บททั้งหมดของ ICE- The Alpha’s Playbook: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

"You're done, Isaac."The words hit like a puck to the sternum. I gripped the furs to my chest, propped on one elbow in the dim light of the den. Santiago Vega, the star Enforcer of the San Antonio Ice Arena, didn't even look back as he paced the stone floor of my quarters. He was six-foot-four of lethal muscle and silver-grey fur, currently shifting back into his human skin and pulling on leather trousers with predatory grace."Done?" I repeated. My throat felt like it was full of dry pine needles. "What are you talking about?""The Great Hunt starts tomorrow," Santiago said, sliding his jersey over his head—the one with the snarling wolf logo. "If I lead the pack to the Silver Cup, things are going to get feral. I can’t have a mate-bond slowing my stride."I sat up, the cold air biting at my bare skin. "You're severing this? Now?""We weren't exactly fated, Isaac," he had the nerve to growl while buckling his belt.I stared at him. For five moon-cycles, we had shared blood, heat, an

"Isaac," the mountain of a man rumbled, his voice vibrating through the chain-link fence and deep into Isaac’s marrow.Camila had managed to secure two passes to the San Antonio Ice Arena because a couple of her clients had zero interest in watching their husbands grunt over a puck. It cost the salon a year of complimentary grooming for their entire lineage. Isaac felt a brief pang for the husbands' friends who got bumped, but his desperation outweighed their weekend plans. Camila had offered to come, but Isaac didn't need both of them ending up in a silver-lined holding cell.Getting the tickets was the easy part. Infiltrating the team parking zone was a suicide mission. Isaac had slipped through before, but only when Derek Coleman was barking orders at the guards to let his "mate" pass.Today, for the series opener, the guard at the back gate was a stranger—short, blocky, and smelling of burnt coffee and suspicion. Isaac wove through a cluster of reporters, their phones out like dag

"Got identification?" The woman behind the glass didn't look up, her gaze fixed on the ledger through spectacles perched precariously on her nose."Right here. Grab the sign, Camila," Isaac said, shoving the massive glitter-crusted board into his friend's hands. He dug through his clear, regulation-size bag—a lesson learned the hard way after being turned away from a San Antonio Ice Arena match years ago. He flipped his wallet open, pressing his ID against the glass. "Isaac Corres. I should be on the list."The woman squinted, then slid a heavy, dark bundle through the tray. "Here. The passes are tucked inside. Instructions were very specific.""What is all this?" Isaac pulled the fabric toward him."A Warhawks jersey," she grunted, her mouth twisting. "Traitor.""Excuse me?" Isaac bristled, glancing at Camila, who was rocking a blue and yellow sundress—the best she could manage to show Bobcats pride on short notice. "We’re locals. Born and bred.""Then explain why the visiting Alpha

"He's already haunting your scent," Camila said, her eyes locked on the back of Santiago’s head as he stepped onto the Warhawk bus.Isaac didn't move. He stood by the chain-link fence of the San Antonio Ice Arena, wrapped in a jersey that smelled like cedar and cold iron. "He’ll forget I exist the second the first bottle of tequila opens at the Eclipse Lounge.""Are you blind? The man is territorial.""We have a common enemy. That's the contract," Isaac muttered, trying to convince his own racing heart. He wasn't special. He was a tool for a star defenseman’s grudge. A hockey star was a hockey star, and they all bled the same brand of arrogance.Except Derek had claimed Santiago never scented anyone.The viral photo of their kiss hadn't just blown up; it had detonated. If a ghost like Santiago Vega suddenly went public with a mate, the pack world would notice. Was he actually solitary, or just better at hiding the bodies?"I can’t fucking believe you!"The roar shattered the quiet of

"You're tracking me like a bloodhound, Vega. Sit down before you start a riot."Nicholas Cruz didn't even look up from his glass as Santiago loomed over the edge of the VIP tier. Below, the Eclipse Lounge was a churning sea of pheromones and bad intentions. Most of the Warhawks roster were deep in their cups or burying their faces in the necks of whatever omegas were brave enough to dance with them.Santiago stayed leaning against the railing. He didn't want the booze. He didn't want the noise. He wanted the silver-haired wolf who was currently making every Alpha in the room lose their scent."He's here," Santiago growled.Isaac Corres cut through the crowd like a blade. He’d traded the oversized hockey jersey for a fitted black leather jacket that hugged his lean, powerful shoulders. He looked independent. Lethal. Every time he moved, the light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the silver-blonde waves of his hair.Santiago’s heart slammed against his ribs. He didn't wait for an in