Wolf On The Ice

chapter 4

"Hale! Get your head in the game!"

Logan barely heard Coach Barrett's shouting over the roaring in his ears. The Chicago Wolves' center had just slammed him into the boards for the third time tonight, and Logan's patience was gone. So was his control.

The referee's whistle blew as the puck slid toward the Titans' goal. Logan ignored it, turning instead to track the player who'd hit him.

"Don't do it," Jackson warned, skating past. "We're only up by one. We need you on the ice, not in the box."

Logan knew his captain was right. But the wolf didn't care about the game anymore. It cared about proving dominance. About unleashing the rage that had been building for days.

The Chicago player—Adams—smirked as he skated by. "Losing your edge, Hale?"

That was all it took.

Logan dropped his stick and gloves in one fluid motion and grabbed Adams, spinning him around. The first punch connected with a satisfying crunch. The second never landed because the refs were there, pulling them apart as Adams collapsed to the ice, blood staining the white surface.

"You're done!" The referee pointed to the tunnel. Game misconduct. Ejection.

Logan didn't care. The momentary relief of violence was worth it. He skated toward the tunnel, ignoring Coach Barrett's furious face, ignoring the boos from the Chicago crowd.

Until he saw her.

Mia stood at the tunnel entrance, medical kit in hand, ready to treat any injuries. Their eyes met for a brief moment. The disappointment in hers cut deeper than any hockey stick.

"Nice going, superstar," she muttered as he passed, just loud enough for his enhanced hearing to catch.

The wolf snarled, wanting to turn around, to challenge her, to make her acknowledge what she was doing to him. But the man kept walking, head down, into the darkness of the tunnel.

---

"He broke Adams' jaw in three places," Ellie said, sliding into the seat next to Mia in the medical area. "Clean fractures, though. Should heal in a couple weeks."

Mia winced. "He's getting worse."

"You both are." Ellie studied her friend's face. "You've lost weight. Your hands are shaking. You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I'm fine." Mia focused on restocking her medical supplies, trying to steady her trembling fingers.

"You're not fine. Neither is he." Ellie lowered her voice. "Bond rejection is serious business, Mia. For wolves, it can be fatal if not resolved."

Mia dropped the roll of tape she was holding. "Fatal? You never said anything about fatal."

"I didn't want to scare you." Ellie picked up the tape. "It's rare, but it happens. The wolf can't handle the loss. It goes mad, takes over completely. The human side gets... lost."

"And for humans? What happens to rejected human mates?"

Ellie hesitated. "It's different. Usually just depression, physical pain. It fades eventually."

But Mia could tell she was holding something back. "Usually?"

Before Ellie could answer, the door burst open. Two players supported a third between them—Dex, the goalie, his face twisted in pain.

"Pulled something in his hip," one explained. "Coach says you need to look at it now."

Mia pushed her personal problems aside and went into professional mode. "Get him on the table."

As she helped Dex onto the exam table, a wave of dizziness hit her. She stumbled, grabbing the edge of the table to keep from falling.

"You okay?" Dex asked through gritted teeth.

"Fine." Mia took a deep breath. "Just moved too fast."

She began examining Dex's hip, her training taking over despite her body's protests. Her hands still shook slightly, but no one commented on it.

No one except Dex.

"It's the rejection, isn't it?" he asked quietly as she manipulated his leg, testing for the source of pain.

Mia froze. "What?"

"The bond rejection. It's hurting you." Dex's eyes were kind beneath his tough exterior. "We can all tell. The wolves, I mean."

Mia focused on her work, not meeting his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." Dex winced as she found the spot of his strain. "Look, Hale's an ass sometimes, but he's not a bad guy. Whatever reason he had for the rejection—"

"Is none of my business," Mia cut him off. "Or yours."

"It is when it's affecting the whole team." Dex sat up once she finished her exam. "He's our best player, and he's falling apart out there. You're our best therapist, and you look like death. We need you both functioning."

Mia handed him an ice pack. "Hip flexor strain. Ice it tonight, heat tomorrow. No practice for two days."

Dex took the ice pack but didn't move. "He's not sleeping. Barely eating. Started drinking after games, which he never used to do. Whatever he thought he was doing by rejecting you—it's killing him. Maybe literally."

"That's not my problem." Mia turned away, busying herself with cleaning up.

"Isn't it?" Dex stood carefully. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like it's destroying you both."

After he left, Mia collapsed into her chair, head in her hands. The pain in her chest had become a constant companion, a hollow ache that no amount of painkillers could touch.

If this was what rejection felt like for a human, what was it doing to a wolf?

---

The hotel bar was quiet at 2 AM. Just Logan and a bottle of whiskey that wasn't doing its job. Alcohol affected werewolves differently—it took massive quantities to feel anything, and the effects never lasted long.

But he kept drinking anyway, hoping to numb the pain that had taken up permanent residence in his soul.

"This seat taken?"

Logan looked up to see Marcus Webb, the Wolves' captain and one of the league's top defensemen. Another alpha, based on his scent.

"Free country," Logan muttered.

Marcus sat, eyeing Logan's bottle. "Rough game."

"f**k off."

"Touchy." Marcus signaled the bartender for a drink. "Heard you got yourself a mate rejection situation."

Logan's head snapped up, a growl building in his throat. "Who told you that?"

"No one had to tell me. I can smell it on you." Marcus accepted his drink. "Happened to my brother. Rejected his mate for some noble reason. Thought he was protecting her."

"What happened?" Logan couldn't help asking.

"He died." Marcus said it simply, no emotion. "Wolf took over. Completely feral by the end."

Logan stared at his glass. "How long?"

"Six months from rejection to feral. Another month before the pack had to put him down." Marcus studied Logan. "You've got the same look he did. Like you're fighting a losing battle."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Professional courtesy. We might be rivals on the ice, but no wolf deserves that end." Marcus finished his drink. "Find your mate. Fix it. Before it's too late."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Marcus stood. "Because if you won't, someone else will."

A dangerous growl escaped Logan's throat. "What does that mean?"

"It means unclaimed mates don't stay unclaimed for long, especially the special ones." Marcus's eyes glinted in the dim light. "And I'm in the market."

Logan was on his feet in an instant, fangs dropping, eyes flashing gold. The wolf was seconds from taking over completely.

Marcus held up his hands. "Easy. Just making a point. You rejected her, remember? That means she's fair game."

With tremendous effort, Logan reined in the wolf. "Stay away from her."

"Not your call anymore." Marcus tossed some bills on the bar. "But I'm a reasonable man. Fix your mistake, and I'll back off. Keep playing the martyr, and I'm going after her. Simple as that."

After Marcus left, Logan hurled his glass against the wall, ignoring the bartender's protests. The thought of another wolf—another alpha—touching Mia, claiming Mia...

He couldn't allow it. But he couldn't claim her either. Not with the curse tightening its grip on him daily.

Logan looked at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His eyes were stuck between human and wolf, a sickly yellow-green that wouldn't fade back to normal. His canines remained extended, cutting into his lower lip.

Signs of a wolf losing control. Of a man losing himself.

The bartender slid another glass toward him, giving his fangs a wary look. "Last call, buddy. You might want to get yourself together."

But as Logan downed the whiskey, he knew the truth.

He wasn't getting it together.

He was falling apart.