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I growl, the sound vibrating deep in my chest as I feel Cain on his knees. My claws itch to break the surface, the wolf beneath my skin pacing at the scent of arousal and cold ozone. My hands tangle in his dark hair, gripping tight, and I suck in a jagged breath while my hips surge off the heavy oak chair.

The rhythmic sound of him taking me fills the Mercer Estate dining room. He doesn't choke. No, I’ve broken my little submissive in perfectly.

Opening my eyes, I stare down into his grey depths—eyes the color of a frozen lake, now drowning in tears as he gazes up at me. Salt tracks cut through the silver war-paint he donned for the Northbridge hockey match earlier tonight. He might have dominated the ice and preened for the fans, but I knew he’d crawl back to the Alpha. He always does—needing the sting only I can provide.

That’s why I marked him. Why I kept him within the pack walls. I never let him out of my sight.

Giving his hair a sharp tug, I wrench his head back. He keeps his mouth parted, shivering, ready for the next violation. "Such a good boy," I rasp, licking my lips.

A string of saliva glints on his chin as he offers his tongue, waiting with a desperation that smells like lightning. Releasing his hair with my left hand, I shove three fingers into his mouth, forcing his head back until his neck cables with tension. He blinks rapidly against the invasion, fresh tears spilling over his sharp cheekbones. "You crave this, don’t you, Prince?"

He tries to nod, trapped, emitting only garbled, needy sounds.

"Yeah, a filthy stray loves a full mouth." When I jerk my fingers free, he gasps for air, and I crack my palm across his face. It’s a sharp, stinging snap that echoes off the marble. It wasn’t enough to bruise, but the heat of it will linger. "Say it," I command.

He shifts on his knees, still clad in his white lace-up hockey jersey—the fabric tight across his broad shoulders, barely covering the scars on his thighs. I’m going to ruin that jersey before the moon reaches its peak. "Kai—"

I slap him again, cutting the name short, then seize his chin in a bruising grip while my other hand maintains its hold on his hair. He whimpers—a high, broken sound—and I lean in until our pulses sync. I spit into his mouth, marking him further. "Say it, Prince. Tell me you’re my obedient little dog, and you’ll do anything to serve your Alpha."

Some shifters are prideful bastards who refuse to submit to their nature. Cain Sato-Hayes isn't one of them. This man is pure, unadulterated fire. The fact that I despise his family legacy makes this even better. Knowing he hates my bloodline just as much is the perfect edge.

This isn't romance. This is a blood-feud settled in the dark.

"I'm your obedient little dog," he finally moans, his knees scraping the floor as he adjusts. "I’ll do whatever you demand."

I smile, the expression all teeth.

"Please?" he begs. His lips are swollen and red, begging for me again. I release his chin but keep my fist buried in his hair.

"Prove it," I challenge, leaning back.

A low, mocking snicker comes from the men at the table to my right, but I don't turn. Cain leans forward, his lips moving over me again, and I shove his face down, pinning him there. He groans, his body trembling as I drive deeper, the heat of his throat taking my breath away.

Fuck, I want to pin him to the ice and take him until he forgets his own name. But not tonight. Tonight is about the game. Cain and I have been hunting each other for years, and I’ve learned that the only way to break a wolf like him is to play the long game.

Releasing his hair, I lock my fingers behind my head, relaxing as he gasps and trembles against me. He looks up through wet, matted lashes, his eyes a map of pure, unrefined hunger.

He’s devastating.

My jaw aches as I grind my teeth. I hate it. I hate how he glides across the ice, how he knows exactly which scent drives my wolf mad. I hate that his presence permeates every inch of this estate. I loathe him with every fiber of my being, yet I can’t stop myself from wanting to own every piece of him.

"I'm not convinced, Prince," I murmur, clicking my tongue.

His wrists are bound behind his back with my leather weighted belt. He has no hands to help him; he has to rely on his mouth alone.

His eyes narrow, the grey turning to a stormy charcoal, and he bares his teeth. Good. I want him feral. I want to be the one to tame that rage.

Laughter erupts from the guys again. Cain doesn't care who’s watching as long as the friction continues. He thrives on the shame; it turns him into a furnace.

Taking a ragged breath, he swallows me whole, his fury fueling his determination to break my composure. It’s just another level of our contest, one he has no hope of winning. I lean my head back, letting the sensation of his heat wash over me.

When my muscles coil, ready to snap, I use every ounce of Alpha dominance to shove him away. He sprawls onto the black marble on his side, and I finish, the mess hitting the floor right in front of his face.

I watch him lie there, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut, hands still cinched tight behind his back. The jersey has hiked up, revealing the heavy leather collar I made him wear. If I touched him now, I know he’d be slick with anticipation. He rolls onto his stomach, tucking his knees under him to sit up.

I reach out, brushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes so he has to see. "Look at the mess you caused," I say, gesturing to the floor.

He whimpers, his body vibrating. My Prince wants the release I’m withholding.

Leaning forward, I wrap a hand around his throat, feeling the frantic gallop of his heart, and press a dry kiss to his temple. He tastes like sweat and the cold rink. "Clean it up," I whisper.

His voice is a broken thread. "Kai—"

"Clean it up!" I bark, standing. I grip his hair and force his face toward the floor.

He cries out, but then he begins to move, settling flat on his belly. I stand over him, boots braced on either side of his hips. "That’s what strays do," I tell him, pinning his head to the cold stone. "They rectify their mistakes. And you’re my good boy, aren’t you?"

He nods against the marble, his breath hitching.

"Say it."

"I'm—I'm your good boy," he whispers, his voice thick.

"Now, show me."

