Puck’s Secret: Claimed by the Ruthless Captain

"If you don't lift that shirt in three seconds, Thorne, I'll rip it off you myself."

"I told you, it's just a bruise, Atlas. It's fine." I gripped the hem of my oversized hoodie, my heart felt like it was going to explode.

"I don't care what you told me. You're slowing down the line. You're dragging the pack's reputation through the mud because you can't take a hit." He took another step, his chest almost brushing my nose. "Show me. Now."

"Why do you even care?" I croaked, trying to keep my voice from trembling. "You hate me. You've spent the last three years making my life a living hell. Why the sudden interest in my health?"

Atlas let out a dry, humorless laugh. He leaned down, his face so close I could see the tiny scar cutting through his left eyebrow. "I don't care about your health, runt. I care about the tournament. If you're useless and going to be a burden, I need to know so I can cut you loose before the first puck drops."

"I'm not dead weight."

"Then prove it. Lift the shirt."

My hands were trembling. If I lifted it, the binder was right there. The thick, white compression fabric would give everything away in a second. He'd know Jace was a girl. He'd know the Thornes were liars.

"I... I have a skin condition," I blurted out. "It's gross. You don't want to see it."

Atlas's eyes narrowed into slits. "A skin condition? That's the best you've got? You're a terrible liar, Thorne."

He reached out, his hand moving faster than I could react. His fingers caught the edge of my hoodie.

"Stop!" I hissed, shoving his hand away.

The room went deathly silent. No one shoved Atlas Vanderbilt.

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening. For a second, I thought he was going to snap my neck.

"You've got a lot of nerve."

"Just leave me alone, Atlas! I'll be on the ice tomorrow. I'll play. Just... stay out of my space."

He stepped back, but he didn't look finished. He looked like he was solving a puzzle he didn't like. "You smell... weird."

My blood ran cold. "What?"

"You smell like an Omega in heat," he growled, his nostrils flaring as he leaned in again, sniffing the air near my neck. "Sweet. Like vanilla and panic. Why the hell do you smell like a girl, Thorne?"

"I told you! It's my mom's laundry detergent! She... she uses a lot of it."

"Liar," he whispered.

He grabbed my chin, his long fingers pressing painfully into my jaw. His tattoos seemed to shift under his skin as his muscles coiled tight.

"You think you can play games with me? I run this academy. I run this pack. If I find out you're hiding something that compromises my rink, I will tear you apart."

"I am not hiding anything," I lied again, staring directly into those icy blue eyes. My inner wolf was whining, desperate to submit to his overwhelming Alpha aura, but I forced my human side to hold his gaze.

"We will see about that," Atlas sneered. He dropped his hand in pure disgust and turned his back to me.

"Sleep with one eye open, runt. Tomorrow on the ice, I am going to break you myself."

He grabbed his keys and walked out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

I collapsed onto my narrow bed, gasping for the air I had been too terrified to breathe. He was too close. One more second and he would have noticed the lack of an Adam's apple.

The morning frost of the Scottish Highlands coated the academy windows. I kept my head down as I walked toward the cafeteria, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder.

"Well, if it isn't the pack's biggest disappointment."

I stopped. Catelyn was leaning against the stone archway, surrounded by three of his giggling followers. She wore a pristine Northbridge blazer, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves. She looked like an angel, but her heart was pure venom.

"Move, Catelyn," I muttered, trying to walk past her.

She stepped in my way, her perfectly manicured hand pressing hard into my injured chest. I flinched, biting my lip to keep from crying out.

"Aw, did I hurt the little baby?" she mocked, a cruel smile twisting her lips. "I don't know why you even bother showing up, Jace. You are a complete joke. Your entire family is a joke."

"Leave my family out of this."

Catelyn laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. "Why? Because your mom is rotting away in that cheap clinic? We all know she is dying. And honestly, it is for the best. She gave birth to a weak, pathetic runt who can't even hold his own on the ice. She should be put out of her misery."

