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 3
The transition from the suite to the locker room was like stepping into a furnace of testosterone and ancient, lupine power.
As the six Alphas filed into the Team Locker Room, the air grew thick with the scent of pine, musk, and the metallic tang of the coming hunt. They moved with a synchronized, predatory grace, shedding their civilian layers until the room was a gallery of lethal, sculpted muscle. Mateo Cruz slapped a hand against his midsection, feeling the iron-hard ridges of his abdominal wall. Even during the brief summer lull, he hadn't lost an ounce of his enforcer’s edge. At 6’5”, Mateo was built to be a walking barricade on the ice, a mountain of meat and fury designed to crush anyone foolish enough to challenge the pack's territory.
There was a frantic, hungry energy vibrating through the squad. This wasn't just the usual pre-season jitters; it was a collective snarl directed at the administration. They wanted to win, but more than that, they wanted to prove that they didn't need a handler. They wanted to shove their success down the owner’s throat—and perhaps show Lyon Navarro exactly what a Stormbreaker’s "pride" felt like in person.
"You really marked your territory in there, Rafael," Logan Hayes remarked, leaning against his locker. Logan was the pack's fastest hunter, a winger who lived for the blur of the chase. "Did you see his face when you staked your claim? I couldn't tell if he wanted to bolt for the exit or drop to the floor and start worshipping."
Mateo exhaled a sharp breath. He trusted Logan with his life on the ice, but the man’s mouth was a liability.
"The point is," Rafael said, already down to his briefs as he prepared to suit up, "he needs to understand that we aren't domestic pets. He can play his games in the press, but in this room, there are consequences for crossing the pack."
"He's a fine-looking specimen, though," Adrian Knox drawled, a wicked glint in his eyes. Adrian, the team’s most unpredictable defenseman, was currently adjusting a cowboy hat that looked absurdly out of place next to his hockey pads. "The way those slacks hugged him... makes a wolf want to do more than just growl."
"Enough," Mateo snapped, the sound of his locker door slamming shut echoing like a gunshot. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to think about Lyon’s sharp, observant eyes or the way the man’s throat had worked when he tried to maintain his composure. Mateo loathed the journalist—especially after Lyon’s report on a barroom scuffle at the Neon Wave Club had cost him three months of the season. Lyon had painted him as a mindless brute when he’d actually been defending a pack-mate.
"Whatever," Brandon Pierce grunted, his voice a low vibration. "I’d still take a bite."
Viktor Petrov, the massive goalie from across the sea, paused while unbuckling his gear. "He’s changed," Viktor noted, his accent thick and cold. "He didn't use to carry himself with that much... heat."
"Who cares?" Mateo growled. "The only thing I want from that man is a reckoning."
By now, the six of them were completely stripped, standing as a raw display of athletic dominance in the steaming heat of the locker room. Adrian joked that if the hockey career folded, they could probably make a fortune on a private feed, and looking around at the sheer amount of prime muscle in the room, he wasn't wrong.
"Don't worry," Rafael said, his voice carrying the effortless authority of a true Alpha. "You saw him. He’s fascinated by the danger. We’ll all get our turn to show him exactly what he’s dealing with."
Suddenly, the heavy door flew open.
"Which one of you thieves has my—"
Lyon Navarro’s voice cut through the air like a blade, but he stopped dead in his tracks. He had stormed in on a mission of fury, but he found himself standing in the center of a den of six naked, glistening gods.
Lyon wasn't some naive waif; he’d seen his share of men. But he had never seen anything that compared to the physical perfection of the Stormbreakers' starting lineup. It was a sensory overload of bronze skin, corded muscle, and heavy, resting power. A sudden, traitorous heat bloomed in Lyon’s chest, spreading downward as his breath hitched. He had spent years writing about these men, but seeing the legends in the flesh—entirely in the flesh—was a different reality altogether.
Mateo was the first to react. He shifted his weight, widening his stance to ensure Lyon took in every inch of his 6’5” frame. "What do you want now, Navarro?"
Lyon took a moment to find his voice. "My phone," he managed, trying to summon his usual professional mask, though his flushed cheeks betrayed him. "I know one of you swiped it from my bag."
"Do any of us look like we're hiding a phone on us?" Logan Hayes asked, spreading his arms and flashing a cocky, boyish grin that screamed trouble.
The room went silent as the Alphas simply watched him. It was predatory. It was hungry. They were posing like statues of ancient warriors, and Lyon was caught in the middle, his anger warring with an undeniable, primal attraction.
"I’m not leaving until I get it back," Lyon insisted, though his resolve was melting in the sauna-like temperature.
"Enough games," Rafael commanded, stepping toward Lyon. The Alpha’s presence was overwhelming. "If anyone has his device, hand it over."
Adrian Knox let out a low chuckle. Still completely bare, he swaggered over to his pile of clothes, bent over—giving Lyon a deliberate view of his powerful physique—and retrieved the phone. He sauntered back, smirking as he handed it over.
