Behind His Mask: My Hockey Alpha
Rhea Hale, a young art restorer at the old Elaria gallery, lives a life of near-perfect calm-canvases, colors, and classical symphonies that fill her every day. But when she touches a mysterious painting titled The Moon Painting, something inside her begins to shift. Strange visions, eyes watching from the fog, and wild emotions she can't explain slowly start to unravel her peaceful world.
Across the city, Kaelan Viero-the national hockey team's captain-carries the charm and composure of a champion. But beneath the arena lights and public spotlight, there's a side of him he never shows... until his eyes lock with a stranger's in the stands.
That brief moment sparks something long buried.
And from then on, neither of their lives remains the same.
"One glance started it all. And after that... there was no turning back."
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Chapter 11
(Kaelan's POV)
The air inside the car grew heavier. Outside, neon lights reflected off the windows, stretching shadows across everyone's faces. My grip on the steering wheel tightened as I tried to sync my heartbeat with the engine's rhythm.
Every kilometer we drove toward the gallery felt like walking backward into the abyss I'd once left behind.
I knew the Elders must've already sensed us. The wolfsbane those hunters used earlier wasn't some cheap brew. That mix could only be obtained through very specific channels. And if they dared to use it in an open area, it meant someone inside the pack circle had purposely leaked the access.
I shifted my gaze to the rearview mirror. Rhea sat silently in the back seat after our earlier conversation, clutching that bag so tightly the heat from it was slowly raising the temperature inside the car. Damn it. Even from here I could feel it prickling against my skin.
She looked restless. Her eyes were glossy, but there was a small fire in them-an unsettling mix of fear, confusion, and anger.
And inside me, for some reason, I wanted to make sure that fire never went out.
"You need to tell her now."
Callum's voice cut into my head through the mindlink, echoing sharp and commanding.
My jaw clenched, heat rising in my chest. "Shut your mouth, Callum."
"She has a right to know, Kaelan. You saw what happened. She's already a target. Everyone knows that key is with her. If you keep hiding it, she'll break before she ever gets the chance to face it."
I pressed harder on the gas, swerving past another car with more force than necessary.
"This is all because of you. If you hadn't dragged her into this from the start-"
"Oh, so now it's my fault?" Callum snapped back, his sarcasm sharp in my skull. "Yeah, I found the painting in the gallery. But who refused the Elder's orders to secure the artifact right away? Who said it'd be safer in a place 'out of their sight'? You. Every single choice comes back to you, Kaelan."
A low growl slipped from my throat, loud enough for Rhea to glance up briefly.
Shit. I had to keep it together in front of her.
"Listen carefully, Callum." My mindlink voice was almost a hiss. "I won't throw Rhea into the Elders' game. She's not a tool. She's not a key. She's just a human who got cursed with the Hale name and their bloodline. And I-I'll make sure she doesn't get crushed by our world."
There was a pause before Callum's voice came back, quieter this time.
"And if our world has already chosen her? Are you ready to fight everyone on your own?"
I didn't answer. Because deep down, I already knew.
***
The gallery finally came into view around the bend. An old colonial building, standing tall and proud in the narrow street, flanked by modern structures on either side. Its dusty high windows reflected the dim streetlights, like dead eyes watching anyone who dared approach.
The front lamp flickered weakly, nearly dead, while a thin mist crept across the empty courtyard, winding itself around the rusted iron fence. Even from a distance, the place radiated something off-like the building was breathing, exhaling cold air that pressed down on the chest of anyone near it.
As soon as the car stopped, the heat from Rhea's bag burst out stronger. Fog swirled across the windshield, not just blurring it, but spreading in strange web-like cracks that glowed faintly.
There it was again-that pulse. A foreign heartbeat, out of sync with any of ours. Loud. Relentless. Like it was counting down to something.
"Out," I ordered, my voice heavier than I meant.
Rhea glanced at me nervously before slowly opening her door. She still clutched the bag like letting it go would make her collapse.
Anselma got out without a sound, her raincoat fluttering lightly in the evening breeze, her face cold and still as a gravestone while she stared at the gallery. Callum, on the other hand, moved quickly, almost jittery, his shoulders stiff as his hand instinctively reached for the telescopic staff on his back.
I lingered by the car, eyes locked on the gallery doors. The wooden carvings were still the same-floral patterns framing the panels-but now cracks spiderwebbed through them, like the wood had been holding something back for too long. The aura seeping out was heavy, thick, and wrong, making the hairs on my neck stand on end.
My gaze flicked to Rhea again. She stood close by, rigid, her eyes glued to the building, her hands gripping the bag straps as if her life depended on it. And maybe... maybe it did.
