My Hockey Alpha Neighbor Mga Nobela at Kwento

Here were Alphas who had accomplished so much, fought ten times as many battles and overcame a thousand times as many obstacles. And here I was, a college hockey player with a ragtag group of friends as my pack and a tiny island town to protect from rogues. “Ah, Enzo,” one of the Alphas, a man named Cerys, said as we approached. “How nice to see you again. We were just talking about you.” “Nice to see you too, Cerys,” I said with a polite nod. “I hope you’re enjoying the party.” One of the other Alphas, a burly man named Lucian with a grizzled beard, turned to Matt and eyed him up and down for a moment. “And who is your friend?” he asked, glancing at me.

She pleaded and I huffed. "Dad, the footage?" "Shut up! Can't you see she isn't feeling well?" He snapped, then led her out of the room and I chuckled in amazement. I was beginning to enjoy this. ......... The next day was the hockey match and I made sure to ignore Donald all through classes today, heading to the men's locker room to see Griffin and get his jacket. The room seemed deserted and I was about to leave when I bumped into a huge rock, my nose almost bruising due to the impact.

It’s that smile that feels like something righting itself in my chest. The pack house is silent tonight, strangely so. Most of them cleared out right after practice, leaving us some room without needing to be told. They know better. When an alpha bonds, you don’t hover. You let him breathe. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and toss it to her. She catches it easily. “You okay?” she asks, now more serious. I nod. “Yeah. Knee’s fine. Ego survived the snowball massacre.”

Selene too might change her stance and start bullying me which was typical of girls like her. “We – we are neighbours,” I responded, bowing my head. “Is it normal to blush at the mention of a neighbour’s name?” He snorted. “I see then. Stupid girl, I am Alpha Logan. What’s your name?”

Tie game with thirty seconds left. The home crowd exploded. Jax grinned behind his cage as his new teammates slammed into him for a quick celly. But then it hit him. A scent cut through the sweat, ice, and popcorn like a blade. Pine, storm, and something darker. Alpha. Familiar in a way that made his knees weak. His head snapped toward the rival bench. Number 47. Captain of the Northern Howlers. Broad shoulders, powerful legs, helmet hiding most of his face. The alpha was staring straight at him.

Understandably down by where the river becomes fast and, well, white, as it rushes through stones and fallen logs. “I’m from the Bloodstone pack!” I blurt out in excitement. Alpha Jackson and Alexander both turn to me in surprise, and I realize I’ve perhaps overstepped my role by speaking at all. I quickly shut my mouth and lean into Alexander’s side apologetically. “Our neighbors up the river are an honorable pack,” Alpha Jackson answers with a smile before returning his attention to Alexander. “Thank you again for this night, Your Majesty. I’ll go let the other Alphas know you won’t bite.”

Kieran's POV "You're late," Alex Cowell said the second I walked into the locker room. He was sitting on the wooden bench, his hockey skates already laced up, adjusting the tape around the handle of his stick. Alex had been my teammate for six years and my best friend since we were training in the minor leagues…he is practical, loyal, and the only person outside of my family who knew exactly how much blood was on the Volkov name. He didn't care about the mafia side of my life, but he cared deeply about the hockey side.

Not love letters, nothing overtly romantic, but still enough to destroy me in front of everyone. The Alpha flipped it open dramatically. “Oh, this is good.” My face burned with humiliation. “Give it back.” He ignored me completely. Instead, he started reading aloud. “‘Damon scored twenty-three goals in eighteen games.’” More laughter followed. “‘Fastest player on the ice. Strong left-side attack.’ The crowd laughed harder. I took a desperate step forward. “Stop.” “‘Favorite move during power plays—’” “Stop!”

She keeps screaming every time a hockey player passes the puck into the net, but I'm not on the same page with her. My focus has drifted as always. I am constantly watching, searching every face, every scent, every careless laugh because I'm hunting for the wolves who rip my family apart. The crowd roars again when a player scores. This time they are chanting someone's name. I tilt my head to the side of the rink, and then I see him. Zane Grayson! The golden boy of Highcrest College, the untouchable star hockey player and the future Alpha of the Blue Crest Pack. Our eyes meet for a millisecond, and his smirk falters. Something unreadable flashes in his stormy grey eyes.