Wolf On The Ice

chapter 7

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're beginning our descent into Anchorage. Local time is 6:42 PM, and the temperature is a brisk twelve degrees."

Logan stared out the window of the team plane. The setting sun painted the snow-covered mountains in shades of crimson. Blood red. Fitting.

He could feel the moon already, though it wouldn't rise for hours. The blood moon. A rare lunar eclipse that turned the moon the color of fresh blood. For normal werewolves, it meant heightened senses, stronger shifts.

For Logan, in his current state, it might mean the end.

His hand trembled as he pulled Blackwood's flask from his pocket. Two drops left. He'd been rationing it, but tonight he needed it all. He tipped the flask, letting the last of the liquid hit his tongue.

Relief came instantly but weaker than before. His wolf, growing stronger by the hour, merely retreated a step instead of backing down completely.

"You look like shit."

Logan glanced up to see Jackson standing in the aisle.

"Thanks."

"Blackwood called. Said to give you this." Jackson slipped a small vial into Logan's palm. "Said it's stronger than the last batch."

Logan pocketed it gratefully.

"Also said you're on borrowed time." Jackson's voice dropped. "What's going on, Hale? For real?"

Before Logan could answer, the plane bumped onto the runway, jostling them all.

"Later," Logan muttered.

But later might be too late.

Mia's commercial flight landed an hour after the team's. She stood in the baggage claim area, second-guessing herself.

What was she doing here? Following a man who had rejected her? Risking her heart based on the words of a man she barely knew?

Her chest ached, a constant companion since the rejection. The pain seemed worse here, closer to the Arctic Circle, closer to the blood moon.

Closer to Logan.

She grabbed her bag and headed for the exit. The Titans were staying at the Northview Hotel and playing tomorrow night against the Alaska Avalanche. She had a room reservation and a ticket to the game.

What she didn't have was a plan.

Outside, the air bit at her skin, cold and clean. The sky was darkening rapidly, stars emerging in the vast Alaskan night. Somewhere beyond them, the blood moon was rising.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Ellie: *Are you crazy? Why are you in Alaska?*

Mia didn't answer. She couldn't explain what she herself didn't understand.

---

The team dinner was subdued. Tomorrow's game was crucial for playoff standings, and the Avalanche were undefeated on home ice this season.

Logan pushed his steak around his plate, unable to eat. The wolf wanted raw meat. Wanted to hunt. Wanted its mate.

He excused himself early, retreating to his hotel room. He shed his clothes and stood under the shower's scalding spray, trying to burn away the creature clawing at his insides.

It didn't work.

After the shower, he uncapped Blackwood's new vial. The liquid inside was darker than before, almost black. He hesitated, then downed it in one swallow.

Fire spread through his veins. He gasped, falling to his knees as the tonic took effect. It was stronger, yes, but it hurt like hell. His wolf howled in protest, fighting the suppression.

Logan crawled to the bed, pulling himself up onto the mattress. As the pain subsided, a new sensation replaced it.

She was here.

He sat up abruptly, nostrils flaring. Lavender. Honey. Mia.

Not a memory. Not a phantom scent conjured by his desperate mind.

Real.

She was in Alaska.

---

Mia sat in the hotel bar, nursing a glass of wine she didn't want. What she wanted was upstairs. Twenty-three floors up, if the star-struck receptionist who recognized her from Titans games was correct.

"Miss Reed?"

She turned to find Coach Barrett standing beside her table, surprise etched on his weathered face.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I..." She fumbled for an explanation. "I thought the team might need medical support."

Barrett's eyes narrowed. "We have medical staff with us."

"Yes, but with the importance of these games for playoffs—"

"Cut the crap." Barrett sat across from her. "This is about Hale."

Mia said nothing, confirming his suspicion.

"Listen, I don't know what's between you two, and I don't care. But he's hanging by a thread." Barrett leaned closer. "Whatever you're planning, be careful. I've never seen him this unstable."

As if summoned by their conversation, the bar fell silent. Mia looked up.

Logan stood in the doorway, eyes locked on hers. Even from across the room, she could see the gold flickering in his irises.

Her body reacted instantly—heart racing, skin warming, chest aching with fresh pain. The broken bond surged between them, raw and jagged.

"I have to go," she whispered, dropping money on the table.

Barrett caught her wrist. "Think about what you're doing."

She pulled free. "I have."

---

Logan couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

She was here. In Alaska. Looking both wonderful and terrible—beautiful as always but pale, thinner, with dark circles under her eyes.

Rejection had hurt her too.

He watched her throw money on the table and stand. Watched her head for the back exit, away from him.

*Mine. Mate. MINE.*

The wolf surged, nearly breaking through the tonic's barrier. It took every ounce of Logan's willpower not to chase her.

Instead, he turned and walked out the front entrance, into the Alaskan night. The temperature had dropped further, but he didn't feel it. His skin burned from within.

Overhead, clouds parted, revealing the rising moon—larger than normal and stained deep red. The blood moon.

Logan tilted his head back and let the moonlight wash over him. His skin prickled, bones shifting slightly beneath.

The wolf howled silently within him. Tonight would be a test of control like no other.

A test he was increasingly certain he would fail.

---

Game night.

The Alaska Dome was packed, the crowd roaring as the teams took the ice for warmups. Mia sat in the stands, five rows up from the glass, watching number 13 skate circles with mechanical precision.