"Kaelan." Anselma's voice cut through the silence, flat but sharp. "You do realize, once we step inside, there's no turning back."
I nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the door. "I know."
Callum let out a dry, bitter laugh, turning toward me. "Then stop pretending to be her perfect protector. She needs to know what's waiting behind that door. Otherwise, she'll break even faster."
I almost snapped back, my jaw already tight, but then-
Thud... thud... thud...
The gallery doors trembled. The sound was deep, heavy, like something inside was pounding, demanding to be released. The vibration ran through the ground, making the gravel rattle against the pavement.
Rhea flinched, her face paling. I knew this was her first time seeing anything like this. Her reaction was only natural.
"What... what is that?"
I kept my eyes on the door, drawing in a sharp breath before answering quietly.
"Something that should never wake up."
Thud... thud... THUD!
This time louder, until the hinges groaned. From the cracks in the wood, a strange sound slipped out-whispers, in a language most wolves wouldn't understand. But I understood.
The language of blood.
The language of the old bloodlines.
And the worst part... Rhea was reacting. Her body trembled, pupils dilated, her breathing quickened like something invisible was pulling her soul toward it. She turned to me with panicked eyes, but there was something there-something that wasn't fully hers anymore.
I moved fast, grabbing her arm tightly.
"Rhea, listen to me! Whatever you hear, ignore it. That voice isn't for you. It's a snare. Do you understand? It's a trap!"
She shook her head quickly, tears brimming.
"I... I can hear it, Kaelan... it's calling me... Kaelan, what's happening? Why is my head so loud?"
Shit. Exactly what I was afraid of.
I turned sharply to Callum and Anselma.
"We need to go in. Now. Otherwise, the painting will open the door on its own."
And right then-CRAACK!
One of the doors split down the middle. From the crack, a cold silver light shot out-not from any lamp, but from a forged moonlight. It spread across the courtyard, blinding and freezing all at once, stretching our shadows into warped shapes across the dusty ground.
I instantly moved, stepping in front of Rhea, my body acting as her shield. My heart pounded, my muscles locking tight, ready to shift if I had to.
Whatever was waiting inside that gallery...
Tonight, it wouldn't touch her.
***
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7.4
I was the bankrupt socialite everyone pitied, standing in the mud at my mother's grave with nothing left but a pair of old Louboutins and a single white rose. My bank account was overdrawn by three hundred dollars, but I still believed Julian, my fiancé, was the one person who hadn't abandoned the toxic Compton name.
Then I saw his Maybach shaking in the cemetery parking lot. Through a crack in the window, I heard the man I loved whispering to my stepsister, Tiffany.
"Don't worry about the broke princess. Once I secure her voting proxy for the trust, I'm dumping her."
Tiffany laughed, clutching the scarlet coat she'd charged to my own maxed-out credit card.
"She's so pathetic, Julian. She actually thinks you love her."
I didn't scream; I recorded them. But when I tried to use that leverage, my family turned into vipers. To protect Julian's status, they framed me for causing Tiffany to miscarry a fake pregnancy and planted stolen documents in my bag. My own father stood by as they locked me in a room, planning to sell me to a predatory creditor named Hightower to settle his gambling debts. I ended up in a freezing police cell, my ankle shattered and my reputation destroyed.
I sat on that metal bench, shivering as I realized my own blood had traded my life for a check. I called the only man powerful enough to burn them all-Julian's uncle, the "Butcher of Wall Street," Alden Stark. The phone just kept ringing. He wasn't coming. To the world, I was just a walking bankruptcy filing, a girl who had finally run out of luck.
I didn't wait for a savior. I escaped custody and ran barefoot through the rain, leaving a trail of blood on the marble floor of Stark Tower. When I collapsed at Alden's feet, he didn't look at me with pity; he looked at me like a rare, damaged artifact he finally owned.
"Inform the board that this is my fiancée," he announced, lifting me into his arms.
I signed the marriage contract that night, trading my freedom for the power to ensure my family's liabilities exceeded their assets for the rest of their natural lives.
8.4
Kathern was forced out of her sister's home by her abusive brother-in-law, who violently demanded she pay half the rent or get out.
To protect her sister from his rage, Kathern agreed to a six-month paper marriage with a stranger—an old woman's grandson, Bronson—in exchange for a simple apartment.
But her new husband treated her like a scheming gold digger from the very first second.
He showed up to City Hall in a cheap suit, shoved a brutal prenup in her face, and dumped her in a completely empty, dust-filled apartment.
"Just don't cause any trouble," he warned coldly, before leaving her alone.
When Kathern politely texted him to ask if he was coming home for dinner, he immediately blocked her number.
Kathern was furious and baffled. She didn't want a dime of his money, nor did she care about his boring middle-management job.
