ICE 6

"Too much lovin'?" Santiago grunted, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

"You heard me," Coach Ruiz snapped, his dress shoes clicking like claws against the concrete as he stormed past.

Santiago tightened his grip on his stick until the composite creaked. He knew exactly what the old wolf meant. The surge of pre-game testosterone—the territorial spike—usually translated to blood on the ice. It was the reason he stayed solitary. No pack, no mate, no distractions. Not with a legacy contract on the line.

He looked down at his lap. No matter how much his inner wolf howled for the scent of the man in the front row, he’d keep his steel in his pants.

"This is your fault!"

The shout came from a middle-aged beta in a Derek Coleman jersey, his face twisted with a fan's misplaced rage as he leaned over the railing.

Isaac froze, looking around the San Antonio Ice Arena for the target of the man's fury. He saw no one. He leaned toward Camila. "Is he barking at me?"

"I'm talking to you, traitor!" the man roared.

Isaac pointed a finger at his own chest, brow furrowed.

"You cheated on the Alpha! You jumped ship for that Warhawk prick!"

"I didn't cheat on anyone," Isaac shot back, his voice steady despite the spike of adrenaline.

"Even if he did, it’s none of your business, pal!" Camila yelled, standing her ground.

"It’s every fan's business if he broke our star player’s head!"

"Nobody broke Derek Coleman!" Camila stepped into the man's space. "If he’s playing like a pup with a limp, take it up with him, jackass!"

"Your friend’s a puck-chasing slut!" the man spat before retreating up the stairs.

Isaac sank into his seat, the oversized jersey feeling like a target. "Did he seriously just call me that?"

"Sorry. I shouldn't have barked back," Camila muttered, sitting down. "I thought he’d back off if I showed teeth."

"It’s fine."

"It’s not, Isaac."

"Tell that to the rest of the arena." Isaac raised the glitter-crusted sign to hide his face. He’d tried to put it down during the first period when the boos got too loud, but Camila wouldn't let him retreat. "Between this crowd and the comments online, I'm done. I’m staying away from Santiago Vega."

"What? You said the kiss felt like a fated spark!"

"Sparks don't matter when you're the most hated man in Texas. We only have one pro team in the territory, Camila. I’ve effectively exiled myself."

"They don't hate you. They're just looking for a scapegoat because Derek is playing like he's lost his scent."

Isaac glanced at the ice. "He can't even hold his edge. He hasn't taken a single shot. I've never seen him this weak."

"He's got the yips. High stakes."

"You don't think it's about me? What if he’s actually... hurting?"

"So? He discarded you like a chewed-up toy because he thought he was headed for the Hall of Fame and a harem of groupies. Remember?"

Isaac looked at his hands. "Right. I wasn't enough. He needs an army of admirers to feel like an Alpha."

"He’s a narcissist, Isaac. It was never about you satisfying him. You were great. He’s just a stray who won't be collared."

"I never even asked for a collar. That's the joke. I never pushed for a bond because I didn't want him to run. I just pretended he wasn't scenting other people on away games. Pathetic."

"It's not pathetic. You deserve someone who would hunt the world to keep you."

"Being thrashed by Derek doesn't make me feel hunted. It makes me feel used. I let myself be a footnote for five months because he was a star. I thought we weren't in the same league. Turns out I was right."

"Things shift, Isaac. You’ve got a new Enforcer watching your back. Someone who hates your ex as much as you do. That’s a foundation."

"If Santiago keeps this up, we’re just using each other too."

"It’s a mutual contract. Transparent. No lies. Plus, you could probably get some 'no-strings' heat out of the Ice Beast."

"He doesn't do mates."

"He does now. He wouldn't have claimed that kiss in front of the cameras if he wasn't marking territory."

"That was just to bait Derek. I'm shocked he even took the photo."

"He wasn't going to turn down a handsome man in his colors."

"I don't think he likes me." Isaac shook his head, the silver glitter falling from his hair.

"Then why the kiss? He doesn't hate Derek enough to swap spit with strangers. Trust me. You’re wearing his name. He’s all in."

Isaac looked at the black 'Vega' across his chest. It felt wrong. It felt terrifyingly right.

"Good god, man," Nicholas Cruz muttered on the bench, chest heaving. "That sign... damn." He bumped Santiago’s glove. "Best hit of the night."

"Yeah. It’s effective," Santiago agreed. His eyes drifted across the ice to the front row. Isaac was a beacon of black and red in a sea of hostile yellow. If the kid had been sitting behind the bench, Santiago would have snapped his neck trying to look back.

"Riley’s losing his mind. How’d you poach his man?"

"Long story," Santiago said, eyes snapping back to the game.

He was glad he’d stopped for Isaac. If he’d walked away... he probably would’ve been ejected by now. Instead, the Warhawks were up two-nil. The Bobcats were toothless. Twelve shots in forty minutes. Pathetic.

The whistle blew. Line change.