My vision went red. I took a step toward her, my fists clenched. "Shut your mouth."

"Or what?" Catelyn challenged, her eyes flashing with pure malice. "You will hit me? You don't have the guts. You are nothing but trash, Thorne. You don't belong in this pack. You are just a stray dog taking up space in my brother's academy."

“You know for some reason I'm beginning to think you have a crush on me.”

“Oh, you wish!”she screamed looking offended.

She bumped her shoulder hard against mine as she walked past, leaving me standing in the cold hallway, shaking with rage and unshed tears. She was right about one thing. I didn't belong here. But I had to stay. For my mother.

The ice was brutally cold. I skated in a tight circle, trying to keep my legs warm. The rest of the team was already doing drills. Atlas was at the center of the rink, a dark, terrifying king surveying his territory.

"Line up!" Atlas roared, slamming his stick against the ice.

We all scrambled to the blue line.

"Thorne," Atlas called out, his voice echoing in the empty arena. "Get out here."

My stomach dropped. I skated forward slowly, stopping a few feet away from him.

"You said you weren't dead weight last night," Atlas said, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "Prove it. One on one drills. Just you and me."

The rest of the guys muttered to each other. A one on one drill with Atlas wasn't practice. It was an execution.

"Drop the puck," Atlas ordered the assistant captain.

The black rubber hit the ice. I lunged for it, but Atlas was faster. He didn't even go for the puck. He went for me.

His shoulder collided with my chest, right over my binder. The impact was like getting hit by a freight train. I flew backward, crashing hard onto the ice. The breath left my lungs in a violent rush.

"Get up!" Atlas yelled, skating a tight circle around me. "You are pathetic, Thorne. Get up and fight like a wolf!"

I gritted my teeth, tasting blood in my mouth. I forced myself onto my knees, my chest burning in sheer agony.

"Is that all you've got?" I challenged, my voice hoarse.

Atlas's eyes darkened. "Wrong answer."

He skated at me again, faster this time. He slammed me into the boards. The fiberglass rattled loudly. He pinned me there, his stick pressed hard against my collarbone.

"You are weak," he growled right in my face. "You don't deserve the Northbridge jersey. You don't deserve to be in my pack."

"I am not giving up," I whispered back, glaring at him.

He stared at me, his icy blue eyes searching mine. The hatred in his gaze was suffocating, but underneath it, there was that same dangerous confusion from last night. His nose twitched. He was smelling the vanilla again.

"You infuriate me," he muttered, his grip on his stick tightening.

"Everything about you is wrong."

"Then dismiss me."

"Never."

The tension between us was thick. For a second, he just stared at my lips, his breathing heavy and uneven.

Suddenly, the loud screech of the coach's whistle pierced the air.

"Vanderbilt! Thorne! Off the ice!" Coach Miller barked from the penalty box.

Atlas slowly backed away, but he kept his eyes locked on mine. "This is not over."

I skated off the ice, my entire body shaking. I headed straight for the locker room, desperate to get away from him, to check if my binder had shifted during the brutal hit.

I pushed into the empty locker room and leaned against the cold metal lockers, unzipping my heavy jersey with trembling fingers. I just needed to breathe for one second. I kept my jersey tightly wrapped around me, trying to steady my racing heart.

I didn't hear the door open.

"Forgot my water bottle."

The deep, gravelly voice sent a shock of pure terror straight to my core.

I spun around. Atlas was standing in the doorway. He locked the metal door behind him.

He walked toward me, his eyes dark and completely calculating.

"You think you survived today, Thorne?" he asked softly.

"I am still standing."

"Not for long." He stopped inches from me. "Coach just updated the tournament requirements. There is a rumor of recruits using illegal steroids to cheat the pack rankings."

My heart completely stopped.

Atlas smiled, a cruel, wicked curve of his lips that promised absolute destruction.

"Every single player is getting a mandatory, full-body physical exam by the pack doctor tonight," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"And I am personally escorting you to the clinic at midnight. Don't be late."