Wolf On The Ice

chapter 5

"Mr. Hale. Take a seat."

The office of Richard Blackwood, owner of the Northwood Titans, screamed old money and power. Dark wood paneling. Expensive artwork. Trophies from forty years in professional hockey—both as a player and an owner.

Logan remained standing, hands shoved in his pockets. His three-game suspension for breaking Adams' jaw had just been announced, and he was in no mood for a lecture.

"I said, take a seat." Blackwood's voice deepened, an unmistakable alpha command vibrating in the words.

Logan's wolf bristled at the challenge, but his legs moved without his permission, carrying him to the chair across from Blackwood's massive desk.

"That's better." Blackwood studied him, his gray eyes sharp despite his seventy years. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Logan muttered. "That all you wanted to tell me?"

Blackwood ignored the question. He walked to a cabinet, unlocked it, and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid that smelled nothing like ordinary whiskey. He poured two glasses and handed one to Logan.

"Drink."

Logan sniffed the liquid. "What is this?"

"Something special. For our kind only." Blackwood took a sip of his own. "It helps with control."

Logan downed the drink in one go. A pleasant warmth spread through his body, and for the first time in days, the constant snarling of his wolf quieted to a dull murmur.

"Better?" Blackwood asked.

Logan nodded, surprised. "What's in this?"

"Old family recipe. Herbs that affect the wolf but not the man." Blackwood sat behind his desk. "It's not a cure. Just a temporary solution."

"For what?"

"For what's happening to you." Blackwood's expression hardened. "I know a rejected mate bond when I see one. The question is, why would you do something so monumentally stupid?"

Logan set the glass down carefully. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Blackwood opened a folder on his desk. "Logan Hale. Star center. Alpha werewolf from one of the oldest bloodlines. Mother died when you were twelve—killed by your father in a rage. Father put down by his own pack shortly after." He closed the folder. "Sound about right?"

Logan stood abruptly. "My family history is none of your business."

"It became my business when you nearly shifted on the ice last night." Blackwood's voice was deadly quiet. "When you risked exposing all of us because you can't control your wolf."

Logan froze. "What are you talking about?"

Blackwood slid a tablet across the desk. On the screen was a paused video—Logan skating toward the tunnel after his ejection. His eyes were glowing gold, clearly visible even on the grainy security footage.

"Luckily, most humans will think it's just a reflection from the lights. But any wolf watching the broadcast would know exactly what they're seeing." Blackwood took the tablet back. "A wolf losing control."

Logan sank back into the chair. "I didn't realize..."

"Clearly." Blackwood poured him another drink. "Now, want to tell me why you rejected your mate? The Reed girl, I assume? Our physical therapist?"

Logan's head snapped up. "How did you—"

"I'm not just the team owner, son. I'm the pack alpha of this territory. Nothing happens in my domain that I don't know about." Blackwood's expression softened slightly. "Especially something this serious."

For a moment, Logan considered lying. But what was the point? Blackwood clearly knew more than he was letting on.

"The Hale curse," Logan said finally. "My family... we're born wrong. Our wolves are too strong. They take over eventually."

Blackwood nodded. "I knew your grandfather. Thomas Hale was a good man. A strong wolf."

"Until he nearly killed his mate and had to be contained by his pack for the last twenty years of his life," Logan said bitterly.

"Is that what you think happened?"

Logan looked up, confused. "That's what I know happened. My father told me."

Blackwood sighed heavily. "Your father didn't know the whole story. I do." He stood, walking to a framed photo on the wall—a hockey team from the 1970s. He pointed to a tall, broad-shouldered man in the back row. "That's Thomas. Your grandfather. We played together for years."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Everything." Blackwood returned to his desk. "The Hale curse isn't what you think it is. It's not that your wolves are too strong—it's that they're meant for something more. Something most werewolves never experience."

"Which is what?"

"True bonding. A complete merging of man and wolf, through the mate bond." Blackwood's eyes took on a faraway look. "Most wolves and their human sides coexist. For the Hales, the potential exists for total harmony—man and wolf as one. But only through the mate bond."

Logan shook his head. "That's not what happened to my father. Or my grandfather."

"Because they rejected their mates," Blackwood said bluntly. "The rejection doesn't just break the bond—it breaks the wolf. Drives it mad. Makes it fight harder for control."

A chill ran down Logan's spine. "That's what's happening to me."

"Yes. And it will get worse. Much worse." Blackwood leaned forward. "Your grandfather rejected his mate because he feared the stories he'd heard about the Hale curse. Just like you did. By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late. The damage was done."

"And my father?"

"Followed in his footsteps, not knowing any better." Blackwood's expression darkened. "But your father's case was worse. He tried to claim his mate after rejecting her. The bond was damaged, twisted. It drove both of them mad in the end."

Logan's hands were shaking. "So I'm damned either way. If I stay away from Mia, the wolf takes over. If I go back to her after rejection..."

"You risk repeating your father's mistakes," Blackwood finished. "Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless she forgives you. Truly forgives you. Then a new bond could form—not a forced one, but one freely given on both sides." Blackwood studied him intently. "But that would require honesty. Humility. Things you Hale men have never been very good at."

Logan laughed humorlessly. "She hates me."

"Can you blame her?" Blackwood stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "You're suspended for three games. Use the time wisely. Figure out what you want—to live with the pain of separation, to die from it, or to humble yourself and beg for forgiveness."

At the door, Blackwood handed Logan a small flask of the special drink. "This will help with the symptoms, but not the cause. And it won't last long. A week, maybe less, before your wolf builds a tolerance."

Logan took the flask. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I made a promise to your grandfather before he died. That if I ever met another Hale showing the signs, I'd tell them the truth." Blackwood's eyes flashed red briefly—the mark of a powerful alpha. "Don't waste this chance, boy. It may be your last."

---

Mia stared at her resignation letter, cursor blinking at the end of the carefully worded text. She'd spent hours drafting it, trying to explain why she needed to leave the Titans without mentioning mate bonds or rejection or werewolves.

In the end, she'd settled for the simple truth: "For personal health reasons, I can no longer continue in my position."

Her finger hovered over the send button. This job had been her dream—working with professional athletes, building her career, proving herself. And now she was walking away because of a man.

No, not just a man. A werewolf. Her mate. Who had rejected her.

The absurdity of it all hit her suddenly, and she laughed until tears streamed down her face. How had this become her life?

A knock at her apartment door cut through her hysteria. She wiped her eyes, closing her laptop without sending the email. It was probably Ellie, checking on her again.

But when she opened the door, it wasn't Ellie standing there.

It was a tall, elegant man in his seventies, leaning on a polished cane despite looking fit enough not to need one.

"Ms. Reed," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "My name is Richard Blackwood. I own the Northwood Titans. May I come in? There's something important we need to discuss."

"What could we possibly have to discuss?" Mia asked, suspicious.

Blackwood's eyes flashed red for just a moment—a color she'd never seen before.

"The Hale curse," he said simply. "And your role in breaking it."