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 6
BRANDON
There was a reason Brandon Pierce was known as the team's wild card. In a pack full of omertà and hidden agendas, he was the one who sliced through the tension when nobody else would speak up.
He was the fixer, the one who found solutions to the problems the Alphas couldn't muscle through. His methods weren't always polished, and they’d landed him in a fair share of disciplinary hearings, but they kept the brotherhood from fracturing. In a family defined by massive egos, volcanic tempers, and enough shredded muscle to fill a stadium, you needed someone to keep the pot from boiling over.
Brandon wasn't just some impulsive brawler, though. At 6’4”, with heavy shoulders and a frame built for impact, his prowess on the ice was undisputed. Along with Viktor Petrov, he formed the defensive spine of the Stormbreakers—Viktor was the silent sentinel, while Brandon was the life of the party. That lifestyle hadn't been an issue until a certain elegant journalist decided to splash Brandon’s late-night exploits across a digital front page, earning him a half-season suspension for "conduct detrimental to the pack."
Ever since, Brandon had been looking for a way to return the favor. He felt like Lyon Navarro owed him a debt that could only be paid in skin.
Brandon threw on his street clothes and beat the rest of the guys out of the Team Locker Room. He wanted to be the one to deliver the "invitation" to the team dinner. "Invited" was a polite term; in reality, they were cornering him into a group date, banking on the fact that Lyon wouldn’t back down from an olive branch. Once they had him at the table, he belonged to the pack.
Lyon hadn't lingered after his showdown on the ice. He’d mentioned something about drafting press kits before heading toward the executive wing. Brandon caught up to him in the long, sterile corridor that connected the offices to the main concourse. Lyon was walking toward the exit, his stride measured and graceful, eyes fixed on his phone.
Brandon lengthened his pace, his heavy boots echoing on the concrete. "Hey! Lyon! Navarro!"
Lyon turned, a flicker of surprise crossing his sharp, handsome features. He stopped and crossed his arms, fixing Brandon with a controlled, lethal glare.
"The wolves are done licking their wounds already?" Lyon asked, his voice smooth and mocking.
Brandon looked him over, suppressing a grin. He didn't know who the other guys were kidding—this was always going to end in a hunt for the man standing in front of them. Lyon looked so striking in the dim hallway light that Brandon had to check his own primal urge to pin him against the wall right there.
"Yeah, yeah." Brandon waved off the jab, stepping into Lyon's path and leaning casually against the wall to block his exit. "I’ve got a few other things I’d like to lick next, if you’re game."
Lyon rolled his eyes, a look of practiced disgust on his face, but Brandon didn't miss the way a faint crimson heat touched the man's cheekbones. Despite the sneer, Lyon didn't back away. "You’re a pig, Brandon."
"Oink oink," Brandon shot back, smirking. Most people who hung around the Stormbreakers were easily dazzled by the fame and the sheer physical dominance of the Alphas. They usually just stared in awe. But Lyon was different; he bit back. Brandon just hoped that fire extended beyond their verbal sparring. "Listen, the guys and I want you at dinner tonight. Just the pack and you. A peace offering, since you turned out to be such a ringer on the ice."
"Dinner?" Lyon arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. He looked skeptical, but intrigued. "And why would I spend my evening being harassed by you lunatics?"
"Because we’re delightful company," Brandon replied. Or at least, they could be—if you found competitive, testosterone-heavy Alphas charming. "And it’s an opportunity to see us in our prime. Dressed up for once. I mean, since you already had the pleasure of seeing us so... dressed down."
Lyon’s gaze traveled over Brandon, and Brandon knew exactly what the man was remembering: the raw display of power in the locker room. Brandon might not have Rafael’s glacial beauty or Mateo’s terrifying height, but his dark hair, piercing green eyes, and rugged, boyish charm were a potent mix.
Brandon took the moment to study Lyon in return, imagining him out of the professional suit and into something more fitting for a night at the Coastal Prime Steakhouse. He’d known Lyon for years through the press, but today was the first time he’d realized how well the man’s refined elegance balanced the raw masculinity of the team.
Lyon wasn't just a PR handler; he was the perfect accessory. And Brandon was starting to think he didn't want to let him go once the season was over.
"I’d love to," Lyon finally said, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm, "but I believe I have prior engagements."
"Fine. I'll tell Rafael you’re busy." Brandon looked away, playing it cool, feigning total indifference. "I knew you’d fold. After that performance against Viktor, some of the boys thought you might actually have the backbone to hang with us. But I told them you wouldn't risk being out of your element like that." Brandon grinned sharply. "Rafael’s going to owe me a grand. It feels good to be right about you."
That hit the mark. Lyon’s competitive streak was his greatest weakness—or his greatest strength. Brandon could see the gears turning behind those amber eyes. The man couldn't resist a challenge.
"If I agree to this," Lyon said, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips, "I expect you to be on your best behavior. No stunts. If I find out you or Adrian have done anything foul to my drink or my meal, I’ll make a scene that will ruin this team's reputation forever." He tilted his head. "And I have a very loud voice, Brandon."
Brandon laughed. "Funny—I always figured you’d be a screamer."
"I’m serious," Lyon warned. "I’ll dine with gentlemen—not animals. Do you understand?"
"Oh, Lyon, do you even know us at all?" Brandon grinned as he finally stepped aside, letting Lyon pass toward the exit. "We’re only at our best when we’re behaving our worst. But for you..." He shrugged. "We’ll give it a shot. See you at eight."
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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.