Chapter 1

Prologue 

Prologue 

Dexter

The ice was a good place to hide a monster.

Out here, the violence was celebrated. The aggression, the bone-crushing hits, the territorial dominance—the humans just called it good hockey. They paid for tickets to watch us tear each other apart, completely oblivious to the fact that half the Vipers’ roster were wolves, and the locker room was just a sanitized word for a pack house.

I leaned my stick against the glass, the cold air doing nothing to cool the fever burning under my skin. My wolf was restless, pacing at the edge of my consciousness.

Our Alpha was losing his patience with the rival packs encroaching on our territory, and Drey—the untouchable captain of the opposing team—was at the top of my list to put down. Drey wasn’t just a rival center; he was a lethal Alpha hiding in plain sight, and the ice was the only place we could wage our war without breaking the veil of the human world.

But that wasn't why I was losing my mind today.

My jaw ticked as I caught a phantom trace of vanilla and rain on the recycled arena air. Keshera. Liam’s little sister. A fragile, completely oblivious human who had no idea that every time she walked into a room, my wolf slammed against his cage, demanding I claim her. I had spent three months keeping my distance, suppressing my instincts to protect my best friend's sister from my brutal world.

But my control was fracturing, and the hunt was about to begin.

Chapter 1

Keshera 

“Do you think I should bleach it?"

I held the box of platinum blonde hair dye up to the harsh bathroom light, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair looked painfully boring. Everything about me felt boring today.

Maya snatched the box right out of my hands and tossed it into the trash can. "Keshera, stop being delusional. You’re not going blonde."

"But I heard he loves blondes," I argued, turning to face her. "Like, exclusively. Every girl he’s been photographed with since the season started has been a bottle-blonde."

"You are beautiful in your own way," Maya said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. 

"You don't have to look like anyone else. Especially not for a guy you're just interviewing."

"It's not just an interview, Maya. It's Drey." I flipped my hair over my shoulder, the anxiety making my chest tight.

 "This is my only chance to get his attention, and I am not taking it for granted. I just graduated uni. My first real journalism assignment is sitting down with the top center of the league. If I can just get him to look at me as a woman, and not some rookie reporter..."

"I raised you better than that!"

My mum’s voice cut through the hallway. I groaned, stepping out of the bathroom to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wooden spoon in her hand. The smell of roasting chicken drifted up from the kitchen.

"Mum, you're eavesdropping!" I yelled down.

"I don't need to eavesdrop, Keshera, you're shouting about changing your DNA for a boy who chases a piece of rubber on ice," she yelled back, pointing the spoon at me. 

"Come down here and set the table. And leave your hair alone!"

I sighed dramatically, dragging my feet down the stairs with Maya right behind me.

The front door suddenly swung open.

"Face your career and leave boys alone," a deep voice barked.

My older brother, Liam, walked into the living room, dropping his hockey duffel bag on the floor.

He was already glaring at me.

"Were you listening outside the door?" I glared back at him.

"Your window is open. Half the street knows you want to go blonde for Drey," Liam said, walking into the kitchen and stealing a piece of chicken off the cutting board. Mum slapped his hand, but he just grinned and chewed. 

"Seriously, Kesh. Drop it. Drey is on the rival team. He’s arrogant, he plays dirty, and he eats girls like you for breakfast."

"I’m a grown adult," I snapped, grabbing a stack of plates from the cabinet. "I can make my own decisions. It's a professional interview. I'm just trying to make a good impression."

"You don't even like hockey," Chloe, my younger sister, chimed in, walking in from the backyard with her phone glued to her hand. She didn't even look up at me.

 "You didn't go to a single one of Liam's games last season."

"I was busy with my final project!"

"You thought a power play was a political term until last week," Liam mocked, leaning against the counter.

"And you've never really been in a relationship before," Chloe added mercilessly, finally looking up from her screen. "Like, ever. You think you can just walk into an interview with a pro athlete and flirt? It's going to be a disaster."

My heart instantly sank. The plates rattled slightly in my hands before I set them down on the dining table.

Chloe was right. That was the huge, glaring issue. I knew all the media theory in the world, I had top grades in my journalism class, but when it came to men? I was a total blank slate. Drey was completely out of my league. He was experienced, older, and practically royalty on the ice. I didn't even know how to hold eye contact with a guy without blushing, let alone seduce one.

"Shut up, Chloe," I muttered, but the fight had left my voice.

"Just focus on the questions, Kesh," Liam said, his tone softening a fraction, but still annoying. "Don't try to play a game you don't know the rules to."

Liam's phone started buzzing violently on the counter. He glanced at the screen and groaned.

