Checking His Mate
Before the referee could even blow the whistle, a towering, broad-supported figure in a black jersey blurred across the ice.
Number 87.
Roman didn't hesitate. He ripped his gloves off, throwing them onto the ice as his massive frame collided with the guy. The impact rattled the plexiglass. Even from all the way up here, I could feel the terrifying, dominant Alpha energy radiating off him. His dark hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead as he dragged the guy down by his collar, delivering a brutal upper-cut that drove the arena into an absolute frenzy.
Right beside him, cracking his knuckles and keeping the rest of the opposing team at bay, was Zane. My brother. The perfect, loyal