Santiago hit the ice like a gale. He saw Derek trying to dig the puck out of the corner and didn't hesitate. He accelerated, centering his mass, and slammed the Bobcat captain into the boards with the force of a landslide.

"Check the sign, Derek. The view is better from down there," Santiago growled into his ear.

"Get off me!" Derek snarled, muffled by the glass.

Santiago didn't move. He pinned him, feeling the smaller man's heart hammering like a trapped bird until Nicholas swiped the puck and cleared the zone.

Santiago turned to follow the play, but his skates vanished. He hit the ice face-first, the cold stinging his jaw.

The bastard tripped him.

The ref’s arm went up instantly.

"Oh, come on!" Derek whined, skating to the official. "He’s a clutz! He fell on his own!"

The ref didn't blink. "Hard to stay up when you hook an ankle with your stick, Coleman. Box. Two minutes."

Santiago hauled himself up, skating past the penalty box with a smirk. "Jealousy is a bad look, Derek. Maybe if your stick was bigger, you wouldn't have to use it like a hook."

The Warhawks capitalized on the power play. Three-nil.

By the time the final buzzer rang, the San Antonio Ice Arena was a tomb. One win down. Three to go.

Santiago headed for the bus, but his mind was a loop of Isaac Corres. He didn't have a number. He didn't have a pack link. He had a name and a viral photo.

He pulled out his phone. He’d never touched social media—too much noise—but he set up "HockeyLife2222" in thirty seconds.

He found Isaac’s profile instantly. The profile picture was the two of them. The kiss.

Santiago stared at his shoes. "Hey, Victor."

Victor Alvarez looked up, lacing his oxfords. "Yeah?"

"How do you message a guy without looking like a predator?"

Victor blinked. "Me? You’re asking me? Great game, by the way."

"Just answer."

"I don't know. Ask Brandon. Hey, Scott!"

Brandon Scott looked over. "What's up?"

"What’s the line for a guy you want to see again? Something that won't get you blocked."

"Keep it simple," Brandon shrugged. "'Hey, you looked hot. When are we doing it again?' Works every time."

Santiago deleted the 'hot' and the 'doing it.' He typed: You look good in my jersey. The sign was a hit. Can I see you again soon?

He hit send before he could overthink the word 'soon.'

He watched his screen all the way to the exit. When he stepped out into the humid Texas night, he saw a glimmer of silver by the fence.

"Hey," Santiago said, walking over. "You stayed."

"Great game," Isaac said, a wide smile flashing before it flickered out.

"Thanks for the seats!" Camila chirped, but Santiago was locked on Isaac.

"The tickets. The jersey. We just wanted to say thanks," Isaac said quickly.

"You're welcome." Santiago scanned him. Isaac looked different. Worn down. His eyes were rimmed with red.

"What's the matter, cupcake?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie. You've been crying."

"You don't know my face well enough to say that," Isaac challenged, chin up.

"I know enough. Did you get my message?"

Isaac’s shoulders dropped. "What message? I haven't looked at my phone. It’s a war zone in there."

"The photo?"

Isaac nodded. "It's gone everywhere. People are... they're being animals."

"Mostly Bobcats fans and bitter omegas," Camila added. "Saying he's a slut. Saying you should date someone 'worthy.'"

Santiago’s jaw tightened. A low growl vibrated in his chest. "Who? Give me names."

"It's the internet, Santiago. It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." He stepped closer to the fence. "If they hurt you, I’ll break them."

Isaac let out a small, wet laugh. "You can't fight the whole internet."

"I've got a long off-season."

"I appreciate the gesture, but I think the 'fake dating' thing is a bust. The heat is too much."

Santiago felt a spike of panic. He didn't want to stop. Not just for the sabotage, but for the way Isaac looked in his colors.

"Don't listen to them, Isaac. They’re blind if they don't see you. And they're cowards for hiding behind screens. You walked up to the most hated man in the league today. That’s more heart than any of them have."

"You're just saying that to keep Derek tilted."

"I'll pinky swear it." Santiago poked his massive pinky through the chain-link. Isaac laughed and looped his own around it. "If you don't believe my words, remember the parking lot. Was that a lie?"

Isaac licked his lips. "You said it had been a while."

"Excuses. Why did Derek want you?"

"I was convenient. I was the guy who worked on his hair and didn't ask questions."

"Then he's a fool. Are you heading out?" Santiago gestured to the idling bus.

"Back to the hotel," Isaac said. "And you?"

"Some of the guys are going to the Eclipse Lounge to celebrate."

"Have fun," Isaac said, turning to leave.

"I don't suppose a Bobcat fan would want to grab a drink with the enemy?" Santiago asked.

Isaac paused. "It’s the first jersey anyone ever gave me. I can be a traitor for one night."

"I'll message you the time."

"Maybe."

Santiago watched them walk away. He climbed the bus steps, feeling like a teenager. He sat by the window, looking out through the tint—and then he saw him.

Derek Coleman was marching toward Isaac, his face a mask of pure, unhinged fury.

Santiago’s hand went to the emergency lever.