Todos los capítulos de Claimed on Ice: Marked by the Rival Captain: Capítulo 131 - Capítulo 140

Theo POVThe overtime period lasted exactly forty-two seconds.Off the opening draw, Gavin Vance won the puck back to my blade. I broke down the left wing, cutting through the high slot in a blinding flash of light blue. Dominic back-checked hard, his broad navy frame closing the angle, but instead of blocking my path, he drove his stick alongside mine.We struck the puck together.Our composite blades hit the rubber at the exact same fraction of a second, a dual wrist shot born from identical timing and eight years of shared instinct. The black disc exploded off the frost, screaming past the goalie’s glove straight into the top corner.The goal horn roared across the arena—a long, deafening blast that shook the glass partitions.The scoreboard flashed in giant, blinding red digits: TITANS 4, ROYALS 3.Gavin and the Titans swarmed the ice, but Dominic did not step back. He wrapped his broad arms around my waist, lifting me off my skates as the silver confetti began to fall like snow f

Theo POVThe kitchen island was cool against my lower back, but my skin was burning.Dominic’s hands gripped my waist, his knuckles white against the dark navy fabric of his suit trousers. I could not breathe. I did not want to. Eight years of synthetic dampeners, chemical blockers, and constant fear had evaporated the moment the final buzzer rang in the arena.My natural scent poured out of my pores, filling the dark room with heavy vanilla, rain, and sweet, unblocked heat.“Dominic,” I gasped, my fingers digging into the broad shoulders of his jacket. “It’s starting.”Dominic froze, his dark hazel eyes flashing gold under the dim city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling glass. He leaned in, burying his face into the side of my neck where the mating mark sat exposed, raw and unpatched.“The Heat?” he rumbled, his voice thick and rough.“Post-victory,” I whispered, arching my throat as his hot tongue dragged across my collarbone. “The stress… the game… it’s all crashing down

Dominic POVRain tapped against the high glass windows of the executive tower.Inside the thirty-fourth-floor office, the air smelled of stale scotch and old leather. My father, Arthur Vale, stood behind a massive dark oak desk, his silver hair brushed back, his slate grey suit tailored without a single wrinkle.He did not look up when the heavy double doors opened.“You took your time getting here,” Arthur said, his voice cold as iron. “The press conference ended an hour ago.”I unbuttoned my dark wool coat, stepping into the center of the room. Across my chest, under my white shirt, the mating bond hummed warm and steady—Theo’s quiet presence grounding me even through thirty floors of steel and stone.“I had better places to be,” I said, my voice flat.Arthur picked up a crystal tumbler from his desk, taking a slow sip. He pointed a thin finger toward a stack of morning newspapers lying on the leather couch.“Look at those headlines,” Arthur noted, a faint, bitter curve touching his

Theo POVDr. Harris’s office was quiet, smelling of clean linen and fresh coffee instead of cold ice.I sat on the edge of the exam table, the paper covering crinkling under my thighs. The light blue Titans hoodie I wore felt oversized, warm, and soft against my skin.Dominic stood beside the table, his hand resting flat against my lower back. He wore his navy suit jacket over a crisp white shirt, his broad shoulders blocking out half the room. His dark hazel eyes stayed fixed on the ultrasound monitor suspended from the ceiling.Dr. Harris squirted warm gel onto the clear plastic probe. “Alright, let’s take a look at our tiny champion.”I hissed softly as the cold gel hit my stomach. Dominic’s grip tightened on my hand instantly, his thumb stroking my knuckles in slow, steady sweeps.“Too cold?” Dominic asked, leaning down until his breath warmed my ear.“It’s fine,” I murmured, a faint smirk touching my lips. “You’re more nervous than I am, Captain.”“I have every right to be,” Domi

Theo POVThe air in the master bedroom smelled heavily of cedar and fresh rain.I dragged a heavy wool blanket across the hardwood floor, my breath catching as my stomach tightened slightly. I was fourteen weeks along now, the soft curve of my second pregnancy showing clearly against the light gray jersey I wore, Dominic’s old Royals training sweater, dark navy with a faded number 9 on the back.Dominic stood near the walk-in closet, holding two plush leather pillows under his arms. He watched me with quiet, intense eyes.“Theo,” he said, taking a step forward. “Let me carry those.”“No,” I replied, pulling the blanket closer to my chest. “I need these ones. The heavy knit.”He stopped, his broad frame framed by the warm sunlight pouring through the glass walls. He knew better than to argue with an Omega in the middle of a nesting cycle.“I brought down the winter duvets from the top storage,” Dominic said, setting the pillows gently on the edge of the rug. “And I washed them with the