Masuk(Logan’s POV)The private locker room was a silent sanctuary compared to the roaring chaos of the arena. I ripped off my helmet and threw it against the padded wall. My chest was heaving, not just from the exertion of the game, but from the raw, unleashed power that still surged through my veins. The two goals, the sheer brutality of the hits, the animal satisfaction of dominating Julian’s men—it had all been a devastating, necessary release.The scent of my sweat, the sharp, coppery tang of my own energy, was overwhelming. I was leaning against the cold, metal frame of the bench when the door hissed open.Damian walked in, the cold, focused air of the outside world clinging to him. He checked the seal on the door, then turned, his golden eyes immediately locking onto mine. He was radi
(Logan’s POV)The roar of the crowd was a distant, dull wave of noise. It used to be invigorating; now, it was just background interference. I was standing in the tunnel, my helmet pulled low, the familiar weight of my stick grounding me. The Thunderhawks, Julian Drake’s team, were already skating, their dark jerseys a sickening reminder of the Mirkwood Pack’s creeping influence.This wasn’t a hockey game. This was the final, brutal piece of theater before the kill. Julian thought he was watching his prized pawn—the hockey star—play a meaningless game while the blackmail clock ticked down. He didn't know the player on the ice was the weapon, sharpened by Damian’s control and fueled by ten years of redirected vengeance.Before I skated onto the ice, I glanced up.
(Logan’s POV)The time had blurred. After the brutal, intense training shift with Damian, and the crushing reality of Kael’s blackmail, the world had shrunk to the four walls of the bunker. I was focused, the wolf’s discipline sharp and cold, ready to move at dawn. The alliance was fragile, built on blood and mutual hatred, but it was absolute.I was in my small, sterile locker room, preparing my gear for the first strike. I needed my custom skates. The hockey bag—a worn, thick canvas thing that had traveled with me for ten years—was the last physical link to the human life I’d lost. I hadn't touched it since I was brought into the bunker.I opened the heavy zipper and the scent of old leather and sweat, the familiar smell of the rink, hit me. But under that, a scent that shouldn't be there. A faint, metallic, acrid scent that made the h
(Damian’s POV)The full truth about Kael’s deep infiltration and the blackmail threat had brought a terrifying clarity to the bunker. We had less than a day. The focus wasn't just on training Logan; it was on securing the ground beneath our feet. I couldn't launch an attack against Julian while knowing there were silent, invisible threats within my own Pack.I called an immediate, mandatory gathering of the inner council and all ranking members who had been sequestered in the bunker—about thirty high-level wolves, including the security and intelligence chiefs. The meeting was held in the largest cavern, which we usually used for strategy planning. The air in the room was thick with anticipation and unease. They could all smell the sudden shift in my mood, the cold, lethal resolve that had replaced the measured p
(Logan’s POV)The ultimatum from Julian—the threat to expose me and shatter the veil—had been the final hammer blow. It didn't break me; it forged me. The fear for Alex, combined with the cold truth of Kael's decade-long manipulation, had finally overridden every human instinct for resistance. There was no time for hatred now; only focus.We were back in the isolation unit, which Damian had converted into a minimal sparring zone. The twenty-four-hour countdown was ticking, and we needed to accomplish months of integration in a single night.Damian stood before me, stripped down to only black combat pants, his body corded with muscle, radiating pure, dangerous Alpha energy. He was no longer the cold CEO; he was the apex predator, the teacher, the anchor.
(Damian’s POV)The hours following the devastating truth and the subsequent, fierce alliance with Logan were spent in a blur of focused work. Logan was in the secure briefing room, deeply immersed in the encrypted files detailing Arthur Cross’s final intelligence reports on the Mirkwood Pack. His focus was absolute, his rage now a cold, effective weapon. The Mate Bond, while still agonizing in its intensity, was now humming with alignment: two minds set on a single, lethal goal.I was in my private office, reviewing the security reports from the gala. I needed to know exactly how Kael had managed to get the photographer close enough to capture the ruse with Camilla, and more importantly, how he had confirmed my relationship with Logan. The photo leak was one thing; the explicit knowledge of the Mate Bond was another.


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