Page 1 of Ice Devil

CHAPTER 1

Beck

Los Angeles Times: The Future Looks Promising for the Up-and-Coming Portland NHL Franchise

Phoenix Sun: Can the Kendrick Brothers Sustain Their Unearthly Magic Against the Phoenix Machine?

The Today Show, Carter Wainwright: “The NHL season has been very exciting, especially with the addition of the Portland Hellions, the new franchise taking the ice by storm. Some experts had accredited the team’s early success to the Kendrick brothers duo, both accomplished hockey players and both young male shifters, wolves to be exact. There are also those, including members of Congress and owners of other NHL franchises whose rosters are one hundred percent human who fear continuing to allow shifters to participate on any sports team is the highest form of cheating. Coming up, I’ll share a conversation held with the owners of the Phoenix Blades who will weigh in on the highly anticipated game with the Hellions and what the future of hockey might look like.”

Winning.

That was the only goal on my mind, the only thing that mattered both now and into the future. The arena noise faded into a dull, distant buzzing. The only sound I concentrated on was the puck moving across the scarred ice. I kept my eyes pinned on the Blades’ center as he glided toward me, acting as if he was paying more attention to the oversold crowd than to where I was standing in front of the cage.

There were some who called me a human statue, capable of remaining stiff and still for extended periods. One aspect about me was certain. I was a predator, a devil in disguise, my eyes sharp while watching the puck being shifted back and forth.

The moment was almost poetic, a study of art in the form of violence. Every muscle in my legs was coiled and I’d slowed my heartrate. I noticed everything. The center’s subtle shifts in movements. In his eyes. His shoulders. Even with his blades. Every action taken including those decided against was a foreshadowing, a telling statement of what was about to occur.

The best goalies in the league often missed the one final, slick tic that would provide the only answer needed. I’d honed my skills, refusing failure. And tonight wasn’t going to be any different. We would win.

This was my moment. Either head into overtime or win the game. My choice. My time basking in the sun.

With the clock ticking down, the moment was eerily silent. I rotated my shoulders and hips, facing the brutal man. Controlling my patience had become another art form. At this point, I refused to leave any angle open.

And there it was, the last shot possible of the period. Nothing else mattered but this moment. Everything around me slowed, every action of the other hockey players and the crowd, the coaches holding their breath while referees lingered close to ensure a clean play.

I locked onto the puck, holding my stance without flinching, without moving a muscle.

Until the very last second.

With my push off violent, I dropped to my knees, skidding across the ice. Without second guessing, I swung out my paddle while holding my breath. I knew even before the accurate deflection I’d made the correct call to action.

Also by the number of boos coming from the stands on the one side, the cheers near the rest of the team on the other.

With a slight nod to the center who couldn’t believe I’d caught the shot, I slowly rose to my feet while our fans went wild.

There was nothing like the chants along with boot stomps from the fans.

“Hellions. Hellions. Hellions.”

If only we’d won in Portland instead of Phoenix, but a win was a win. I yanked off my mask, throwing my head back and taking a deep whiff of the chilly air. Tonight, I was relieved, more anxious than I’d let on to anyone. Maybe because the buzz with Phoenix was all about them going all the way, claiming the Stanley Cup. I’d wanted to dethrone their brutal, unending power.

Then there’d been the goddamn Today Show clip I’d heard that morning.

Big mistake.

Huge.

I’d almost lost my shit when the sellout reporter had played the game that shifters were the root of all evils. When were the fifteen minutes of blaming shifters for all problems going to end?

With another deep whiff, a scent caught my attention, so subtle and at such a distance that even most wolves would have missed it. I had extraordinary senses, much to the chagrin of my parents. The scent of a woman, evocative and powerful.

At least to a beast like me.

With movement, I caught another delicate ghosting of her perfume, the seductive trace of jasmine and citrus with a hint of vanilla creating a magnetic pull.

“Woo hoo!”

My teammate’s loud, obnoxious scream forced my attention away from something far more delicious than Kai’s stench of sweat.