Page 73 of Ice Devil

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Yeah, I’d overheard the conversation just before the third period had started, but no human could have heard a damn thing. Instead of trying to stall the game, I’d thought I could handle the asshole myself.

I’d been wrong.

“You know how I heard the conversation,” I shot back, trying to locate my brother through the continued chaos. He’d been taken off the ice.

The coach swung around to check out the stands before skating me backward and away from the others. “Do you want me to tell the referee you heard a plot from halfway across the arena? Now?”

What in the hell was I supposed to do? I wasn’t allowed by NHL rules, the ones that had been revised after shifters were allowed into the league to use a single wolf attribute. Not one. The damn humans didn’t understand we had more ethics in our little fingers than most of them did in their big brains.

“Fine. No.”

He appeared relieved, blowing hot air. “You need to get your head on straight. Okay? We can still win this game.”

“Not without Ford.”

“Yeah, we can. You know more about their center than anyone on any team. You know exactly what he’s going to do.”

I realized what the coach was saying. If we were lucky enough to score a point, it would come down to Jersey Mike, as the center for the Las Vegas Cruisers was called, to do his trick. He was the best in the business at acting as if he’d made an attempt to steal a puck then frustrated when he couldn’t, only to fake out the other players. The problem was he switched it up every time he tried and goalies usually weren’t ready.

This boy would be.

Fuck them.

“Just make sure the puck doesn’t get through. We have a game to win. That’s what Ford would want. Plus, we don’t need any bad press. You know this team is gunning for us to prove their point.”

Their point being that shifters were a bad idea all the way around. Their bad attitudes came from the owner of the team, who I’d heard was highly discriminatory against shifters existing in any society, let alone being allowed on sports teams.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Don’t let them rile you,” Coach Griffen urged. “They are going to try. They want you angry.”

When I adjusted my neck, the loud popping sound made his eyes open wide. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can and you fucking will.”

After taking another deep breath, I nodded. But damn it if I didn’t have the taste of blood in my mouth. We’d win the game. Period.

Then I’d kill the motherfucker who’d put us in this position.

He stormed off, leaving me only a few feet away from the grinning son of a bitch. The jerk even beckoned me with his hands.

Don’t do it. Just walk away.

As soon as I turned my back, I heard a loud crack and I was pushed by members of both teams. Things started to get out of hand and I was the one trying to break up the fight.

When I finally reached the center of the mound of players, I noticed a gash on the asshole’s face. Even his breathing was rough, his nose mashed, no doubt broken. Christ, the testosterone was running high.

“Shit,” I roared. “We need a medic. Parker is down.”

Brent Parker, ‘the Bronco,’ the very asshole who’d purposely taken a twig to my brother, would soon have a shiny black eye to match his cracked lip and cut on his cheek. And the asshole appeared to be unconscious.

“Damn it,” I told the closest team members. Fights were one thing, but the captain was right in that we didn’t need any bad press.

It took more than the allotted time to calm everyone down, but my blood remained boiling. While Ford had given a wave indicating he’d be fine, he was seething like I was.

“Give it your best shot, beast,” an opposing player yelled and I went after him. The only reason I didn’t beat the crap out of him was my eye catching sight of Sloane.