The Ice King Novels & Stories

"Well, for someone who is so afraid to lose me, I don't think he has the heart to punish me." Darlington’s face changed. He moved very fast. He pushed Freya back until her back hit the cold wall. He grabbed both of her hands and held them high above her head, pressing them against the wall so she couldn't move. He leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her skin. "You think very highly of yourself," he growled. "I am the Ice King. I am not afraid to lose anyone. I am not afraid to lose you." Freya’s heart was racing, but she didn't back down. She looked at his lips and then back at his eyes. "Fine, Ice King. Do your worst. If you aren't scared of losin

The kind of still that means everyone has noticed and no one is going to be the first to say so. He pulled up. His skates cut clean. He looked at me with an expression that had been carefully emptied of everything except the surface layer of professional neutrality. Then he skated toward me. Slow, deliberate, unhurried in the way of a man who had decided to make a point and wasn't in any rush because the point would land whenever he chose. He stopped close enough that I could see the exact temperature behind his eyes, which was roughly the same as the ice under my blades.

"My grandmother told me stories about the waste when I was a boy. She said there are things in the ice that do not belong to the king and do not belong to the humans and do not belong to anyone." "Save your stories for the king." I pushed him forward. He stumbled on the ice and went down on one knee. His knee cracked against the ice and he hissed through his teeth, and for one moment I thought he was going to stay down. I pulled him up by the arm and set him moving again. He did not thank me, and I did not expect him to. He was breathing hard through his nose, and his breath came out in white puffs that the wind took away before they could rise.

"Fifty yards in open snow. The sensors will pick you up the second you break cover." "Not if they have a bigger, hotter target to track," Maya said, her honey-brown eyes meeting his with a fierce, terrified bravery. Julian’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered near his ear. He was the Ice King, a man who commanded global markets and private armies, and the thought of using himself as live bait to protect his amnesiac wife was the only logical play. But the thought of her running into the open while heavy machine guns tracked them made his blood run cold.

After the long hiatus, the skaters needed to regain their edge before facing the "Wall of San Diego." Viktor didn't like the isolation, but he understood the necessity. In a squad where every man was a giant, Viktor was the titan. Standing 6’6” and broad enough to block out the sun, his physical presence dominated the net. With his golden hair and thick beard, the fans called him "The Storm Lord," a title he preferred over the one Lyon Navarro had tried to pin on him years ago.

The windows were ceiling high, glass for being see-through and just from whhere I was standing, I can see the whole city. But that was not what caught my artention or stopped me in my tracks – it was Soren Vale. I recognize him the way you recognize a landmark. Impossible not to. He's on the cover of Forbes every other quarter, the kind of man that financial journalists describe as ruthless when they actually mean terrifying and visionary. Tall, dark-suited, jaw set like he was carved out of something expensive and cold. The Ice King. That's what they call him. Right now, the Ice King is being cornered by a woman in a champagne

The exit doors were entirely blocked by his hulking teammates dragging themselves into the dark concourse. Dante moved rapidly on the ice below. He skated fiercely toward the boards, his powerful strides chewing up the frozen distance in mere seconds. He slammed his heavy gloves against the top of the glass, forcefully demanding Roman's attention. "Leave her alone," Dante commanded, his deep voice carrying absolute lethal authority. "Your fight is with me on the ice. Step away from those concrete stairs right now." Roman stopped at the bottom of the steps and laughed maniacally into the empty arena. He turned his head slightly to glare back at the icy king who had just ruined his perfect lif

POV: Kimberly God, I’m finished! I’m in a relationship with a prince, like a real prince with a fucking crown on his head. He turned to me and chuckled softly, acting as though it’s not a big deal. “I’m called the Ice Hockey Prince on Campus, Sweetheart. What did you think that meant?” he asks, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing the back of my palm. How do I explain to him that I’d only agreed to be with him for fun, how am I supposed to dump him and marry the guy my father chose for me?

Cade gives me a look that is half amused, half dubious. “I’ve spent a considerable amount of time taking your clothes off.” I scrunch my face. “Pervert.” He only grins. He sets a helmet on my head and snaps the strap under my chin like I'm a child. Gloves next, then his own gear. When he finally stands, he holds out a hand, and I take it. The second I step on the ice, my face nearly has a personal meeting with it. Cade’s arm locks around my waist before I can fall.

And Julian Ravencourt was the sun around which all power in this city orbited. "Is he always that charming?" Tiffany asked the waiter, gesturing toward Julian. "Ravencourt?" The waiter snorted. "They call him the 'Ice King.' He hates everyone. Doesn't date, doesn't socialize, doesn't do 'favors.' If you’re not a multi-billionaire or a world leader, you don't exist to him." Tiffany set her empty glass down on the marble counter. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. "He hates everyone, huh?"