"Just wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of you, sweetheart," Adrian purred.
"Is that so?" Lyon snapped, finding his spark again. He took a daring step into the center of the circle, standing defiant amidst the sea of bare skin. "Judging by the state of this room, I’d say I’m the one getting a reaction out of you."
He glanced down at Adrian, whose body was visibly responding to Lyon’s proximity. The air was thick enough to choke on.
"Alright," Rafael intervened, his voice a sharp crack that broke the spell. "Adrian, give him the phone. Then, escort Mr. Navarro out before he suffers from heatstroke. The rest of you—suit up. We have ice to break."
The pack dispersed, returning to their lockers. Only Adrian remained, his eyes locked on Lyon as he pulled on a pair of dark briefs. Even through the fabric, the effect Lyon had on him was impossible to hide.
Adrian gestured toward the door with a sharp, wicked grin. "After you, Navarro."
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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.
8.7
For eighteen years, I lived as the lowest Omega in the Silver Moon Pack, surviving only because Alpha Gideon took me under his wing.
But the moment his coffin was lowered into the ground, his wife and the new Alpha son immediately turned on me.
"Her presence has brought a curse upon us!"
Luna Lyra pointed a trembling finger at me in the freezing rain, blaming me for Gideon's sudden death.
She stripped me of my pack ties and permanently exiled me into the deadly wilderness with nothing but a wooden toy.
The entire pack watched with cold contempt as I was thrown out like garbage.
To make matters worse, the new Alpha later hunted me down in the woods, threatening to kill me just to steal the only thing Gideon had secretly left behind for me—an ancient, unreadable book.
I didn't understand why they hated me so deeply, or what terrifying secret this blank book held that made my own pack want me dead.
But the moment my foot crossed the pack boundary, an ancient, immense power I never knew I had snapped free inside my veins.
I was no longer their weak Omega.
And when I escaped deeper into the forest and crashed straight into the arms of a wounded Rogue, my destiny completely rewrote itself.
Because he wasn't just a Rogue, but the legendary Northern Alpha King.
And as his glowing golden eyes locked onto mine, our inner wolves roared the exact same word:
"Mate!"
9.8
I was an arrogant, canceled reality TV star, trying to salvage my ruined reputation on a live broadcast.
But after I lost my temper and assaulted a cameraman, my furious grandfather chased me into our family's forbidden gallery, where I accidentally crashed into an ancient, sealed portrait.
The canvas shattered, and a terrifying woman with glowing golden eyes stepped out of the wall.
She was Cecil, the First Matriarch of the Marshall family. She caught a lightning bolt with her bare hands and crushed me to my knees with an invisible, suffocating pressure.
My grandfather, instead of saving me, groveled on the floor and abandoned me to her mercy.
"You are the disgrace that will end this family."
She hijacked my entire life, forcing me to act as her submissive baggage handler on my own survival reality show, broadcasting my humiliation to millions.
I didn't understand why this ancient monster was tormenting me. Why did she strip away my pride, treat me like a broken tool, and force me to endure the mockery of the very ex-girlfriend who had ruined my life?
But when those same cast members tried to corner me in the dark woods, Cecil stepped in front of me, her eyes locking onto the silver ring of the man mocking me.
"To catch the wolf, one must sometimes walk with the sheep."
That was when I realized she wasn't here to destroy me—she was here to hunt the parasites who had been secretly siphoning away my life force.
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.
9.7
Alya Harrell was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy Long Island family, treated worse than a stray dog in her own home. Tonight, her family finally found a use for her.
Her stepmother and half-sister, Chloe, forced her into a scandalous, plunging red dress. They were offering her as a bargaining chip to Warren Thorne, a ruthless, sleazy hedge fund manager known for collecting and discarding young girls.
Just to ensure her absolute humiliation, Chloe intentionally "tripped" and spilled a glass of red wine all over the silk dress.
"Now you'll have to wear that hideous little black thing you own," Chloe sneered, leaving Alya to face the high-society dinner looking like a beggar.
When Alya tried to escape Thorne's groping hands, her own father hunted her down. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back, and raised his hand to strike her for embarrassing the family.
She was nothing but a pawn to them, a cheap product to be sold and abused for their financial gain. Alya's heart turned cold as she realized her blood relatives would gladly destroy her just to secure a lucrative business deal.
But when she was sent to the cellar to fetch a $50,000 vintage wine for their billionaire VIP guest, Alya caught her perfect sister hooking up with a personal trainer next to the priceless bottle.
Quietly stealing the vintage wine and burying it in the garden dirt, Alya returned to the ballroom with a dangerous smile.
"I think I saw Chloe carrying a bottle down to the cellar," she told her furious father and the VIP, leading them straight toward the trap that would completely ruin her sister's perfect life.