Page 16 of Puck Your Charity

Deep, methodical breaths fill my lungs. Pushing the oxygen out takes a slow count of eight. I don't follow any specific religion, but I believe in energy. I believe in the spirit. Taming my Alpha instincts requires constant discipline.

Finding a spiritual center keeps the aggressive urges locked down in the dark where they belong. I force my body to sit still. Meditation clears my head and keeps the aggression fed with patience.

We have a grueling practice scheduled for tomorrow. We face a brutal playoff run next week. Keeping my mind organized keeps the pack organized.

I serve as the anchor for these guys. Finn acts as the heart, smoothing over the rough patches. Lawrence brings the easy charm. Victor provides the scoring edge on the ice. My job involves keeping all those volatile personalities grounded. I watch. I listen. I step in when things threaten to boil over.

Right now, the house feels too quiet.

Finn left over an hour ago to take some gear to the sick kid at the hospital. Lawrence went upstairs to shower. Victor sulks in his bedroom, still dealing with the fallout of his panic attack from yesterday.

I take another deep breath and hold the air in my chest.

The front door upstairs slams hard enough to shake the floorboards.

My eyes snap open. The sound of boots pounding against the hardwood echoes through the ceiling. Frantic footsteps rush past the kitchen and head straight for the basement stairs.

I stand up from the mat, letting my towering frame stretch to full height.

A pungent wave of distressed pheromones floods down the stairwell. The familiar crisp ozone and citrus of Finn’s scent hits my nose, but the scent feels wrong. The air smells like a hurricane tearing through a city. Acrid, panicked energy coats the room.

Finn bursts into the basement gym.

He looks feral. His auburn hair sticks up in every direction, matted with sweat. Moisture stains the collar of his black henley. His chest heaves with frantic, jagged gasps. He grips the sides of his head and paces the length of the rubber floor like a caged animal. His boots squeak against the mats.

A low, vibrating growl builds in his throat. The noise borders on unhinged.

I step into his path. "Finn."

He ignores me. He spins on his heel and paces back toward the weight racks. His eyes look blown out and wild. His jaw clenches so tight the muscles in his neck jump.

I track his movements. The chaotic energy rolling off his skin threatens to spark a fight. A fresh Alpha drowning in this much distress needs immediate containment.

I step forward and grab his shoulder. My hand wraps around his bicep, digging into the muscle to force him to a halt.

"Sit." I drop my voice into a calm, commanding rumble.

Finn thrashes against my grip. He bares his teeth, a desperate snarl ripping past his lips. His instincts scream at him to fight anyone in his way.

I tighten my hold. I push my cedar scent out, blanketing his chaotic ozone with a thick, grounding layer of dominance. I refuse to match his panic. I refuse to raise my voice. I use my size and my unyielding calm to force his erratic nervous system to submit.

"I said sit." I shove him backward onto a flat weight bench.

Finn's knees buckle. He crashes onto the padded seat and buries his face in his large hands. A ragged, high-pitched whine escapes his throat.

"Breathe." I cross my arms over my chest and stand over him. "Tell me what happened."

Finn drags his hands down his face. His skin looks flushed. "I found her. I found the girl from yesterday. "

"Olive." I recall the name easily.

"She smelled like a bakery." Finn gestures with frantic hands. "She smelled like warm apple pie and crushed cinnamon. She smelled slick, Malcolm. Dripping wet and ready to breed. She wasn't a Beta. She dropped into a full heat the second my scent hit her."

The words hit my chest like a slapshot.

I inhale a deep breath through my nose. The crisp ozone covering Finn recedes enough for me to catch the lingering trace on his clothes. A faint, biting sweet scent clings to the fabric of his shirt.

The scent bypasses my rational brain. The aroma sinks straight into my blood and sets my veins on fire. My cock twitches inside my sweatpants, growing thick and hard. My own Alpha instincts roar to life, reacting to the perfection of that sweet, distressed pheromone. The smell triggers every evolutionary wire in my head. The scent belongs to an Omega meant for our pack. It begs to be claimed.