All Chapters of Craved By The Cursed Hockey Alpha: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ELARA * * The omega quarters were on the lower floors of the pack house. Where else do you dump the people you’ve decided are at the absolute bottom of the pack food chain? On the top floor with the nice balcony views? In the east wing to catch the morning sun? I don’t think so. You put them underground, hiding them away where nobody has to look at them unless they want a floor scrubbed or a shoe polished. The stairwell smelled like damp laundry, and old cooking oil. The walls were unpainted, cold concrete. A single flickering bulb buzzed overhead like it was tired of life itself. Honestly, I could relate. The room was exactly what I expected, yet somehow managed to be worse. It was one massive room where eight narrow bunks were rammed against the walls, topped with mattresses so thin they practically screamed spinal alignment issues. The blankets looked like rags, and the pillows looked like they’d been flattened by years of people crying into them. Welcome t

IAN * * Drip. Pain. Drip. More pain. Drip. Pain that made the first pain look like a fucking massage. The wolfsbane kept hitting my bloodstream like liquid fire, the poison currently dripping into my vein through a thin IV line that I wanted to rip out and shove through the wall. Wolfsbane was designed to suppress a wolf. To force it down, deep, past the surface, past the instinct layer, all the way to the basement of your consciousness where it couldn’t reach the controls. It worked. But it also felt like someone was pouring acid into your marrow and setting your nervous system on fire from the inside out. At least now, Fenris wasn’t pressing against my skull anymore. For the first time since this morning, my head was my own. So yeah. The poison was worth it. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a bitch. The infirmary door opened and closed. Uncle Crane walked in with his usual expression—he always looked like he was mildly disappointed in everything inside wha

ELARA * * “Looks like someone’s going to get their tongue carved after all.” Zane said. I was surrounded. The entire hockey team blocked the kitchen doorway like they’d been waiting all morning for this event. The omegas had heard the commotion too and they were wearing expressions that didn’t quite hide their satisfaction. They weren’t going to help me. They were here to watch. Everyone was here to watch. Having no choice, I stood still in the crime scene, my whole body prickling from being the center of attraction once again. “I think so too, how can anyone cook something this bad? I mean, even the pups can cook better than this,” It was Rhys who stepped forward now, joining his brother, he wrinkled his nose and fished the burned pot out of the sink. He bent the pot, so the contents—a thick, blackened sludge that had once been my attempt at stew—shifted inside with a wet sound that made my stomach lurch. “Geez, I feel like puking at the sight, I bet yo

IAN * * She was in my arms. The Muteblood was a dead-weight against my chest, her body hitting mine like a ragdoll thrown at a brick wall. “Help me,” she slurred, her fingers twisting blindly into the fabric of my shirt. “Please… help…” I froze, my entire body locking up. Did this girl have any damn clue who she was begging? Did she realize whose chest she was currently drooling on? Whose clothes she was ruining with her desperate little fists? If she could see straight right now—which she clearly couldn't, given the glassy, unfocused stare and the fact that she smelled like she’d been drowning in a distillery—she would’ve thrown herself in the opposite direction so fast she’d have left skid marks on the floor. For a terrifying second, I stood there like a complete idiot, holding an unconscious girl who despised me, in a hallway that smelled like a toxic mix of smoke, expensive whiskey, and burned food. Her hair brushed against my chin. Brown. Wavy. Messy. It was st

IAN * * Dying out there is too easy for her. That’s the only reason I’m going. She doesn’t get to die of exposure and escape the omega sentence. She has eleven months and twenty-nine days left. She doesn’t get to quit early. That’s the only reason. No other reason. The rain hit me the second I kicked the back door open. I was instantly soaked to the skin. She was exactly where I’d left her. Slumped between two dumpsters. Unconscious. Drenched. Her thin white T-shirt was soaked completely through, plastered to her skin like a second layer of ice. I crouched down in the mud, my jaw clenching. Her lips were a faint, dangerous shade of blue. Her skin had that translucent, waxy quality. She was shivering—small, violent, full-body tremors that made her look like a abandoned animal. I scooped her up. Her head fell back against my shoulder, her freezing, wet hair pressing directly against the warm skin of my neck. It felt like fire and ice hitting me at the same time.