Claimed by the wolves. のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

JULLIETTE.Here’s the thing no one tells you about hockey: locker rooms smell like a crime scene. Not blood, exactly, but sweat and leather and whatever unholy combination of protein shakes and desperation fuels professional athletes. So, literally that was where I was sent on day one. The Blackridge Wolves—the NHL’s golden boys, reigning champs, and a PR nightmare wrapped in skates. But this was my dream job. My ticket to the big leagues. My parents had cried when I got the offer. My friends had thrown me a champagne party. And me? I had spent the past week pep-talking myself in the mirror: You are a professional. You will not let a bunch of overpaid jocks intimidate you. Then I opened the door and twenty conversations died mid-sentence. Silence. Thick enough to choke on that I felt it coating my lungs. Every head turned. Broad shoulders, sweat-damp hair, towels slung low around waists. And eyes. So many eyes. I froze. For one horrifying second I wondered if I had walked

Julliette. The thing about rookies? They either shut up and blend in, or they try way too hard. Luka Simpson definitely wasn’t the first kind. I had clocked him since day one — younger than the others, still soft around the jaw despite the muscle, with this restless energy that made it feel like the air around him buzzed. Puppy energy, I told myself. Cute. Manageable. Like one of those golden retrievers who licks your face even when you’re trying to scold it. Except this puppy was six-foot-two, moved like a predator, and smiled like he had never once been told no. I was re-taping my kit bag when he plopped onto the bench across from me after practice, sweaty, grinning, and way too close. “Hey, Julli.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dripping water down his neck like some kind of discount Gatorade commercial. “You got a minute?” “No,” I said automatically, eyes still on my bag. Rule number one: Do not encourage the puppies. They follow you home. He laughed. “Good one. I

Julliette. Bars were basically a test of human endurance, and I was failing. Miserably. I had always suspected that humanity collectively agreed to invent them just to ruin nights for people like me—people who preferred walls to small talk, and strategy to slapdash flirting. And yet here I was, perched on a stool in a dim corner, nursing a drink that promised regret in liquid form and surveying the room with anything but ease. I had hoped foolishly, as it turns out that tonight I could be invisible. Just Julliette Mercer: quiet, competent, unobtrusive. No chaos, no brooding hockey players. I didn’t know I would meet him here. He was quiet—so quiet I thought at first he might be a figment of my exhaustion-addled brain. Shadowy in a way that made the dim lighting his personal stage, sitting at a table alone with a calm that could have been mistaken for smugness if I weren’t hyper-aware of every second of the day. Something about him made the bar feel smaller, heavier. My pulse spe

Juliette’s POV:It started with a gentle kiss, his soft lips on mine, seeking permission, which I easily granted. My hands on his chest, he smelled like soap and shampoo.. who knew shampoo could smell so delicious? The kiss grew from gentle to deep, passionate and hungry. I wanted, no, I needed more.His hands moved to grip my ass, then suddenly without any warning, he picked me up without so much as breaking the kiss. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, the coolness from the still locker on my back.My fingers tangled in his hair, trying to pull him closer, our tongues danced in a heated rhythm.“Juliette,” he moaned into the kiss. His voice, low, rough, hoarse and filled with desire.I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, mirroring my own frantic heartbeat. “We sho..uldn’t be d..doing thi..is” i manged to say without breaking away. “Fuck J.. I need you..” his words.. made me melt even more. I broke the kiss, trying to salvage what little restraint I had

Juliette’s POV By the time I’d reached Bryson’s office, my mind had become a mess, my pulse losing its rhythm Im the process. The door clicker shut very quietly behind me with a soft thud that somehow still managed to sound like a lock, making me feel a little cornered. “Get it together Mercer” i whispered to myself. He stood by his desk, his damp hair giving me flashbacks from that dream. Reluctantly drawing my eyes away from his face as I swallowed hard, I tried to pull myself together and steady my erratic heartbeat. My eyes landed on his broad shoulders that looked tensed beneath his compression shirt. It was clear he hadn’t even bothered changing yet. The air was filled with the faint smell of cedar and mint was, his cologne.. the same scent from the dream.. a scent that did things to me, things that I wasn’t brave enough to admit even to myself. He didn’t look at me at first, just kept his gaze glued to something on his desk. Then after what seemed like an eternity,