BEYOND THE ICE
The only thing more dangerous than the game is the man guarding the crease.
Lyon Navarro has spent his entire career tearing down the San Diego Stormbreakers. As the city's most ruthless journalist, he's made an art form out of exposing the Alphas' volatile tempers and their scandalous lives off the rink. He's the man they love to hate-until a desperate management team offers him the biggest paycheck of his life to fix their image.
The assignment? Tame the six most notorious werewolves in the league.
But Lyon isn't just dealing with professional athletes; he's stepping into a den of apex predators who have been waiting for him to cross their territory. And they have no intention of playing nice.
Rafael Stone, the team's intense, iron-willed captain, has made one thing clear: if Lyon wants to manage the pack, he's going to have to survive them. But between the locker room tension, the high-stakes pressure of the season, and the way the pack's gazes feel like a physical brand on his skin, Lyon realizes he's no longer just reporting the story-he's the one being hunted.
In a world of adrenaline, cold ice, and raw, lupine desire, Lyon is about to discover that the line between enemy and lover is thinner than a skate blade.
Six Alphas. One PR strategist. And a season that's about to get very, very hot.
Beyond the Ice is a high-stakes, slow-burn MM hockey werewolf romance. Expect intense power dynamics, sizzling tension, and a pack that doesn't just want to win the cup-they want to claim their man.
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Chapter 2
From the second the pack scented the change in the wind, they had collectively marked him for a fall.
The plan was simple: Lyon Navarro was going to become their plaything. He deserved nothing less. While the owner and Coach Vargas had issued a mandate to tolerate this new PR strategist, the wolves were far from toothless. Rafael Stone, as the Alpha and captain, served as the unified roar of the squad-and that roar was currently promising to make Lyon's tenure with the San Diego Stormbreakers a living, breathing nightmare.
Rafael wasn't averse to the spotlight. He had spent his life being trailed by eyes-first as the local prodigy, then as the phenom, and now as the powerhouse leading his pack onto the ice of the Pacific Ice Arena. They would have even more followers if not for the scathing exposés Lyon had splashed across the digital front pages for years.
The attention usually suited Rafael just fine. With his midnight-dark hair, eyes the color of glacial ice, and a jawline carved from granite, he was a specimen of predatory perfection. He knew how to use it. Years ago, when Rafael was still a rookie finding his feet, Lyon had published a detailed account of his nocturnal habits: the multi-partner encounters, the restraints, the raw, primal stamina that left his conquests breathless and broken in the best way possible. The headline had been legendary: Rafael Stone: What WON'T He Puck? Since then, Lyon's elegant, watchful fingers had been all over the sordid details of Rafael's private life.
It wasn't that Rafael was shy about his prowess. If anything, Lyon's tall tales of his endowment and skill had only increased the number of people lining up for a night with the captain. The issue was the violation of the pack's secrecy.
The six Alphas were gathered around the heavy oak table in the arena's private suite when Lyon Navarro finally crossed the threshold. Every head snapped toward him, a coordinated movement of apex predators.
Rafael felt a jolt of something dangerous. He had expected a villain, but the man walking toward them didn't look like the architect of their misery. Lyon's attire clung to his frame with agonizing precision-professional, yet so well-fitted that six pairs of athletic slacks suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. He looked like a screen idol, the kind of man Rafael would usually corner in a club and drag back to the Harborview Penthouse to see just how much noise he could make.
But this was Lyon Navarro.
Lyon glided through the suite as if he weren't walking into a cage full of monsters who despised him. Rafael had to begrudgingly respect the sheer nerve it took. He felt a surge of heat-an unwelcome erection straining against his pants. Hate or not, Lyon was effortlessly pulling every drop of Rafael's blood toward his lap.
"Look," Lyon began, his voice cool and controlled as he met every predatory gaze in the room. "You're well aware of my history and my work. Half of you have tried to take a swing at me on the sidewalk, and the other half are likely being bribed just to stay in your seats. But I know your history, too. You six are the heart of this franchise. You haven't touched a championship trophy since 1989, and you've scraped the bottom of the league for two of the last three seasons."
