Chapter 3: How To Want Your Enemy

MALACHAR

THREE WEEKS LATER…

The defenseman wanted me gone.

I twisted with the puck in my possession, then tossed it back to Sky, who I could smell behind me at exactly ten feet.

Afterwards, I stickhandled past the defenseman. He wasn’t quick enough to notice the puck already back in my possession.

“How—what the fuck, cap?” Ryan Walter ripped off his helmet as soon as I scored. “Coach!”

“Stetson isn’t here to baby your ass. Grow up,” Sky, the left wing, told him, chuckling while following me.

Saturday was scrimmage and we’d been at it for almost two hours. I didn’t need practice to understand human gameplay, but Coach Stetson had left me in charge of the team today. He had business to take care of.

“That was impossible,” Ryan said.

I stopped and turned. The rest of the team had gathered around us.

“What the hell are you chirping about?” Sky pushed at Ryan’s chest, keeping him from me.

“Malachar knows what I’m talking about,” Ryan insisted.

I could snap this human in two in barely a second or flatten him until he was permanently melded with the rink’s ice.

He tried to advance again despite Sky in his way, adamant that I was using steroids. He was a fool.

But we couldn’t afford to have our best defense benched this season because of a few broken bones.

“Shoot drills. From the top!” I yelled with startling authority and the gathering around us dispersed. “Including you, Walter.”

The team grumbled, but after Stetson, my word as captain was law. They respected me. For the two years I had been enrolled in Richmond High, LA, as a transfer student, this rink and my teammates were my family.

Although I was nothing more than an eighteen-year-old high school senior at the moment, the only position I could ever hold was one of power. I was born to rule, raised to rule, and have ruled longer than should be possible.

In the school’s locker room, I undressed before the mirror and touched my left smile line that seemed to have become more defined. These past few weeks unusual things have been happening to me. I looked… older.

I tried to stop it, but whenever I thought about weeks ago, I thought about her. Her lips. Her body. Her nude painted nails spreading over my tattooed chest, trailing lower and lower…

I grunted and shivered at the memory, my blood rushing south quickly.

The only time I had ever forfeited power was at Cliffview lodge’s dining room.

“Fuck, man!” A teammate walked in and tossed his sweaty jersey at me, covering his eyes. “Go get a cold shower or get fucking laid!”

I was hard.

Perpetually it seemed, but only when I thought about her, which was every minute.

And now I couldn’t fuck. The sight of other women irritated me.

I didn’t follow her after she found my ID on the floor and got the wrong idea about my age. I believed the hunger would fade. That she was just one amongst the city of women I had given a good time.

“And get your ass to drills, Atlas,” I yelled back, a bit jaded as I entered one of the stalls.

My third cold shower in one morning.

I was losing my shit, but more importantly, I couldn’t go after her now, seeing how much she affected me. I’d have to make sure we never cross paths again.

After ensuring our kits were intact and stored properly, I shut down the rink once everyone else had left. Coach Stetson texted, said he wanted to discuss a lucrative deal with me. Something about bringing my name to big screens like N*****x and delivering me on a platter to NHL scouts. When I came to Richmond, I had no desire for fame. I started playing hockey because I enjoyed it. It was a good pastime, but there was no future for me in the sport. Once I completed the important task I came to this city to do, my pack and I would return to hiding from the rest of the world.

I was going to meet up with Stetson at Sandy’s, which was our team’s favorite bar. And I could use a few beers. But whatever this deal was, I had no intention of accepting it.

I grabbed the door handle of my Porsche, then I paused.

I looked over my shoulder by a fraction. Eryx Blackwood was approaching just as I sensed. He was Sky’s father and a high-ranked wolf in our secret pack.

“I have news.”

“That couldn’t wait?” I opened my car door.

“The Trydon pack is celebrating their Alpha’s wedding today.”

“Motherfucker!” I spat, turning around. “I should know everything he’s doing. Not finding out like this!”

“I’m sorry I failed you, Alpha Malachar, but… but that’s not all…”

Eryx lowered his head. “What else is there?!” I growled in his face, seeing red.

The Trydon pack used to be my home. Then tragedy struck. I was cursed by the moon goddess and cast out, abandoned by the ones I called family.

After that, I went into hiding, but two years ago, I had reason to believe Trydon wolves were stealing the moon’s power. It was like a fast-spreading rot. Many werewolves started defecting to the Trydon pack because of the promise of this supreme power. But they were also turning feral and dying.

I came back because the moon goddess didn’t just curse me, she tasked me with guarding the moon’s power and keeping her wolves in check. In other words, I was bound by duty to not let tragedy strike again.

“I met with a witch seer—“ He blurted and then cut off my reprimand. “No! I didn’t want to come to you with half answers when we’re running out of time.”

“Witches are forbidden.”

“It will never happen again, I swear. But hear me out. The old woman told me Alpha Jason’s mate is not ordinary.”

“What do you mean not ordinary?”

“She’s an omega… with powerful healer magic.”

My brows furrowed. In all my years, I had seen great feats accomplished by healers. On the other hand, omegas were weak and unspecial, always at the bottom of the chain. It was fucking ridiculous to call one powerful.

But if this was true, then Jason intended to find a way to draw power from the moon without side effects through this mate of his.

A way to stop wolves from turning feral and dying after stealing moon power.

I clasped his shoulder hard and leaned in icily. “I want that healer’s head.”