Semua Bab The Alpha’s Penalty: Bab 1 - Bab 5

{THE COLD TRUTH}My hands were shaking again. I wiped them on my pads, but the sweat came right back, slicking the inside of my gloves. Eight seconds left on the clock. Eight seconds between me and the only thing I had ever wanted: proof that I belonged here.The arena was so loud I could barely think. Ten thousand people screaming, the band blaring, the air horns cutting through the chill of the rink. But all I could see was the scoreboard: Wolves 78, Cardinals 80.We were down by two."Becca!"The voice barked through the noise. I shifted my head toward the sound, shaking the sweat out of my eyes. Jaxon, our coach, was gesturing me over.I skated toward the bench, the ice crunching under my blades. As soon as I was in reach, he grabbed my arm, pulling me close. His smell hit me hard—sandalwood and something dark and dangerous.It made my Omega core tremble, a reaction I hated with every fiber of my being.Jaxon wore his coach's uniform like a second skin, sleeves rolled up to reve

{THE TASTE OF MIDNIGHT AND REGRET 1}The frat house was a sea of bodies, a pulsing mass of music and heat that made my skin feel tight. I sat in a corner, my back pressed against the wall, trying to disappear. But I couldn't disappear from the ghost feeling of Jaxon'sfingers buried in my hair or the brutal, hot ache he had left between my thighs.Eve was beside me, basically vibrating with excitement as she watched the team. "Trevor just looked over here. Again. Becca, I swear, if I don't get my hands on that defenseman tonight, I'm going to spontaneously combust."I forced a smile, though it did not reach my eyes. Around us, a group of Beta forwards started a slurred chant of "Mc-Call! Mc-Call!" and a red solo cup was shoved into my hand. I took it, but I didn't drink. After what happened in the locker room, I needed every ounce of my sobriety to survive the night.My eyes, against all my better judgment, drifted across the room, searching for the one person I should be avoiding.

{THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR}I stood in my stepfather's kitchen, the cold marble of the island pressing against my hips as I scrolled through my phone. The university group chat was a wildfire. I was still trending—clips of my last-minute goal were being replayed, slowed down, and analyzed by every amateur sports blogger on campus.It was the university's second cup in three years, and for a few hours, I was the hero.But as I scrolled further, the praise shifted. My name was replaced by his. Jaxon Thorne. The school's digital bulletin had his face plastered across the header, followed by a gallery of photos from the post-game press conference. One shot, in particular, made my thumb freeze on the screen.He was shirtless in the locker room, his skin glowing with a light glow of sweat that made the ink on his arms pop. Every muscle in his abdomen was illustrated, a deadly landscape of shadow and strength.The memory of the locker scene—the way he had pinned me, the way he had forced tha