Chapter 2 - Controlling Myself

Fantine's POV

The chill from the rink seeped into my bones, but I didn’t move from my spot just beyond the plexiglass barrier. Clipboard in hand, pen tapping idly, I kept my posture casual, like a PR rep assessing her team.

In reality, I was studying my target like a predator lining up her kill.

Riley Porter cut across the ice with speed and precision that should have been illegal. Every stride was fluid, each pivot controlled, the puck an extension of him. When he had possession, it wasn’t a game, it was a performance. And judging by the volume of the crowd in the stands, they loved every second of it.

Predictable.

He scored first, of course. The place erupted in cheers, a sea of fists pumping and whistles echoing.

I didn’t clap. I didn’t even smile. My gaze tracked him the way a sniper watches through a scope, looking for the openings, the weaknesses.

Alpha instincts, I noted as he circled back to center ice. He read the game like a battlefield, anticipating plays before they happened. Broad shoulders, strong legs, compact control in his movements, he was exactly what my father had warned me about. Dangerous. Capable. Too sure of himself.

And completely unaware he was skating toward death.

When he scored again, the noise from the stands swelled until it rattled my eardrums. I rolled my eyes, then our gazes collided.

It was a punch to the chest.

The mate-bond snapped taut between us, Ava, my wolf, surging forward in my mind with a wild, desperate howl. The pull was instant, raw, almost painful, like someone had hooked me under the ribs and was trying to drag me across the ice toward him.

I locked my knees and looked away. The connection flickered like a severed wire, and I swore I felt him flinch.

********

They won. Naturally. The scoreboard might as well have been tattooed with their names before the puck ever dropped. My issue wasn’t their skill, it was their public image. Some of the boys’ online profiles were a PR nightmare: shirtless beer pong tournaments, questionable captions, and one particularly ill-advised TikTok dance involving a hockey stick and far too little clothing.

That was why I was here. To fix them. And to get close enough to Riley to kill him.

By evening, the “victory celebration” had relocated to a crowded bar just off campus. The air was thick with beer, laughter, and the smell of overcooked fries. I sat nursing a drink, flanked by members of the team who seemed determined to out-flirt one another in my direction.

I smiled when it suited me, laughed at a few of their jokes, and made mental notes of who might be useful. Jayden, Riley ’s best friend, was the easiest to work with, charming, loud, a little too competitive at snooker. A perfect source if I played him right.

But Riley? Nowhere.

The infamous party animal was conspicuously absent.

I leaned on my cue stick, watching Jayden line up a shot. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“You want me to come with you?” he asked, winking.

“Maybe when you finally win a game,” I shot back.

The boys roared, the sound following me as I threaded through the crowd toward the bar. I let out a quiet sigh the moment I sat down. Alone. Or as alone as a person could be in a bar pulsing with drunken energy.

I didn’t like this kind of noise. Too chaotic. Too easy for someone to slip a knife between your ribs without anyone noticing.

“A long island,” I told the bartender before he could ask. His overly bright “Coming up!” made me wince.

My drink was halfway to the bar top when an unfamiliar hand slid around my waist.

Ava snarled inside me. I moved before my mind caught up, catching the stranger’s wrist in a tight grip and twisting it behind his back.

“Touch me again and I’ll break it,” I said, voice calm, eyes cold.

I released him, expecting that to be the end of it. It never was.

The guy chuckled, leaning in with beer-soaked breath. “Strong and aggressive. My type. Are you this passionate in bed, too? Because I’d love to know what it feels like between those sexy thighs—”

My vision narrowed.

If we’d been anywhere else, he’d be dead on the floor.

“If I were you,” I said, my tone like the drop in air before a storm, “I’d walk away before it’s too late.”

He smirked. “What? You going to pull that little trick again? You were lucky the first time.”

Arrogant fool.

“Wanna test that theory?”

Before he could answer, a shadow loomed behind him.

“Is he bothering you, Miss Lennox?” Riley ’s voice, smooth, controlled, but with a thread of steel beneath it, slid into the space between us.

The stranger straightened, glancing back. “Riley , hey—”

“The lady doesn’t seem to want to talk to you, Frank,” Riley said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Do I have to call security?”

Of course his name was Frank.

Frank’s smirk faltered. “No need for that. Just playing around. I’ll leave now.” And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

I turned back to my drink.

“Not even a thank you?” Riley asked after a moment.

“I could’ve handled myself.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

He laughed, but there was disbelief in it. “What is your problem with me?”

Second time tonight. The first one had annoyed me. This one I could use.

See, I’d planned to make him notice me, a slow-burn seduction tailored to reel him in before the kill. But the mate-bond made that unnecessary. He’d pursue me whether I wanted him to or not.

My sisters would be impressed. My father? He’d call it “adequate.” His version of a gold medal.

I picked up my drink and took a sip, preparing to leave. Riley stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my gaze dragging up his chest to his eyes. Ava whined in my head, desperate for contact.

“We should talk.”

“Not interested.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice.” His hand closed around mine before I could move, and he tugged me toward the back of the bar.

I pretended to resist, but inside, adrenaline spiked. This was the opening I’d been waiting for, my first real step into his orbit.

“Where are you taking me? Let me go!” I snapped for show.

He didn’t release me until we were in a dim hallway upstairs, the muffled roar of the bar fading behind us. He planted his hands against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in.

“Now that we’re up close,” he said, his voice low, “you going to tell me what the hell I’ve done to make you hate me?”

My pulse slammed in my ears. His electric-blue eyes pinned me in place, pulling me toward him like gravity. My breath hitched, the scent of him, clean sweat, pine, something darker, seeping into my lungs.

“Cat got your tongue?” he murmured, leaning in. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the bond thrumming between us.

“This is harassment,” I managed.

“Really? Because I’m not touching you.” His gaze dipped to my lips. “Plus, your breath’s uneven. Eyes dilated. If anything, you want me.”

“I do not want you,” I said sharply. “And it means nothing.”

“Oh, come on.” His grin was infuriating. “You’re really going to pretend you don’t feel it? Admit it. You’re my mate.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, holding my voice steady even as Ava screamed in protest.

“I don’t believe you,” he murmured.

Before I could fire back, his mouth was on mine.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, a soft claiming that ignited every nerve in my body. I should have shoved him away. I should have done anything but melt into him.

Instead, my hands found his shirt, pulling him closer. His groan vibrated against my lips as his arms locked around my waist, crushing me to him.

“You were saying?” he breathed between kisses.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My assassin’s mind screamed danger, but my wolf only whispered more.