THE OBSESSIVE ALPHA'S FAKE MATE (M×M)
Garrison was sharpening his blades at the bench, Vance was taping his stick, and the younger Beta players were moving fast, avoiding making eye contact with anyone.
Asher sat three stalls down. He wasn't slouched, and he wasn't sulking.
He sat straight as a spear, radiating a cold, suffocating Alpha pressure that had the entire room walking on eggshells. His black eyes were hard as coal, his jaw tight, his broad shoulders squared under his jersey. He looked terrifying—a cold, ruthless royal heir ready to tear through anyone who made a wrong move. But he didn't look at me once. He kept a dark, lethal perimeter around himself, suppressing his scent to a icy, metallic sharp edge.