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The puck hit the ice and there was an immediate flurry of activity at the center line. For minutes, the puck stayed within ten feet of center, smacked back and forth by six orcs who were doing more to chip up the smooth surface of the ice than actually hit the black disk. Ugwyll finally managed to connect, and with a resounding thwack, the puck sped toward our goal. Trap scooped it up and tripped over the edge of his skate, managing to pass the puck toward Grung before falling to his knees.

I’d expected the pass because we’d been working on these plays, so instead of heading toward Trap, I pointed my skates and pushed off to intercept the puck. I was a little late, but by stretching my stick out, I tapped the puck away from where Trap stood and toward Ozar.

“Nice!” Coach Rencovitch shouted.

I was unsure whether the praise was meant for me or Ozar, or both of us, and I had no time to figure it out because Ugwyll snaked his stick in and stole the puck, slamming it past his two wings and straight for the net. My outstretched stick didn’t stop the object, but did nick the edge, managing to slow it down slightly and move it a few inches off course. Eng dropped down to his knees, left shin easily stopping the puck.

“Team B, take the ice,” the coach shouted, and I shuffled to stand against the boards and watch.

Six rounds and an hour of stick practice later, we all headed back to the locker room. My hockey performance was not what it should be. My position on the team was by no means safe, but there had been improvement. Hopefully that was enough to build on and show the coach that I was capable of continuing to play for the Tusks.

“Turn your face a little to the left. Lift your chin a bit more…there. And now turn to look directly into the camera. Right shoulder back. Look fierce. Fierce. That’s not fierce.”

Abby snickered, which didn’t help me any. I was looking fierce. Well, as fierce as I could.

“Some asshole stole Abby’s purse,” Daniella called out helpfully.

I eyed her, wondering why a human would steal the decorative bag Abby carried with her each day.

“A fae has grabbed her and is trying to kidnap her,” Malik added.

“That’s panic. Try for angry, for fierce,” the photographer said again.

“Eng insulted me,” Abby said.

I felt a fire rise up inside me at the idea. I’d punch that prince right in his face. Again.

“There.” The photographer snapped a series of pictures, then had me hold Spartacus and change position for yet another round. This photo shoot was taking forever. I had no idea how humans managed to hold these positions or expressions and sent a quick prayer to the mountain gods that this would soon be over.

Then Spartacus licked my chin and I immediately felt better.

After lunch Abby had made me change into my game pants, painted my number on my front and back as well as my name across my shoulders, then ushered me in for this human to take pictures of me for promotion and merchandising. I was planning on buying a few pictures to send to my parents. Maybe not ones with the dog licking my chin, though.

Luna, the hound mix, and Jerry, the elderly pit bull, had both been adopted, so the shelter had sent over Spartacus who still did not have any applications from any humans wanting to add the little dog to their family. I was willing to bet Spartacus would have no problem assuming a fierce expression, but right now he was squirming in my arms and painting my face and hand with his tongue.

“That’s insanely cute,” Daniella commented.

“Spartacus is a very handsome dog,” I agreed. “He would be additionally attractive if he had teeth. Perhaps Ozar’s mate, Jordan, can provide Spartacus with some.”

The photographer scowled at me and I stopped talking, trying once more to look “fierce”.

Abby laughed. “Do they make dentures for dogs? Dental implants?”

“I’m pretty sure toothless dogs are just fed wet food,” Malik said.

I made a mental note to research this topic, then squatted down per the photographer’s instructions, placing Spartacus in the middle of my chest so the dog’s head was just underneath my chin.

An hour later we were finally done. The volunteer from the shelter took a very unhappy Spartacus away. I watched the Yorkie leave as Abby looped her arm around mine and pressed herself against my side for a few seconds before standing on her tip toes and pulling me down to kiss my cheek.

“I hope he finds a good home like Jerry did,” Abby commented.

I smiled, knowing how she’d been concerned the pit bull would go unadopted. “There is a person to love everyone,” I reminded her. “Sometimes more than one person.”

“Is that your way of saying you want two women to love you?” Her voice was teasing underneath the mock anger. “Am I not enough for you.”

My heart ached at her words. “You are always enough for me. I want no other woman. You are the only female I love.”

“Good.”