Rafael let out a low, dangerous rumble. "That's because we lose our starters every other week because some vulture enjoys printing lies that get us benched."
Lyon's eyes flashed with a sharp, amber light for a fleeting second. "That happens because some captains lack the discipline to keep their pack in line, Mr. Stone."
The air in the room crackled with electricity. Rafael felt the beast beneath his skin clawing for release. The man was either incredibly brave or suicidally arrogant to make it personal. Rafael saw the defiance written all over Lyon's sharp, elegant features.
"I understand everything there is to know about control," Rafael growled, leaning forward. "And it's about time someone brought you under mine."
"Stronger men than you have tried and failed," Lyon countered instantly.
Rafael doubted that. At 6'3 and built like a siege engine, most of the men stronger than him were already sitting at this table.
"Mr. Stone brings up a relevant point," Lyon continued, ignoring the tension. "Control is our new directive. You have passion, which is fine, but what this pack needs is restraint. You can display your team spirit on the ice, but..."
"Oh, we know how to display ourselves." Rafael slid his chair back, spreading his legs wide to ensure Lyon had a clear, unobstructed view of the heavy bulge stretching the fabric of his trousers. Even half-aroused, it was an intimidating sight.
Lyon didn't flinch, but his eyes tracked the movement. He couldn't quite pull his gaze away.
"Impressive," Lyon remarked, his voice steady but his eyes lingering.
Rafael smirked. He'd heard the word many times before. Long, thick, and far more than a cold professional like Lyon could ever handle.
"If only you were that impressive during a game," Lyon finished, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
The Alpha's temper snapped. The control he'd been touting vanished in an instant. "Oh, fuck you, Navarro."
"No, fuck you." A faint flush crept up Lyon's neck, a dash of color on his otherwise composed face. "You think you're going to bully me out of this stadium, but I have one more story to tell: I can handle you, Rafael."
"It's not just me." Rafael's smirk returned, dark and predatory. He knew he held the high ground. These men were his brothers; they had bled together for years. They were a single unit. Against that, a lone man like Lyon stood no chance. "I've talked to my pack. We all want a piece of the action. If you want to prove you belong here, you'll have to handle every single one of us."
The six Alphas rose as one, a wall of muscle and suppressed violence, and filed past Lyon toward the rink for practice. Lyon remained silent as they exited, his clever retorts finally failing him now that he was no longer protected by the safety of a keyboard.
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8.9
Aliana braved a heavy storm, carrying a warm stew for her fiancé, Ivan, just as she always put his needs before her own. This ingrained habit, a survival mechanism from a cold childhood, was about to shatter into a million pieces. Tonight, everything she believed was a lie.
The iron gates of Ivan's private villa flashed red, denying her entry, and a guard mumbled lies. Ignoring him, she pushed past, a strange orchid perfume leading her to Ivan's car, where a tube of crimson lipstick lay on the passenger seat. Through a window, she saw him with another woman and a small child, an image that felt like jagged glass twisting in her heart.
Then his words cut through the storm, cold and cruel:
"Aliana is just a placeholder."
He was marrying her for her multi-billion-dollar patent, a secret deal made with her own parents, who had sold her for a kickback to buy this very house. Her family, her love, her future-all were a calculated lie.
Her inner wolf, usually fierce, fell terrifyingly silent, replaced by a chilling resolve. The burning acid in her throat wasn't just bile; it was the taste of her shattered devotion.
She didn't want his apologies or his guilt. She wanted his ruin, and as Ivan walked in with a fake smile the next morning, Aliana was ready to deliver it.
7.8
Elie Joyce’s entire life was controlled by Ebert Ewing, a ruthless billionaire who held her sick grandmother's survival and her family's freedom in his hands.
But on a freezing, stormy night, he forced her into a scandalous scrap of red silk and handed her over to a notorious, disgusting predator.
"You aren't an escort. You're just a free gift."
Ebert mocked her, using her as a disposable bargaining chip to secure a corporate funding round.
When the predator humiliated her, forced high-proof vodka down her throat, and violently pinned her to the floor, Ebert simply watched with dead eyes.
