Todos los capítulos de Ice And Blood: The Coach's Secret Omega : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

AsaI turn around, the warm water still cascading over my shoulders, only to find Kirill stalking toward me. Before I can even react or scramble back against the wet tile, his heavy hands find my waist. He yanks me flush into his arms, completely unbothered by the spray, and buries his face directly into the crook of my neck."Please let me... just once. I promise I will be gentle, baby," he growls.The rough baritone of his voice is completely laced with an uncharacteristic, desperate strain. I freeze, my hands pressing against his massive chest to shove him off, but the moment my palms hit his skin, my brow furrows. He's burning up. He's significantly hotter than usual, a suffocating heat radiating right through his wet shirt. Normally, I would have kicked his ribs in by now for cornering me bare, but I hesitate. I tell myself it's only because he's clearly sick from the concussive blow to the head he took yesterday, a stubborn man who refused to rest."What the hell are you doing?"

Asa The sight of him makes something immediately smoothen in me. It's deeply unsettling, but the entire time I've spent in this place, a tiny, intrusive part of my mind has been wondering if his fever finally went down. Yeah, disturbing as fuck, I know. But that relief lasts for all of a second before the brutal reality kicks in. Even while ill, he still has time to crawl out of his wherever his ass was, down to a place like this, obviously looking for some floozy to fuck. It shouldn't bother me. I know I should want nothing to do with him, but it does bother me nonetheless. I watch through the dim light as he makes his way directly to the bar—the exact station where Toby is currently serving drinks and the moment Toby sees his massive frame loom over the counter, his entire face burns a bright, furious crimson. I kinda feel bad for him. Toby's been going through some really difficult times lately, and this warehouse district club was the only place that would hire him well since h

Asa I wake up to a heavy arm wrapped around my waist like a fucking anaconda. Yesterday's events crash into me all at once—the suicide drills from hell, the club, those two Alphas in the restroom, the feel of Kirill's hands on my skin, and whatever the fuck that was on his mattress. My body aches everywhere. But that's not the worst part. The worst part is the smell. The bedroom reeks of me. My real scent. Sweet cream and crushed mint, completely unmasked and peaking like I'm about to drop into heat right here on his sheets. I haven't taken my blockers since midday yesterday, and my body has fully given up the fight. Shit. It's late. I have class. I try to slide out of bed, but the arm around my waist tightens and drags me right back against a bare, burning chest. "Where do you think you're going?" Kirill's voice is a sleep-rough growl against the back of my neck. "Class. Let go." He doesn't let go. His grip tightens, his breath hot against the bite mark he left on my neck,

AsaBy 6:30 PM, the university rink is an absolute wall of sound. Today is match day.The roar of the home crowd rattles the heavy plexiglass boards, thousands of fans screaming, stamping their feet, and waving banners. The championship qualifying season is officially over, and the energy of the first conference league match is electric. Oh, how I've missed this. The cold bite of the shaved ice, the smell of rubber, the raw adrenaline of the ice rink—it's the only place I feel like myself.But the atmosphere inside our locker room is dead silent.Coach stands at the front of the room, dressed in his tailored track jacket, his eyes cold and completely unreadable. The white bandage on his temple is gone, leaving a thin, dangerous silver scar. And the sight of that scar makes me want to high-five myself. He delivers his final tactical speech with a flat tone, but right before we head down the tunnel, he snaps his clipboard shut."Kale, warm up," Kirill commands, his voice quiet but absol

AsaWhy I'm here, even I don't know.But one thing I do know is that Kirill has some answering to do. Whether I get those answers from his corpse or from his actual mouth, I'm still not entirely certain. The sheer, toxic restlessness rolling through my veins has driven me straight back to his electronic keypad, my fingers punching in his passcode from memory before my brain can even stop me.The lock clicks, and the heavy door swings inward.I step inside, only to find Kirill already standing by the kitchen island, slowly sipping a glass of water. A single dark towel is looped loosely around his hips, the water from his recent shower still glistening against the broad, tatted planes of his bare chest. Well, too bad for catching him off guard. The bastard looks completely unfazed, his steel-grey eyes tracking my entry into the dark apartment with a maddening level of calm."You should give up your hockey dream and become a professional breaking-and-entering thief," Kirill murmurs, his