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The cold wind of the Kingdom of Valeria bit through the stone walls of the Silvercrest Arena, but it was nothing compared to the chill in my veins.

Today was supposed to be the day I, Collins Parker, the fallen golden boy of the Valeria social scene, was sacrificed. There was no groom waiting for me at the end of the ice. My future husband, Ethan Carter—the most lethal Alpha to ever captain a hockey team—had been a hollow shell, trapped in a coma since his wolf was shattered in a brutal hit six months ago. The healers said his spark would flicker out by the winter solstice.

In a desperate move of lunar pack magic, Margaret Carter had arranged this union. The Carters were the apex predators of the hockey world and the wealthiest pack in Valeria, but no sane male omega or socialite would tether their soul to a dying wolf.

I stood before the locker room mirror, my frame draped in a ceremonial white fur suit. The heavy silver embroidery caught the light, highlighting my pale skin and the sharp, desperate edge in my eyes. I looked like a prize ready for slaughter.

I had twenty minutes. My thumbs blurred over my phone screen, heart hammering against my ribs.

Before the Silvercrest Alphas forced this bond, I had a lover. By a sick twist of the Moon Mother’s irony, he was Ethan’s own nephew, Mason Carter. We had kept our heat-cycles and our secret trysts hidden from the pack. I had begged Mason to run with me last night—to leave Valeria and the ice behind.

He never texted back.

I couldn't sit still. Grabbing my phone, I slipped out of the dressing room, my boots clicking against the concrete floor. I stopped dead outside a private box when a familiar, shrill laugh pierced the air.

It was Savannah Blake, my sister.

"I bet that idiot Collins is still waiting for you, Mason! You should go play the part of the devoted lover one last time. What if he scents the trap and bolts before the ceremony?"

"You think he has a choice now?" Mason’s voice was a low growl I no longer recognized. I heard the rustle of fabric—the sound of him marking her. "Even if he tries to run, the pack guards will collar him and drag him to the center of the rink by his throat."

Savannah giggled, a sound like breaking glass. "Collins will lose his mind when he realizes you’ve been sharing my bed every night since Ethan fell."

A physical blow couldn't have hurt more. My wolf thrashed inside me, howling in agony. I backed away, my knuckles white as I gripped my ceremonial robes.

When my father, Andrew Parker, collapsed after our family’s hockey franchise went bankrupt, my stepfather, Denise Harper, didn't hesitate. He sold me to the Carters to settle the debt, masking the betrayal as "family loyalty." But now I saw the truth: Mason, the man who promised to protect me, was just waiting for Ethan to die so he could scavenge the remains of the Silvercrest empire.

My dreams weren't just dead; they were hunted down.

As the whispers in the room grew more heated, the grief in my chest turned into a block of black ice. For years, I had endured Denise and Savannah’s cruelty for the sake of my father’s legacy. I had been the "good son," the "loyal mate."

No more. I was done being the prey.

The ceremony was a blur of silver and cold. I walked onto the ice of the Silvercrest Arena alone, clutching a bouquet of winter lilies. I spoke the vows to the empty air and slid the heavy platinum band onto my own finger.

The gathered Alphas and scouts looked on in confusion, whispering about the "sham marriage," but I didn't care. As of this moment, I was a Carter. I was protected by the laws of the Great Pack. I was untouchable.

That night, I was escorted to Ethan’s mountain estate—a sprawling fortress of glass and stone worth over 150 million credits. Before I could even scent the perimeter, the head housekeeper, Patricia Bennett, shoved me into the master suite.

My breath hitched. Ethan Carter lay on a massive furs-covered bed. Even in his shattered state, he radiated power. His features were carved from granite, his jawline sharp enough to draw blood. His skin was deathly pale from the long hibernation, but his beauty was terrifying.

If he were awake, a high-ranking Alpha like him wouldn't have looked twice at a disgraced socialite like me. Before the accident, he was the King of the Ice, the head of Silvercrest Holdings, a man rumored to be as ruthless in the boardroom as he was in the rink. They said he had ties to the darkest corners of Valeria—that he broke anyone who challenged his authority.

The heavy oak door creaked open.

"I'm so sorry, Collins! The pack meetings ran late, I only just got away to see you," Mason said, stepping into the room with a mask of fake concern.

"I just bonded with your Alpha Uncle," I snapped, my voice cutting through the air like a skate blade. "Address me with the respect my rank deserves."

Mason blinked, startled. "I know you're hurting. I didn't run with you because I wanted to secure our future. Ethan is a corpse in a suit. You won't have to lift a finger. Once he passes, Attorney Lucas Grant will ensure the entire Silvercrest estate falls to you—and then, it belongs to us."

He reached out to grab my hands, his scent cloying and dishonest. "Everything he built will be ours, Collins."

I looked at his hands and felt a wave of pure nausea. "Get your filth off me!" I roared, shoving him back.

Mason gasped. This wasn't the submissive Collins he knew. He moved to grab me again, to force an explanation, but then his face went ghostly white. His eyes fixed on something over my shoulder, his jaw dropping in sheer terror.

"He... he's..." Mason stammered, stumbling backward.

I spun around. On the bed, the "dead" Alpha’s fingers twitched against the silk sheets. Slowly, with the weight of a mountain moving, Ethan Carter opened his eyes—and they were glowing a lethal, predatory gold.