chapter five

Jeffery stood frozen in the dim concrete hallway, back pressed against the cold wall as if it could somehow save him. The silence pressed down on him, thick and heavy. His pulse hammered so fiercely that he could feel it in his teeth. Every part of him screamed to run, but his legs refused to move.

Roland didn’t rush. He never did. He moved as if he owned the entire arena, as if the shadows themselves bent for him. When he finally stopped, he was close enough that Jeffery could smell pine, frozen lake water, and that deeper scent beneath — wild, ancient, and terrifyingly good.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Roland said, Jeffery tried to hide his emotions.

Jeffery swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roland’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk. He studied Jeffery’s face the way a wolf watches a rabbit that suddenly appears... interesting. His gloved hand rose, tilting Jeffery’s chin with one finger. Their eyes locked.

“The pack thinks you’re Lucien,” Roland whispered. His thumb brushed over Jeffery’s bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “Your father must be proud of his little switch. But Lucien was never this soft. He didn’t smell weak, but your brother didn’t tremble like this.”

Jeffery’s breath hitched. Heat flooded his body, pooling low in his stomach. He hated how his skin flushed, how his thighs pressed together instinctively.

Roland leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of Jeffery’s ear. “You smell like an omega begging to be claimed, little fake.”

Jeffery expected anger. He expected exposure. What he got instead was that same dark smirk, deeper now, almost hungry.

Roland pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again. “But I’m not going to say anything.”

Jeffery blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” Roland’s voice lowered even more. “I’m going to keep your dirty little secret. For now.”

He stepped closer, body pressing Jeffery harder against the wall. The heat radiating off him was intense. Broad shoulders, a powerful chest, thighs like carved stone. Roland was arrogance wrapped in muscle and perfect bone structure, stormy gray eyes, dark hair that fell just right over his forehead. Handsome doesn’t even cover it. He looked like sin dressed in a hockey jersey.

“Why?” Jeffery breathed.

“Because destroying you immediately would be boring.” Roland’s hand slid down, resting heavily over Jeffery’s racing heart. “I want to see you squirm. I want to break you slowly on that ice until you forget your own name. And when you finally crack…” He squeezed just enough to draw a soft, embarrassing sound from Jeffery’s throat. “I’ll be the only one who knows exactly why.” Then Roland kissed him, giving him a very long, deep tongue kiss. Jeffery’s hands shot up, gripping Roland’s jersey as if it were the only solid thing left in the world. His dick hardened so fast it made him dizzy. Just from a kiss. Just from Roland’s hand on his chest. When Roland finally pulled away, his smirk returned, sharper than ever. “Practice tomorrow. Early. Don’t be late… Jeffery.” He turned and walked away without another word, leaving Jeffery slumped against the wall, lips swollen, cock aching, and mind spinning.

**********

The next morning, the rink felt like a battleground. Jeffery laced up his skates with trembling fingers. He was supposed to be Lucien — confident, sharp, untouchable. Instead, he felt like a fraud wearing dead man’s gear. The team moved around him, loud and rough, but all he could focus on was Roland. The alpha skated as if he was born on blades. Arrogant strides, powerful pushes, every movement screaming control. And God, he was stunning under the bright lights — sweat already making his dark hair stick to his forehead, muscles flexing beneath his practice jersey. “Fake,” Roland muttered as he skated past during warm-ups, close enough that his shoulder brushed Jeffery’s. No one else heard it. The drills commenced. Passing. Checking. Speed runs. Roland kept finding reasons to get close. During one drill, he “accidentally” slammed into Jeffery, pinning him against the boards for half a second longer than necessary. “Careful, omega,” Roland whispered, breath hot against his neck. “You’re getting hard again.” Jeffery’s face burned. He was. His cock had thickened the second Roland’s strong hand grabbed his waist to “steady” him. The thin layers of their gear did nothing to conceal how his body responded. It made no sense. He was terrified of this man. Roland could ruin everything with one word. “What the hell is wrong with me?” Jeffery wondered, skating away on shaky legs. But Roland wasn’t finished. During a one-on-one rehearsal drill, Roland attacked him like a storm.

They crashed together near the goal. Roland’s larger body easily overpowered him, pressing him down against the ice. Their faces were inches apart. Jeffery could see the dark satisfaction in Roland’s eyes. “Struggling already?” Roland murmured, voice low enough for only Jeffery to hear. One of his hands slid down, gripping Jeffery’s hip tightly. Your body knows who owns it. Even if your mouth keeps lying.

Jeffery bit back a moan. His cock was fully hard now, pressed painfully against his padding. The pressure of Roland’s thigh bBetween his legs made it worse. He wanted to push him away. He wanted to pull him closer. The confusion made his head spin.

“Get off me,” he roared.

Roland just smirked and pressed harder for a dangerous second before skating away, laughing as if it were all a joke.

The rest of the practice was torture.

Every check carried a hidden meaning. Every time Roland corrected Jeffery’s form, his hands lingered on his lower back, his thigh, the back of his neck. Each touch felt like a brand. Each whisper—“Pathetic little omega” or “Keep lying, see where it gets you, sent fresh waves of unwanted heat through Jeffery’s body.

By the end of practice, Jeffery was exhausted, sweaty, and painfully aroused. He could barely think straight. The worst part? Roland looked perfectly calm. Arrogant. In control. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to him.

In the locker room, most of the team had already left. Jeffery sat on the bench, trying to get his breathing under control. Roland appeared in front of him, shirtless, towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets ran down his chiseled abs. He looked like a god who enjoyed breaking mortals.

“You did better today,” Roland said, voice casual. Then he leaned down, bracing one hand on the locker behind Jeffery’s head. “But we both know you’re still faking it. On the ice… and in your head.”

Jeffery looked up. His mouth felt dry. “Why are you doing this?”

Roland’s smile was slow, cruel, and unfairly attractive. “Because I can. Because watching you fight how much you want this is the most fun I’ve had in years.” He reacHe stretched out and brushed a thumb over Jeffery’s bottom lip again, just like in the hallway. “And because deep down, you don’t want me to stop.”

“Pathetic,” he whispered, but there was heat in it. Dark pleasure. “Tomorrow’s going to be even harder for you, Jeffery. I’m just getting started.”

He straightened up and walked toward the showers, leaving Jeffery sitting there, heart racing, body aching, and terrifyingly aware that he was already hooked.

The silence between them was no longer empty. It was filled with promises, dark, dangerous promises. And Jeffery wasn’t sure he wanted to escape.