitely a groupie."

"I am not!" Isaac snapped. "The only player I’ve ever been with is Derek Coleman."

The air pressure seemed to drop. Vega’s expression went from cold to lethal. If the sky had split open with lightning, Isaac wouldn't have been surprised.

"Changed my mind," Vega said, his voice dropping an octave. "The answer is a hard no on the photo."

"Oh, so you hate Coleman too? Welcome to the club," Isaac yelled at the man’s retreating back. "He despises you, by the way. He’s terrified of you. He thinks you’re going to open his jugular with a skate blade in the third period."

"I'll take that under advisement," Vega called back, still walking.

"I hope you make him bleed!" Isaac screamed.

Vega stopped dead. He turned, his expensive dress shoes clicking on the asphalt. "Why?"

"Typical messy breakup spite," Isaac said, waving a hand dismissively. "But if you like causing him pain, psychological hits are usually more permanent than physical ones."

Vega began walking back. He moved like a landslide.

"You were Coleman’s toy for the month? Or just the weekend?" the Enforcer asked.

"We ended it yesterday. Though he claims we were never actually 'mated.'"

"He’s a dog," Vega grunted.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"And you want to use me to get to him?"

"I want one photo to make him rot with jealousy for using me for five cycles. You’re the only wolf in the league he actually fears. He won't care if I’m with anyone else."

"You think it’ll burn his blood if it's me?"

"I think it’ll set his entire world on fire."

Vega took a breath that expanded his barrel chest, then muttered, "Fine."

"Fine?" Isaac blinked.

"Do you want the shot or not, Cupcake?" Vega huffed.

"Cupcake?" Isaac whispered, uncertain.

"Yeah. You look soft and sweet, but I’m not biting. I don't have a sweet tooth."

"Good for you," Isaac said, ignoring the sting. "So you're doing it?"

"If you shut up and get it over with. I have a war to start."

"Right. Steve, let him in," Vega commanded.

The guard, Steve, opened the gate with a scowl. Isaac hurried over to the massive man. He held up his phone, but Vega was nearly a foot taller. It was like trying to fit a mountain and a sapling in one frame.

"You might need to lean down. Or hold the phone?" Isaac suggested.

"Steve," Vega barked. The guard froze. "Take the photo."

"You’re serious? You're helping him?"

Vega let out a low, vibrating growl that made Isaac’s skin prickle.

"Take the damn phone!"

"Yes, sir," Steve stammered, grabbing the device with shaking hands.

Isaac didn't expect Vega to move. The Enforcer hooked a heavy arm around Isaac’s shoulders, dragging him flush against his side. The heat coming off him was intense, smelling of fresh cedar and cold iron.

"Got a few," Steve muttered.

"Thanks," Isaac said, checking the screen. Vega’s arm hadn't moved. He was actually smelling the man. "Mind if I post this?"

"I’d be insulted if you didn't," Vega said.

"Well, thanks. Good luck tonight. I’m still a Bobcats fan, so I hope you lose the series in game seven."

"A fan, but not a groupie?"

"Why else would I trade a year of labor for tickets? It’s Silver Cup season, man!"

Vega’s lip twitched—the ghost of a smile. "If you really want to wreck Coleman’s head, you should hold up a sign that says my stick is larger than his."

Isaac laughed. "That's perfect. He’d lose his mind!"

"I was joking," Vega said, his face hardening again.

"I’m not. I’ve got time before puck drop. Only problem is..."

"What?"

"I can't put a lie on a sign and wave it in front of twenty thousand people."

Vega let out a gruff sound. "It isn't a lie."

Isaac’s eyes instinctively dropped to the front of the man’s tailored trousers. The guard let out a choked, laughing cough.

"Every man says that," Isaac challenged. "I'm not a liar, no matter how much I hate Derek."

"Trust me," Vega rumbled. "My... stick is larger."

"I want to believe you, Santiago. Really. But without evidence, I can't put that in glitter."

"Glitter?"

"Oh, there will be so much glitter. Stenciled, perfectly spaced glitter."

"Now I have to see this sign."

"No proof, no sign."

"You want proof?" Vega asked. He turned to the guard. "Take my bag inside. Give us the lot."

Steve grabbed the duffel, nearly buckling under the weight, and vanished into the arena after one last confused look.

"I need to see that sign in the stands today," Vega said, his voice turning dark. "I have a rage issue when it comes to Coleman’s face. Your sign gives me something to hang over him."

"So, a trade? An ussie for a glitter sign?"

"Fair deal."

"Then my answer is both," Isaac said, his heart racing. "I need to see and feel the proof. Just to be certain."

Vega leaned in, his shadow swallowing Isaac whole. He grabbed the chain-link fence behind Isaac’s head, pinning him.

"What's your name?"