He opens his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the marble, sweeping the floor clean.

"Good lad," I praise, and a sob escapes him. I smooth his hair back. "Every drop, Prince. Don't leave a trace."

I step back to watch. He’s rocking, his bound arms straining against the belt as he works. Every time I have him like this, it’s a victory for the Mercer line.

I drop to my knees between his spread legs. "Just as I thought." I smirk at the dampness staining his gear.

"Please?" he begs. The raw need in his voice nearly makes me cave. I want to bury myself in him right here while he works. But I won't. He’s my submissive, and he needs to remember his place.

I strike his thigh hard, leaving a glowing red mark. He yelps, trying to flinch away, but I hold him fast. "Did I give you permission to stop?" I growl, my fingers digging into his skin.

"No," he gasps.

"Then keep going. I want this floor spotless."

I ignore his soft whimpers as he returns to the task. I can’t help it; I slide a finger inside him, biting back a groan at how ready he is for me. I can’t let him hear how much he’s winning.

I pull my finger out and taste it. "Desperation suits you," I say.

The guys at the table laugh. Logan has a joint between his teeth, twirling his pocketknife against his palm as he watches Cain. Ryder is trailing smoke, his eyes locked on Cain’s trembling form. And Mason—he’s doing exactly what I instructed. I wait for his nod before he tucks his phone away.

I drive two fingers into Cain, making him arch his back. He’s lapping at the floor like a man dying of thirst. His body is a tight wire, clamping down on me. I pull away, teasing him. I want him begging on his hands and knees.

"Good boy." I smile, seeing the floor is clean.

I haul him to his feet by his hair. He cries out as I heave him onto the long dining table, his bound arms pinned painfully beneath his weight.

"Logan, silence him," I command.

Logan stands, unbuckling his own leather belt. "Open up." Before Cain can protest, the leather is shoved between his teeth and cinched tight behind his head.

I lean over the table, tracing the line of his jaw. He’s covered in the evidence of his submission—hair matted, face wet. He looks like a god of the tundra. I grab the front of his jersey and rip it down the seam, exposing his chest and the heavy piercing in his nipple.

I squeeze his pectoral muscles, making him thrash against the wood. His eyes dart between mine and my pack brothers, growing heavy with a dark, twisted realization.

"Who wants a taste?" I ask.

I’ve never shared him. I hate the thought of another man touching what’s mine. But this isn't about my jealousy; it’s about breaking his pride. He’s a toy to be used.

Logan leans in, blowing a cloud of smoke into Cain’s face. Cain tosses his head, muffled sounds vibrating against the gag. Logan grins. "I'll take a piece."

I shove Cain’s legs up, his hockey socks still on, and push him toward the center of the table. "Open for them, Prince," I order.

He arches, trying to ease the pressure on his arms, but Ryder pins his shoulders down. I strip the rest of his gear away and hold a slick finger up to Logan. Logan bites down on it, his eyes darkening as he moans.

"Take the gag out," I say.

Ryder yanks the belt free. I lift Cain by the neck, bringing him level with me. He looks like he’s survived a blizzard.

"You missed a spot," I murmur, taking a smudge from his cheek and rubbing it over his lips. He licks them instinctively, waiting.

"Do you want to break?" I ask.

He nods frantically. "Please," he sobs. "Kai, I need it. Please..."

"Shh," I whisper, kissing his forehead before my gaze turns cold. "You belong to me tonight. But you will please them first. Only I give you the end. Understood?"

I’ve claimed him since the day we met on the ice. The whole pack knows it. "And then I can come?" he asks, his throat working.

"Maybe."

"On what?"

"On whether you're a good boy."

He nods. "Always."

"We'll see." I pull him to the edge of the table, his back to me, his body hanging off the oak. Logan has his trousers undone, his eyes fixed on Cain’s mouth. Ryder is already prepping with oil, his expression hungry. Mason is stripping down, getting ready for his turn.

I hold Cain’s knees to his chest, locking him in place.

"Kai..." he whimpers, his bound arms straining.

"Submissives don't get a vote, Prince."

Ryder and Mason step up, their own pack markings catching the light. Without warning, Mason starts working him over, making Cain squirm.

I lean down to his ear. "They just take. And you're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes!" he screams as Mason drives him wild.

I watch as Logan guides himself into Cain’s mouth. Cain’s eyes go wide, his body thrashing.

"I see why you keep him around," Ryder grunts, slamming into him with a ferocity that matches the hunt.

"Right?" Mason laughs. "He's so fucking ready."

Cain makes muffled, broken noises around Logan. I want to reclaim him right now, but I wait.

Logan whistles. "Hell of a mouth."

Cain’s body shakes, his eyes rolling back. "Don't you dare, Cain," I growl. "Don't you dare give it to them."

Logan pinches Cain’s nose, cutting his air. Cain’s world narrows to the friction and the heat.

"I'm through," Ryder gasps, pulling back and heading for the door.

Mason doesn't skip a beat, taking his place. I feel a surge of primal rage—the wolf wanting to tear them away from what’s mine. But I made this deal.

"Fuck," Logan growls, tensing as he finishes. He lets go of Cain’s nose, and Cain gasps for air, his face a mask of ruin. "Good job, stray."

"Kai..." Cain sobs. "I can't stop..."

"Cain!" I warn. "If you break for him, I'll tie you to the goalposts and leave you on the edge for a week. Do you understand?"

Mason pulls out, stumbling back. "Jesus. We should just keep him here all night."

"You've had your turn." I shove them aside and scoop Cain’s limp, shaking body into my arms. He’s semi-conscious as I carry him toward the stairs, leaving the pack behind.