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Mate on thin ice
Last Updated : 2026-02-23
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Mable Thorne is on her third life, and she’s done playing the victim. In Life One, she was betrayed. In Life Two, she was murdered. In Life Three, she’s coming for blood.She’s dating the pack’s most dangerous disaster—pro-hockey star Darin Salvator—to burn her ex’s reputation to the ground. Darin Salvator is on his fifth life, and he’s done playing the hero. He’s watched every version of his mate die across timelines he can’t escape. He’s numb, he’s scandalous, and he’s accepted that they are a doomed bloodline. Then Mable knocks on his door with a fake-dating contract and a scent that screams of a future he thought fate had stolen. But there’s a ghost between them—a memory of a child lost in a past life, and a lie that says Darin was the one who killed it. On the ice, they are a PR stunt. In the shadows, they are a war. And this time, fate is not just trying to kill them—it’s trying to erase them.
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Mate on thin ice 005
FIRST FAKE SPARK ~MABLE POV~ The campus cafe is packed—Friday afternoon crowd, hockey guys laughing too loud, the smell of burnt espresso and wet jackets hanging thick in the air. I get there early, hoodie up, nursing a black coffee that’s gone cold. My stomach is in knots, but it’s not just nerves. It’s the phantom ache. It’s been a slow, pulsing burn ever since I woke up in this life. Every time I think about the ceremony, or Aiden, or the ultrasound glitch tucked in my bag, it stabs at me. A reminder that I’m playing for more than just my own pride. Darin walks in at exactly 7:02. He doesn't just enter a room; he commands it. Hood up, dark jeans, a black hoodie that makes his shoulders look like they could hold up the ceiling. Heads turn. Phones lift. He doesn’t notice—or he’s lived through enough lives to stop caring. His eyes find me in the corner booth instantly, like he’s got a radar tuned to my specific frequency. He slides in across from me without asking. “
Last Updated : 2026-02-23Mate on thin ice 004
CRACKS IN THE ICE ~DARIN POV~ The door clicks shut behind her, and the room goes dead quiet. Maybe too quiet. I stand there staring at the wood like it owes me a refund for the last four lives. Her scent is still hanging in the air—rain-soaked concrete, sharp wolf, and that sweet, ghostly undertone that makes my chest ache like a fresh break. I know that scent. I’ve known it four fucking times before. Different hair, different names, same soul. But this time? This time, there’s an echo I haven't felt before. That ultrasound she was carrying… Even through the paper, the scent of it hit my wolf like a physical blow. A phantom ache that matches the one rotting in my own gut. My fist hits the wall before I can talk myself out of it. Plaster cracks. Knuckles split. The pain flares bright and clean—better than the numb that’s been sitting in my bones for years. I lean my forehead against the cool surface, breathing through the roar of my wolf. “Fuck you,” I mutter. To th
Last Updated : 2026-02-23Mate on thin ice 003
THE LIE THAT BINDS ~MABLE POV~ The door swings open, and there he is. No shirt. Just low-slung gray sweats hanging off his hips like they’re barely trying. Black hair still wet from a shower, falling into those stupid, piercing ice-blue eyes. He’s bigger up close—taller, broader, the kind of build that makes you feel small even when you’re not. But as my eyes scan the hard lines of his abs, that phantom ache in my lower stomach flares up again. It’s a sharp, stabbing heat, a physical memory of the heartbeat I lost in Life Two. My hand instinctively twitches toward my stomach before I force it to my side. I swallow. Hard. “Hi,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’m Mable. The… escort? Except I’m not. I mean, I’m not here for that. Obviously.” He doesn’t move. He just leans one shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over a chest that looks like it was carved from granite. He’s watching me with an intensity that feels like he’s trying to read my DNA. “Obvio
Last Updated : 2026-02-23Mate on thin ice 002
ECHOES OF FAILURE ~DARIN POV~ The ice doesn’t give a shit about how many times you’ve died. I dig my blades in harder, crossovers ripping the surface, shoulder-checking the boards just to feel the rattle in my teeth. Practice is half over, and I’m already sweating through my jersey, my lungs burning like they’re trying to remind me I’m still breathing. Fifth life. Same rink. Same numb fucking routine. Coach blows the whistle. “Salvator! Are you skating or daydreaming?” I flip him off without looking back. He knows better than to push. I’m the Silver Ridge Blizzard’s pro-star and its most expensive liability. I play hard, I party harder, and I don't follow the rules—mostly because I know the rules are a lie. In the locker room later, I strip my gear slow, letting the cold air bite skin that never quite warms up. I step into the shower and crank the heat until it burns. It doesn’t help. The water runs red for a second in my head, like it always does when the memories c
Last Updated : 2026-02-23
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