Even from here, she could see something was wrong. Logan's movements were slightly off—too stiff, too careful, like a man walking on thin ice.

She hadn't seen him since the bar last night. Had spent hours debating whether to go to his room, to tell him what Blackwood had shared. In the end, fear had kept her away.

Fear of rejection. Again.

The game began with the usual ceremony—national anthem, starting lineups, ceremonial puck drop. The Titans took an early lead with a goal from Jackson, silencing the hostile crowd.

Then things got ugly.

The Avalanche were known for physical play, but tonight they seemed to be targeting specific Titans players. Especially those who, Mia now realized, were likely werewolves. The hits were just legal enough to avoid penalties but vicious enough to hurt.

Logan took the worst of it. By the second period, he'd been checked into the boards a dozen times. After a particularly brutal hit, he stayed down for a moment, and Mia found herself on her feet with the rest of the crowd.

When he rose, blood dripped from a cut above his eye. Even from her seat, Mia could see the gold burning in his irises.

His control was slipping.

---

Logan's vision blurred, the arena lights too bright, the crowd noise too loud. His hands trembled inside his gloves. The tonic was failing—faster than he'd expected. The blood moon's pull combined with Mia's proximity was too much.

"Hale! Focus!" Barrett shouted from the bench.

Focus. Right. The game. They were tied 2-2 in the third period. Every point mattered.

"You okay, man?" Jackson skated closer, concern in his eyes. "Your eyes are..."

Logan blinked rapidly. "I'm fine."

He wasn't fine. The wolf was inches from the surface, claws scraping against his insides. Every hit, every check into the boards had pushed him closer to the edge.

The face-off whistle blew. Logan positioned himself at the circle, opposite Victor Krauss, the Avalanche captain. As they waited for the puck drop, Krauss glanced toward the stands, then back at Logan with a smirk.

"That your girlfriend? Five rows up, watching you like you might break?"

Logan didn't look. Couldn't. If he saw Mia watching him, he might lose what little control he had left.

"Shut up," he growled.

"She's pretty." Krauss leaned closer. "Might introduce myself after we finish crushing you."

The referee dropped the puck. Logan won the face-off, muscle memory taking over while rage built inside him.

Play resumed, faster and more aggressive than before. The Avalanche, sensing weakness, directed their attack at the Titans' younger players. Rookie Tyler Moore took the worst hit, slammed viciously into the boards by an Avalanche defenseman.

Tyler crumpled, his leg bent at an unnatural angle.

The referee's whistle blew. Medical staff rushed onto the ice.

Logan skated to Tyler, who writhed in pain. Even through the hockey pads, Logan could see the compound fracture, smell the blood. Tyler looked up at him, eyes glazed with shock.

"Don't let them get away with this," Tyler whispered.

Logan's control slipped another notch. The wolf rose, sensing pack in danger. From the corner of his eye, he saw Krauss skating by, laughing with his teammate about the hit.

"Nice job breaking the rookie," Krauss said, loud enough for Logan to hear. "One down."

The game resumed after Tyler was stretchered off. The crowd, sensing blood in the water, roared for more.

The next shift, Krauss deliberately clipped Jackson with an elbow to the face. No penalty called. Then Dex took a stick to the ribs during a power play.

They were targeting his pack. His team. His family.

When the Avalanche scored to take the lead, Krauss skated by the Titans bench, eyes fixed on Logan.

"Your girl's still watching," he taunted. "Think she'll want you after we humiliate you tonight?"

Something inside Logan snapped.

The next time Krauss had the puck, Logan hit him with everything he had. Bone met bone with a c***k that echoed through the arena. Krauss went down hard, helmet skidding across the ice.

The crowd went wild. Players from both teams converged, pushing and shoving.

Logan stood over Krauss, chest heaving. The wolf howled for blood, for vengeance.

Krauss looked up, blood streaming from his nose, fear replacing arrogance as he saw Logan's face.

"What the hell are you?" he whispered.

Logan felt his control dissolving completely. His vision shifted, colors bleeding away as the wolf's sight took over. His hands shook violently, claws extending through his gloves.

Somewhere in the growing chaos, cameras zoomed in. Somewhere, his teammates were shouting his name. Somewhere, Mia watched in horror.

But Logan was past hearing, past caring. The beast had won.

He looked down at Krauss one last time.

"You wanted the monster," he snarled, voice no longer human. "Here he is."

The transformation ripped through him in front of twenty thousand witnesses. Bones cracked, reshaping. Fur burst through skin. His uniform shredded as his body changed form.

Where Logan Hale had stood, a massive black wolf now snarled, gold eyes gleaming under the arena lights.

On national television. In front of the world.

The supernatural exposed in an instant.

Through the chaos, a familiar scent cut through. Lavender. Honey. Mia.

She stood at the glass, horror etched on her face. Their eyes met across the distance.

Help me, he tried to say. But it was too late.

As security rushed the ice and panicked fans stampeded for exits, Logan heard the distinctive sound of helicopter rotors. Through the wolf's enhanced hearing came radio chatter: "Target located... containing the situation... all units respond."

Government vehicles surrounded the arena, their lights flashing red and blue against the Alaskan night.

And Logan, trapped in wolf form with no way back, was cornered.