004— KAI VOLKOV.

THREE MONTHS LATER.

The sound of skates cutting ice was the only thing that kept me sane.

I pushed harder, faster, my legs burning as I raced down the rink. Cold air bit at my lungs but I welcomed it. Anything to feel something other than the constant ache in my chest.

"Gaya! Pass!"

I snapped the puck across the ice to Mari, our center. She caught it and fired at the goal. The buzzer went off.

"Nice!" Coach Petrov blew his whistle. "Water break. Five minutes."

I skated to the bench and grabbed my bottle, downing half of it in one go. Sweat dripped down my back, making the rejection mark burn.

It always burned. Three months and it hadn't gotten better.

"You're skating like someone's chasing you." Anya dropped onto the bench beside me, pulling off her helmet. "Which would be great if we were running drills, but we're supposed to be working on plays."

"I was working on plays."

"You were working on escaping something." She gave me a look. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Didn't think so." She took a drink from her bottle. "Are you coming to Murphy's after practice? The team's meeting up."

"I can't. I have a shift at the diner."

"Gaya, come on. You always have a shift."

Because rent didn't pay itself. Because I was living under a fake ID in a border town three hundred miles from Silvercrest.

Because Gaya Morrison hadn't existed three months ago. And paper trails weren't free.

"Some of us have bills, Anya."

"And some of us have friends who worry when you work three jobs and barely sleep." She bumped my shoulder. "I miss hanging out with you outside of hockey."

The genuine concern in her voice made my chest tight. Anya had been the first person to talk to me when I'd shown up at tryouts three months ago. 

She'd seen me collapse during drills and instead of asking questions, she'd just helped me to the bench and gotten me water.

"Next week," I said. "I promise. One night at Murphy's."

"I'm holding you to that." She grinned. "And you're buying the second round."

"Deal."

Practice lasted another hour. By the end, my legs were shaking violently. I made it to the locker room before the edges of my vision started to blur.

Not now. Not here.

I sat on the bench and pressed my hand against my chest, breathing through my nose. In for four. Out for four. The technique the ER doctor had taught me two weeks ago.

"You okay?"

I looked up. Anya was watching me from across the locker room, half-dressed, concern written all over her face.

"Fine. Just tired."

"You're always tired." She came over and sat beside me. "Look, I know you've got your secrets. And I respect that. But whatever you're dealing with, it's getting worse."

I wanted to tell her. Goddess, I wanted to tell someone. But how did you explain a rejection mark? How did you say your fated mate destroyed you and killed your family and you were dying slowly from a curse that had no cure?

"I'm handling it."

"Are you though?" She wasn't accusing. Just asking. "Because I care about you. You're my friend. And I don't want to watch you work yourself to death."

Something in my chest cracked. "Anya—"

"I'm serious. You show up here every day and you skate like your life depends on it and you never complain. But everyone needs help sometimes." She squeezed my hand. "Even you."

I squeezed back because I didn't trust my voice.

"Just remember that, yeah? You're not alone."

Except I was. But I nodded anyway. "Okay."

"Good." She stood up. "Now get dressed so I can drive you to the diner."

The diner was dead when I got there. Tuesday nights always were. Just me, Joe the cook, and whatever truckers rolled through.

"You look like hell," Joe said when I walked in.

"Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

"I'm serious, kid. You okay?"

"I'm fine."

He slid a plate across the counter. Burger and fries. "Eat. You're not working until you do."

I ate because arguing took energy I didn't have.

The bell over the door chimed. Three wolves walked in.

I knew they were wolves the second I saw them. You couldn't hide it. Not the way they moved, not the way they assessed everything like threats.

My hand went to the knife in my apron pocket.

"Easy," Joe muttered. "They're regulars who come through every few weeks."

The wolves; two men and a woman—took a booth by the window. The woman looked over at me and I forced myself to look away. To act normal. To be Gaya Morrison, not Sloane Thorne, runaway wolf with a death sentence on her head.

I grabbed menus and walked over. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee," the woman said. "And whatever pie is good."

"Apple's fresh."

"Three slices." She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're new."

"Been here a few months."

"Hmm." She studied me too long. "You look familiar."

My heart stopped. "I have one of those faces."

"Maybe." She didn't look convinced. "What did you say your name was?"

"Gaya."

"Gaya." She tested the name. "Where are you from?"

"Seattle."

"Long way from home."

"Not really. This is home now."

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly. Then she waved her hand. "The pie. Don't forget."

I walked back to the counter on legs that threatened to give out.

I served them their pie and avoided eye contact for the rest of their meal. When they finally left, the woman dropped a fifty on the table for a twenty-dollar bill and a card with a phone number.

"If you ever need help," it said.

I threw it in the trash the second they were gone.

By the time my shift ended, it was past midnight. I walked back to my apartment and climbed the stairs with legs that barely worked.

Inside, I locked the door. Both locks. And the chain.

Then I collapsed on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

How much longer did I have? Six months? Three? Less?

My phone buzzed. A text from Anya.

*Tomorrow's practice is mandatory. Coach's orders. Also there's a scrimmage on Friday.”

I started to text back.

Another text came through.

“Oh and our captain is finally playing. Sarah won't shut up about him.”

“Captain?* I texted back. *I thought Niko was our captain?”

Three dots appeared.

*LOL no. Niko's just been filling in. The REAL captain has been away for months. But he's coming back tomorrow.*

My stomach dropped for reasons I couldn't explain.

*Coming back from where?*

*No one knows. He just disappears sometimes. Weeks, months at a time. But when he plays?* 

Another text.

“He's never lost. Not once. They call him the Ice King.”

I stared at the screen.

“You're coming, right?” Anya texted. “I mean, how often do we get to watch some cocky asshole get his ego checked by our team?”

I typed back: “I'll be there.”

“Good. Because I need you on my line. We're going to destroy this guy.”

I set the phone down and closed my eyes. The rejection mark burned between my shoulder blades.

Just a game. Nothing was going to happen.

My phone buzzed again.

“Oh by the way, his name is Kai Volkov. The Ice King himself.”

I frowned and picked it up.

Another text came through before I could respond.

"He's supposed to be brutal on the ice. And get this—rumor is he hates Silvercrest Pack. Like, HATES them. They say Silvercrest wolves killed someone he loved years ago and he's been hunting them ever since."

My blood went cold.

“Sarah says he's never trusted anyone outside his team.”

I set the phone down with shaking hands.

Tomorrow, Kai Volkov was coming back.

And if he found out what I was, where I was from—