"Coach?" Mum asked, stirring a pot on the stove.

"Yeah. He's been calling Dexter all morning, but he ain't picking up. Now he's blowing up my phone trying to find him."

"Where is he?" Maya asked, suddenly looking very interested.

"Right behind you."

I gasped, spinning around so fast I nearly knocked over a glass.

Dexter was leaning casually against the archway of the kitchen. I hadn't even heard him come in. He was wearing black jeans and a dark, fitted hoodie that made his shoulders look twice as wide. His dark hair was messy, falling into eyes that were so dark. He had a faded bruise on his jawline from a fight on the ice three days ago, and he looked entirely unapologetic about ignoring his coach.

Dexter. Liam’s best friend. The captain of Liam's team.

And the bane of my existence.

"Don't sneak up on people," I snapped, pressing a hand to my chest to calm my racing heart.

He pushed off the wall and walked right past me, his arm brushing mine. The sheer heat radiating off him made my skin prickle. He reached out and ruffled my dark hair roughly, completely ruining the way I had brushed it.

"Hey, kid.”

"Stop calling me that. I'm twenty-two," I hissed, swatting his hand away.

Dexter smirked, a slow, arrogant tilt of his lips that made me want to hit him. 

He turned to my brother. "Tell Coach my phone died."

"Your phone is literally in your hand and the screen is on," Liam pointed out.

"Then tell him I threw it in a river. I'm not doing extra drills today." Dexter looked over at the stove. "Smells good, Mrs. Rogers."

"Stay over for lunch and eat, Dexter," Mum smiled warmly at him. She loved him. Everyone loved him. They didn't see how infuriatingly arrogant he was. "There's plenty."

"Appreciate it."

Dexter pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, taking up way too much space. His dark eyes flicked up to me, assessing, and mocking. "So. I hear we're going blonde for the enemy."

"I am not going blonde," I gritted through my teeth, taking my seat as far away from him as possible. "And I am not doing it for Drey. It's just an interview."

"Right. You're going to interview the guy who slammed my head into the glass last month," Dexter said slowly, picking up his fork. "Try not to stutter when you ask him about his penalty minutes. He gets touchy."

"I don't stutter."

"You stuttered when the barista got your order wrong this morning," Maya offered helpfully from across the table.

"Whose side are you on?" I glared at her.

Lunch was agonizing. The kitchen was filled with chaotic energy of my family talking over each other, while Dexter sat there, eating quietly but dominating the entire atmosphere of the room. Every time I looked up, I caught him watching me. His gaze was cold. He was the quintessential bad boy of the league. He didn't do interviews, he rarely smiled, and he had a reputation for breaking hearts and noses with the exact same level of indifference.

But as I watched him, a crazy, reckless idea started to form in the back of my mind.

Dexter knew exactly how guys like Drey operated. Dexter was a guy like Drey, only worse. Dexter knew the game. He knew the girls, the lifestyle, the exact psychological tricks to get a man's attention.

Chloe was right. I had zero experience. If I went into that interview blindly trying to flirt, Drey would laugh me out of the locker room.

I needed a playbook. I needed practice.

And the best player in the league was sitting right at my dining table.

As soon as lunch was over, the kitchen cleared out. Liam and Maya went to the living room to argue over the TV remote, and Mum went upstairs to answer a phone call.

Dexter stood up, grabbing his empty plate and mine, and carried them over to the sink.

I watched his broad back as he turned on the faucet, rinsing the dishes in silence. My hands were shaking, my palms sweating. This was the stupidest idea I had ever had. He was going to laugh in my face. He was going to humiliate me.

But I didn't have time to second-guess. The interview was tomorrow night.

I took a deep breath, walked across the kitchen, and stopped right behind him.

"Dexter."

He reached up, grabbed a glass from the cabinet, and filled it with tap water.

 "What do you want, Keshera?"

"I need a favor."

He took a slow drink of his water, the muscles in his throat working. He set the glass down and finally turned to face me. He leaned back against the edge of the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. Up close, he was even more intimidating.

"A favor," he repeated, his dark eyebrows raising slightly. 

"You hate me. You've hated me since I broke your favorite mug in high school."

"I don't hate you. I strongly dislike your personality," I corrected.

"But this isn't about that. This is business."

"Business," he mocked, a harsh laugh escaping his throat. 

"Alright, kid. I'll bite. What's the business?"

I swallowed hard. My throat felt like sandpaper. 

"I need you to teach me something."

 "Teach you what? How to write a headline?"

I stepped closer, invading his personal space. I had to look almost straight up to meet his eyes.

"No," I whispered.

"I need you to teach me how to seduce a man."