And when Ebert finally intervened to brutally beat the man, it wasn't out of mercy.
"She is my property. Even if she is trash that I threw away, a filthy pig like you doesn't get to touch her."
Afterward, he dragged her battered, barefoot body into his car, only to kick her out into the torrential rain, leaving her on the dark streets to die.
Standing in the storm, shivering and bleeding from broken glass, the last shred of Elie's hope shattered.
She had sacrificed her dignity and soul, enduring his violent bites and cruel control, just to keep her family alive.
Why did she have to suffer this endless, twisted humiliation for a psychopath who only saw her as trash?
But she didn't break.
Tearing a strip of his expensive shirt to bandage her bleeding foot, Elie gripped her broken stiletto like a knife.
With her eyes turning cold and calculating, she limped out of the shadows.
She was going to survive, and Ebert Ewing would soon realize she was no longer his obedient prey.
8.3
EDEN
8.3
Elianila, an AI Architect, is part of an elite team tasked with designing a global system meant to prevent threats, manage disasters, and distribute resources to vulnerable regions. After five years of tireless work with her colleagues, she uncovers disturbing anomalies, code-named, X-variables, that flag individuals according to criteria she never programmed.
As Elianila digs deeper to understand what the X-variables measure and where their origin, she finds herself in direct conflict with the authorities. Soon, the System marks her and her daughter as threats - targets to be eliminated.
With a small band of colleagues and dissidents, Elianila goes on the run, hiding in places beyond the Systems reach. As they evade surveillance, they race against time to warn others, expose the truth, and fight back against the omnipresent authority of the System.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.
9.7
Charity woke up in a hellish, acid-rain-soaked slum, trapped inside a bloated body covered in festering, toxic sores. She was the exiled Grand Princess of the Empire.
But the real nightmare wasn't her ruined body. It was the fact that the original owner had used her royal authority to force genetic marriage contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men.
Now, she was bound to them, and they absolutely loathed her.
Hjalmar, chained to a bed in her filthy room, smiled like a feral beast and promised to rip her head off the second his chains snapped.
Braden, a ruthless military officer, saved her from a mutated rat only to look at her with pure disgust.
"If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't dirty my patrol sector."
Even the locals mocked her fallen status, and a wealthy heiress publicly framed her for stealing a hundred-thousand-coin energy core just to see her rot in a dark cell.
She was universally despised, physically repulsive, and a lethal biological toxin gave her exactly 59 days left to live. How was she supposed to survive this absolute hell when her starting affection with her partners was at negative 100?
Then, a mechanical voice echoed in her skull, activating a survival system. To purge the poison, she had to harvest emotional energy by making these four men fall for her. Charity accepted the mandate, unlocked a top-tier culinary skill, and grabbed a rusted meat cleaver to start her counterattack.
7.5
Avery had spent the last decade building her career from nothing to become a top-tier television host.
But overnight, a fabricated lie turned her entire life to ash. A drunken celebrity she barely knew publicly claimed his devotion to her, while his girlfriend posted fake screenshots framing Avery as a homewrecker.
The backlash was immediate and ruthless. The network handed her an indefinite suspension. Luxury brands terminated her endorsement deals, leaving her facing millions of dollars in penalty claims. Paparazzi swarmed her building, and angry fans screamed insults at her car. Facing absolute bankruptcy, her manager offered one suicide mission out: join a trashy celebrity dating reality show where the very girl who framed her was starring as the fragile victim.
Avery was suffocating under the humiliation of being ruined for a crime she didn't commit. But the final twist of the knife came when Graham, her ex-boyfriend and now a global pop superstar, unexpectedly returned to the network. On live television, he announced to the world that he was back for his "first love"—an outsider with a pure soul. Avery's heart flatlined, knowing he couldn't possibly mean the scandalous, ruined woman she had become.
The vulnerability vanished from her eyes, replaced by a cold, hard sheet of ice. She turned her back on the blinding stage lights and texted her manager.
"Get the contract ready. I'm signing it today."
She was walking into a coliseum, but this time, she would be the one holding the knife.