Puck’s Secret: Claimed by the Ruthless Captain

Mazikeen

Atlas’s words hung in the heavy, burning air of the dorm room. You don't feel like a boy.

Panic exploded in my chest. I shoved both of my hands against his scorching shoulders and pushed with every ounce of strength I had. His fever made him sloppy. He lost his balance and rolled off me with a loud, pained groan, hitting the carpeted floor hard.

I scrambled backward until my spine hit the cold wall. My chest heaved violently.

"Get away from me!" I yelled, my voice cracking.

Atlas gripped his head, his knuckles turning white. His breathing was rugged, completely out of control. His icy blue eyes flashed a bright, dangerous gold for a fraction of a second his wolf fighting to take over the rut.

"Get out," he snarled, his voice dropping into a terrifying, guttural pitch. "Get out of here before I lose my mind and mark you myself, Thorne. Run."

I didn't need to be told twice. I grabbed my oversized hoodie from the floor, threw open the heavy door, and bolted out into the freezing hallway. I didn't stop running until I reached the empty locker rooms at the ice arena.

I locked myself in a bathroom stall and curled my knees to my chest. I let out a deep, shaky sigh, burying my face in my hands. He knew. Atlas definitely suspected something. If I made one wrong move on the ice today, he would tear the jersey right off my back and expose me to the entire pack. And then my mother would be thrown into the streets.

I waited until the sun started to rise before I stepped out to prep my gear.

The locker room was empty, smelling faintly of wax and old sweat. I sat on the bench, silently wrapping black tape around the blade of my hockey stick. My hands were still trembling.

"Look who's here. The runt."

I froze. I slowly looked up.

Damon, the left-winger for our team, stood in the doorway with two of his massive friends. Damon hated Jace. He had hated him since we were kids. He had a cruel face and a reputation for deliberately injuring players during the regionals.

"What do you want, Damon?" I muttered, keeping my voice low. "Practice doesn't start for an hour."

"I want you off my line," Damon sneered. He walked over, his heavy boots echoing on the rubber mat. "You cost us the championship last year, Jace. You are weak. You are a complete joke to this pack."

"Take it up with Coach," I said, standing up. I tried to walk past him, but his friend shoved me hard in the chest. I stumbled back, hitting the metal lockers.

"We are taking it up with you," Damon growled. He snatched my freshly taped stick right out of my hands. He raised his knee and snapped the expensive carbon fiber stick perfectly in half.

"Hey!" I yelled. "Are you crazy?"

Damon dropped the broken pieces at my feet. He grabbed the front of my jersey, slamming me against the lockers again. The metal handle dug painfully into my spine.

"I loosened the bolts on your skate blades this morning," Damon whispered with an evil smile. "When Atlas checks you into the boards today, your skates are going to snap. You are going to break your ankles, Jace. And then Vanderbilt will finally kick your pathetic ass out of Northbridge for good."

My stomach turned completely upside down. He tampered with my skates? If I went on the ice at those speeds, I could be killed.

"You are a coward, Damon," I spat at him.

Damon’s eyes darkened. He raised his fist to punch me.

"Touch him, and I will break your arm in three places."

Damon froze. We all looked toward the door.

Eros was leaning casually against the doorframe, a bright green apple in his hand. He took a slow bite, his golden eyes completely cold and deadly as he stared at Damon.

"Eros," Damon stammered, instantly letting go of my jersey. "We were just talking."

"It didn't look like talking," Eros said. He threw the apple core into the trash can and walked over. The alpha energy rolling off him made Damon’s friends immediately step back in submission. "Get out of my locker room, Damon. If I catch you near Thorne again, I will personally strip you of your rank."

Damon swallowed hard, nodding quickly. He and his friends rushed out the door like terrified pups.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, sliding down slightly against the lockers. "Thank you. He broke my stick."

Eros looked down at the broken pieces. His expression softened, and that charming, kind smile returned to his face. "Don't worry about it. Come with me to the back equipment room. I have a spare stick you can use."

"Are you sure? Atlas might get mad if—"

"Atlas is locked in his room dealing with a nasty rut," Eros interrupted gently. "He won't be on the ice today. You are safe, Jace. Come on."

A wave of massive relief washed over me. No Atlas today. I could actually breathe.

I followed Eros out of the locker room and down the dark, narrow hallway that led to the equipment storage. It was a small room filled with spare pads, helmets, and a heavy scent of freshly sharpened steel.

I walked in to look at the rack of sticks.

Click.

I turned around. Eros had just shut the heavy metal door. He slid the deadbolt into place.

"Eros?" I asked, my voice suddenly very small. "Why did you lock the door?"

Eros didn't answer right away. He just stood there staring at me. His breathing was starting to get heavy. The kind, warm smile completely melted off his face, replaced by something dark, hungry, and entirely predatory.

The air in the small room suddenly changed. The smell of pine grew incredibly strong, mixing with a thick, musky scent that made my inner wolf whimper in pure panic.

He was in rut, too.

"Eros, open the door," I said, taking a step back until my hips hit the equipment table.

"Atlas is an idiot," Eros whispered. He took a slow step toward me. "He is so blinded by his own anger that he can't even see what is standing right in front of him."

"I don't know what you are talking about. I just need a stick."

"No, you don't." Eros took another step, trapping me between the table and his solid body. He reached out, his hot fingers lightly brushing against the side of my neck.

I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!"

Eros chuckled, a dark, vibrating sound. He grabbed both of my wrists with one hand and pinned them to the table behind my back. He leaned in so close his lips brushed my ear.

"You don't have an Adam's apple," Eros murmured softly. "Your waist is too soft under that bulky jersey. And you smell like sweet vanilla and pure, terrified female."

A tear slipped down my cheek. I was caught. It was all over.

"Please," I begged, my voice breaking. "Please don't tell Atlas. My mom is sick. If I lose this spot, they will throw us out. Please, Eros, I thought you were kind."

"I am kind," Eros said smoothly. His nose traced my jawline, inhaling deeply. His body was burning hot against mine. "I won't tell Atlas a single word. I will keep your little secret, Mazikeen."

I gasped. He knew my real name.

"But silence isn't free," Eros whispered darkly, his golden eyes dropping to my lips. "I am in rut. And you are going to help me through it."

"No," I choked out, trying to thrash against his grip, but he was too strong.

Eros smirked, entirely wicked and ruthless. "If you don't want the Alpha King to find out his favorite punching bag is a girl... you are going to sleep with me. Right here. Right now."