Cole freezes. His smile falters just enough for the rest of the boys to notice. A couple of the vets smirk, Viktor grunts like that’s the end of it, Mats tilts his head with a knowing half-smile.
The weight of it hangs in the air, heavy as a blade.
Jesus Christ. My whole body jolts like I just took a hit to the chest. My heart’s sprinting, my blood’s on fire, and I can’t stop beaming like an idiot.He said it. He said it out loud.Not just to me. To them.
If Haverton wants me, they’ll have to go through him. Through all of them.
I bounce on my skates, tap my stick against the floor, and taunt Cole just to cover the way my ribs feel like they’re about to split open. “Hear that, Hollywood? You’re my bodyguard tonight. Better not let me down.”
Cole groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Christ, someone muzzle him before he chirps Shaw’s entire bloodline.”
Too late.
We’re lined up at the door to the tunnel, the roar of the Haverton crowd vibrating through the concrete. The walls shake with boos, chants, that ugly silver-and-black energy leaking in from the other side. My blood is fire in my veins, my skin too tight to hold me in.
One last thing before we storm the ice.
Every single guy in the room reaches into his stall, into bags, into pockets. Mouthguards snap between teeth, plastic squeaks, jaws clench—
And then twenty sets of fangs flash back at Damian.
Vampire fangs. White plastic molded sharp, dripping Halloween.
The boys are tapping sticks against shin pads, laughter spilling through the noise of the crowd outside. Cole beams the brightest, mouth full of pointed teeth.
“You said no capes,” he says, triumphant, his voice muffled by fake fangs.
The room loses it. Mats smirks, Viktor rumbles low, Shane cackles like he’s hexing the Phantoms before puck drop. Even Tyler cracks a nervous smile, flashing cheap plastic like it might save him.
Damian just stands there, deadpan, eyes sweeping the room once, slow. His face doesn’t move, not even a twitch.
The silence is enough to cut the laughter in half.
And then, finally, he exhales through his nose. “Go.”
We go.
The tunnel explodes with the sound of blades hitting concrete, sticks slamming against walls. Our chant rips through the air, deep, brutal, carried on the beat of twenty hearts about to bleed for the same ice. The light at the end ofthe tunnel glows sickly red, flashing, smoke machines spilling out like fog.
The crowd is on fire. Haverton’s arena shakes, boos crashing over us like thunder.
I smile through my fangs, twitching in my gear. This is it. Halloween night. Phantoms’ barn. My first game in Reapers black.
And beside me—Captain Damian Kade.
No cape. No mask. Just blood in his eyes and a war in his chest.
We step onto the ice.
Opening faceoff.
I crouch low at center ice, blade angled, sweat dripping down my neck even though the game hasn’t started. Across from me is Grayson Shaw—Phantoms captain, monster in human skin. He’s bigger than me, heavier, built from twelve years of punishment in this league. His helmet hides most of him, but I can see the scar across his chin, the sneer in his mouth.
He leans in. “You’ll be crawling back to juniors after tonight, rookie.”
I grin wide, fangs flashing. “At least I won’t be crawling to a retirement home, grandpa.”
The crowd hasn’t even stopped booing yet.
