Page 38 of Ice Devil

I sat back, struggling with the concept, black and white right there in my face. While there were plenty of signs of support, those made me laugh out loud, not wish I had a spear to do a little hunting of my own.

Thankfully, the less than stellar welcome to the area hadn’t daunted the team’s playing abilities. They’d been magic on the ice.

I’d enjoyed writing the article on the Hellions, but obviously, my favorite part of penning the piece had been my initial meeting in the locker room.

And fucking under the stars.

I suppressed a giggle with my hand, still thinking about Matt’s demands. I’d been coerced into a decision almost four years ago that I continued to regret. Now it felt like as if the same thing was about to happen all over again.

Maybe it was time to go home. I could finish the article there with my giant bottle of wine right in front of me. With the decision made, I started to gather my things. Just when I was about to turn off my laptop, a ding as well as a flash across the screen indicated an incoming email.

Out of the corner of my eye, I’d caught a few letters of the tagline just before the screen blip faded. A cold chill washed through me. Maybe the conversation with Matt had put me on edge. Or perhaps I’d caught just enough of the wording to make me curious.

Which I was.

I navigated to my email, staring at the tagline, which was in bold letters.

You Will Need to Open This

Not want, or some exciting flim-flammy scheme or product offered by a scammer, but need. Of course with me being a journalist, the curiosity wasn’t just about ready to kill the cat, but skin it as well.

When I clicked on the email, an audible gasp left my mouth.

With anyone constantly in the public, caution about one’s personal life became a lifeline. That allowed for some sense of anonymity, which in turn helped keep some of the crazies at bay. Not all of course, but a few. Those who began to believe in their own hype including their position in society almost always made mistakes. Stupid ones.

Like being caught with your pants down inside a truck stop full of glory holes.

That had been the scandal of last year since the two men involved were both high-powered athletes married for years with three kids each.

There were countless situations that I’d encountered over the years. You either kept your dick in your pants or one day, a bored or cunning blackmailer would nail your ass to the wall.

My life was boring, so much so I’d never put any real thought into walking into, or in this case, splashing into a scandal.

Maybe that’s why I was close to choking on my own saliva. I didn’t need to worry about running the email through our internet protection software for an attachment.

The picture was right there, plastered within the email and in full color.

A perfect picture of my tits and ass in a pool. And who was holding me? None other than Beck Kendrick.

Where in the hell had the asshole managed to take the photograph from? With the downward angle, the motherfucker had either been hiding in the single tree located in the corner of the patio or hanging out on the wall.

Hold on. Weren’t werewolves supposed to have an incredible sense of smell?

Damn it. Not werewolf. Shifter. Shifter.

I was angry, so much so that sweat had already formed on the back of my neck.

“This can’t be happening.” Maybe if I closed my eyes and counted to ten, once I opened them again, my nightmare would be over.

One. Two. Three…

Oh, to hell with it. My eyes snapped open and there it was.

We were buck naked, our faces on full display and there was no doubt what we were doing.

And it wasn’t testing the temperature of the water.

There was no note, no demand, no nothing. Even the email was sketchy, and I knew damn good and well I should run the address through our technical experts, but I was too fucking pissed so my fingers flew across the keyboard.