Page 9 of Ice King

She’d sat on my ass for three more days.

Not today. My best buddy had arranged a practice without the coach knowing. Or so I’d thought.

“Did one of you assholes call him?” I gritted out, glaring at every member who’d opted into practice.

Almost all threw up their hands in surrender. Damn it, I was furious. I moved around the ice with my hand on my hip, squeezing the stick until I thought I’d break it.

“Over here, Kendrick. Now,” the coach snarled.

I took my time before gliding across the ice doing a serpentine movement. By the time I was standing in front of him, the man was fuming. Smoke was practically coming out of his ears.

“I’m fine, Coach. Really.”

“Sure, you are. I talked to your doctors.”

“You did not! That’s against hippo laws.”

“Hippo laws?” Danny said just before breaking into laughter.

Okay, so I wasn’t versed in human medical terminology. Until shifters had been forced into the public eye, we’d had our own connections, medical professionals who understood our anatomy and special needs. Our world hadn’t consisted of strict laws maintaining privacy. We’d had no such luxury given our basic needs included survival.

“You know what the hell I mean.” My frustration was growing by how savagely I was clenching my jaw.

“I didn’t need to break any laws, son,” the coach told me. “He merely said if you weren’t careful, you’d require surgery. I don’t think you want to do that. That could be career ending so I’m going to ensure you don’t lose your chance at making the NHL. Period.” As soon as he’d spouted off his intentions, I could see the wheels turning in his head.

He was wondering why the hell I wasn’t healing at a faster rate and why the concept of surgery was on the table. I could ask my dad given he was one of the chosen, older wolves tasked with protecting our heritage. If anyone in North Bend knew what the fuck was wrong with me, he would.

Only asking him would cause my mother to go ballistic. That would be like admitting I needed help.

“I won’t have a chance to showcase my fantastic abilities by being sidelined.” Backing away, I did a little dance on the ice.

The coach wasn’t amused.

“Sit down.”

Skating backwards, I glanced over my shoulder toward the guys. I’d preplanned a way to showcase the marvel of healing just in case the coach had made an appearance. “Come on, Coach. You need me. We can’t lose another game. I’m your savage on the ice.”

I shook my head and the coach smacked his palms against his hips. “What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?”

“Proving I’m perfectly fine. Boys. Hit it!”

Everyone moved into position, the single shot all I needed to prove my point. I’d gotten very good at ignoring the ache in my shoulder. There was nothing for me like gliding across the ice, hearing the churn of shaving, the icy breeze against my face.

I’d played hockey since I was old enough to hold a kid’s hockey stick in my hand. When I wasn’t playing, I wanted to be. The goal had always been to make it to the NHL, eager to get the fuck out of my tiny town and explore the world.

Granted, that had been before my father had sat me down, telling me and my brothers we weren’t like everyone else. I’d thought up to that point everyone shifted into wolves or other creatures, burning off steam by hunting in the forest. What few humans seemed to understand given the continued bad press about our existence was that hunting for food had long been seen as radical behavior amongst our own kind, Doing so was also unnecessary since we were thriving as a species amongst humans.

The talk that late October day was when my brothers and I had learned that we had entirely different anatomies and attributes. We were stronger and faster, lived longer and didn’t age as quickly. Then he’d explained that we couldn’t risk our kind being outed to the public, which meant competitive sports were out of the question. We’d win every time if we relied on our birthright skills.

Plus, humans would fear us because we weren’t like them.

I’d never given up my dream, honing my skills and dominating the sport. When our secret was blown to hell by one of our own, my father had been right in that shifters had gone through some serious shit. Hatred. Rage. Terror.

Hell, the humans in town who’d known me all my life had started backing away or running from me when I approached. Terrified I’d eat them.

Then there’d been the media denouncing us as they’d done to witches almost two centuries before. The current witch hunts had included fabrication of stories made easier by the use of creative software programs, now with the use of AI.

I couldn’t even remember the number of horrible pictures I’d seen on every social media platform of a wolf supposedly killing everything from dogs and babies to joggers in the park.