She had only agreed to this marriage for a place to sleep, yet this arrogant man treated her like absolute garbage.
Refusing to swallow the insult, Kathern immediately dialed his grandmother to expose his behavior.
She was going to build her own independent life, completely unaware that her "cheap corporate loser" of a husband was actually the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Vaughan empire.
9.8
Adeline's stepmother had secretly drugged her for years, turning a child genius into a drooling, mentally disabled laughingstock just so her stepsister could steal her life.
But when her greedy father sold her off to Griffin Herring—a violent, untouchable billionaire psychopath—to save his company, things took a deadly turn.
Before the wedding, Griffin attacked her in a dark alley, nearly snapping her neck before stealing her grandfather's silver necklace.
That necklace held a micro-drive with her family's deepest secrets, and without it, she had nothing.
Back at the estate, her situation only worsened. Her stepsister Damaris paraded around in the Herring family's diamond engagement gifts, trying to force-feed Adeline wet dog food on an Instagram live stream.
When Adeline's calculated "clumsiness" ruined the video, her furious father locked her in a damp, rusted basement.
"Give her to the psycho," her stepmother hissed through the door. "Let him lock her away forever."
Listening from the shadows, Adeline's fists clenched until her palms bled.
Her supposed mental fog wasn't a tragedy—it was a calculated assassination of her mind. They had destroyed her childhood and were now throwing her to a monster just to keep the billions.
The dull, empty look in Adeline's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a razor-sharp, chilling clarity.
She pulled a thin surgical needle from her messy bun and picked the heavy iron padlock in ten seconds. It was time to break into the billionaire's penthouse, take back her necklace, and tear them all apart.
7.7
Olivia Pearson is just a pawn – a wife bought to rescue her father's ailing business. Her husband, Sebastian, maintains his icy grip over her life and escape feels like a pipe dream. But when Olivia uncovers the secrets of his empire filled with lies and illicit dealings, she decides to take control. The more she tries to figure things out, the more she realizes that the only person who can assist her might be Ethan Blackwood, Sebastian's brother, and the man who has captured her heart.
Now Olivia is sandwiched between two brothers. The choice to make is simple but painfully difficult; the husband who owns her or the difficult, yet enticing lover who comes with freedom.
It remains to be seen what is more perilous: that decision, or the consequences that follow.
THIS IS A SIZZLING NEW ROMANCE – NO HANDS!
8.6
Since returning to her family, Evelyn had never truly been accepted or treated as their own daughter.
On her wedding day, her parents chose her adopted sister over her, and the man she was supposed to marry abandoned her on the highway for his true love without even looking back once.
Heartbroken but resolute, she tore off her veil and stood before his rival. "I dare you to steal the bride."
Shane met her gaze. "Why wouldn't I?"
Their impulsive marriage shocked everyone. Her ex later begged, "Give me another chance."
Shane pulled her close, his voice cold. "Too late. She's my wife now."
7.4
My fiancé Javen sent me to a yacht in the middle of a New York storm to finalize a high-stakes merger with Alfonse Wolfe, a billionaire rumored to have ice water in his veins. I did it for "us," shivering in a soaked evening gown and cutting my hand on broken glass just to get the signature that would save Javen’s company.
But when I rushed back to the Doyle estate, the manor was blazing with lights for an unannounced engagement party. Javen wasn't waiting for me with open arms; he was standing on the dance floor with Blossom Vega, the daughter of his biggest competitor, announcing their union to the elite of New York.
When I stepped forward, dripping blood and water onto the marble floor, Javen didn't try to protect me. He looked at me with pure disgust and told the gathered press that I was a "charity case" suffering from mental delusions. His mother laughed while calling me a cockroach, and his father claimed my family’s lost fortune was a hallucination. To ensure my silence, Javen leaned in and whispered that he would pull the plug on my disabled brother’s life-saving medical care if I didn't disappear.
I was hauled away by security and locked in a dark storage room like a stain on his perfect evening. I lay there in the dust, unable to process how twelve years of love could be a calculated lie. How could the man I was supposed to marry use my brother’s breath as a bargaining chip after I had just sacrificed everything to save him?
I escaped through a second-story window and went straight to the only predator powerful enough to tear the Doyles apart: Alfonse Wolfe. I didn't just ask for sanctuary; I demanded a marriage license to unlock my mother’s secret trust and protect my brother. Standing in a high-security vault as the new Mrs. Wolfe, I discovered a truth that changed the game. I didn’t just have the money to ruin Javen; the deed in my hand proved I now owned the very land beneath Alfonse’s mansion.
"I’m not the prey anymore," I whispered, watching the Doyle stock plummet on my phone. "I'm the hunter."