I stared up at the massive fortress of dark stone and glass looming against the overcast sky. The Frostfang Wolves training facility was located on the far northern edge of the city, completely surrounded by dense pine forests and crisp, cold mountain air.

It looked intimidating, like a literal wolf den built exclusively for the highest tier of alpha athletes.

I hauled my heavy gear bag through the double glass doors, the weight of it pulling at my shoulder. My hockey boots echoed loudly across the polished floor of the massive lobby.

Looking around, the walls were lined with championship banners, but everything else about the place felt completely different from the Ironclaw Titans' facility. There were no plush leather couches, velvet ropes, or gold accents here. It was way less about luxury and prestige, and way more about pure, unfiltered hard work.

As I walked down the long corridor toward the main rink, the sound of pucks hitting the boards echoed through the concrete walls like actual gunshots.

Thwack. Thwack.

My inner wolf stirred, her ears twitching as she felt the collective, high-stakes energy of a brand-new pack. It made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"Look who finally decided to show up," a sharp voice sneered from the balcony above me.

I stopped walking and looked straight up, letting my gear bag rest against my hip. Nathan Pierce, one of the team's starting Alpha forwards, was leaning over the black metal railing.

He had a mocking smirk plastered across his face, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who thought he owned the place just because of his designation.

"The rejected omega," Pierce said, raising his voice on purpose so the other players stretching in the hallway could hear him perfectly. "Did you lose your way to the beauty parlor, Bennett? This is a professional hockey rink, just so you know. The public transit stop is a mile back."

I gripped the thick strap of my gear bag a little tighter, refusing to let him see me blink or flinch. "I know exactly where I am, Pierce. I'm where your coach sends people when he realizes he needs someone on the roster who can actually score a goal for once."

A few players down the hall let out a low, collective "Ooh," laughing quietly.

Pierce's smug smirk vanished instantly. His scent flared with sudden, aggressive irritation, filling the narrow hallway with a bitter, burnt smell. "Listen here, you little-"

"That's enough out of you, Pierce," a stern voice boomed through the corridor, cutting him off entirely.

Coach Benjamin Carter walked straight out of the main office. He was a tall, incredibly broad man with cropped silver hair and a sharp gaze that immediately silenced the entire hallway.

He stared up at Pierce until the younger player lowered his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and walked away toward the gym. Once the hallway was dead quiet, the coach turned his full attention to me.

"Bennett," Coach Carter said, gesturing with his clipboard for me to follow him toward the main rink area. "Welcome to the Frostfangs."

"Thank you for the opportunity, Coach," I said, keeping my tone completely professional and even.

"Don't thank me yet," Carter said, stopping right by the thick plexiglass. Inside, several players were already skating hard laps, their blades cutting into the fresh ice with a rhythmic scraping sound.

"Let's get one thing straight. I didn't sign you out of pity, and I definitely didn't sign you to make some political statement against Logan Mercer. I don't care about your personal life. I signed you because your skating speed is exactly what my second line needs right now."

"I won't let you down," I said, my eyes tracking the players on the ice.

"The press is calling you 'damaged goods,' Nora," Carter said directly. His voice wasn't mean, but it had a firm, unyielding edge that made me listen.

"My players are skeptical. The fans think this whole trade is just a publicity stunt to get views and clicks online. Honestly, I don't care about any of that noise. But you have to earn your place here. No exceptions. If you can't handle the pressure on the ice, I'll put you on the bench myself."

"I understand," I said, my jaw setting as I met his gaze. "Just give me the ice. I'll handle the rest."

"Good. Go get changed. Practice starts in ten," Carter said, turning back to his clipboard.

Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the locker room, adjusting the stiff collar of my new dark blue and silver Frostfang jersey. My heart was racing, a mix of nerves and pure adrenaline hitting me all at once. I skated out onto the ice through the open gate, the freezing air hitting my face and instantly waking up my senses.

The moment my blades touched the surface, the rest of the team stopped their drills. Every single pair of eyes locked onto me, tracking my movements like wolves watching an intruder step into their territory. The tension in the arena was thick enough to cut with a hockey stick. Nobody said a word.

"Alright, let's see what the rookie has!" Coach Carter barked from the bench, clapping his hands loudly to shatter the silence. "Three-on-two drill. Bennett, you're on offense. Let's move!"

I skated to my position at the blue line, my heart hammering Commissions against my ribs. I looked across from me and saw Nathan Pierce standing on defense. He had a nasty, challenging grin on his face, tapping his stick aggressively against the ice.

"Don't trip over your own laces, omega," Pierce muttered quietly as he lined up, trying to get under my skin.

"Watch the puck, Pierce," I shot back, bending my knees and lowering my center of gravity.

The whistle blew, a sharp crack that echoed off the high rafters.

The puck was dropped, and I moved like actual lightning. I crossed the line, receiving a quick, hard pass from the center line.

Before Pierce could even adjust his stance or read my hips, I executed a flawless, high-speed crossover. I puck-handled right around his stick, moving with a velocity that left him grabbing at thin air.

"Whoa," one of the players on the bench muttered, leaning forward over the boards.

I drove hard toward the net, the goalie shifting his heavy pads to cover the bottom corner. I feinted left, making him commit his weight, then immediately dragged the puck back and fired a wicked wrist shot straight into the top right corner of the goal.

The puck hit the netting with a loud, satisfying snap.

The entire rink went completely silent. Nobody moved. The players on the ice just stared at the back of the net, then slowly turned their heads to look back at me.

They weren't looking at a damaged omega anymore. They were looking at a threat.

I spun around smoothly on my skates, resting my hockey stick casually across my shoulders. I looked directly at Pierce, whose face was completely flushed with embarrassment as he stood there frozen.

"Next drill," I said smoothly, skating past him without a single glance back.

I headed back to the blue line, checking my gloves. As I lined up for the next round, I noticed a couple of the other players, including one of the senior Alphas, Ethan Brooks, giving me a small, respectful nod from the bench. It wasn't an acceptance into the pack just yet, but it was a start.

"Hey, Bennett," Ethan called out, tossing a fresh puck onto the ice toward me. "Nice shot. Let's see if you can do it again."

I caught the puck with the blade of my stick and flicked it up into my hand, a small, confident smile finally playing on my lips. "Count on it."

The whistle blew again, and for the first time since the rejection, the heavy weight in my chest felt a little lighter. I wasn't running away. I was building an empire on their ice.