ICE- The Alpha's Unwanted OMEGA

The cold wind of the Kingdom of Valeria bit through the stone walls of the Silvercrest Arena, but it was nothing compared to the chill in my veins.

Today was supposed to be the day I, Collins Parker, the fallen golden boy of the Valeria social scene, was sacrificed. There was no groom waiting for me at the end of the ice. My future husband, Ethan Carter-the most lethal Alpha to ever captain a hockey team-had been a hollow shell, trapped in a coma since his wolf was shattered in a brutal hit six months ago. The healers said his spark would flicker out by the winter solstice.

In a desperate move of lunar pack magic, Margaret Carter had arranged this union. The Carters were the apex predators of the hockey world and the wealthiest pack in Valeria, but no sane male omega or socialite would tether their soul to a dying wolf.

I stood before the locker room mirror, my frame draped in a ceremonial white fur suit. The heavy silver embroidery caught the light, highlighting my pale skin and the sharp, desperate edge in my eyes. I looked like a prize ready for slaughter.

I had twenty minutes. My thumbs blurred over my phone screen, heart hammering against my ribs.

Before the Silvercrest Alphas forced this bond, I had a lover. By a sick twist of the Moon Mother's irony, he was Ethan's own nephew, Mason Carter. We had kept our heat-cycles and our secret trysts hidden from the pack. I had begged Mason to run with me last night-to leave Valeria and the ice behind.

He never texted back.

I couldn't sit still. Grabbing my phone, I slipped out of the dressing room, my boots clicking against the concrete floor. I stopped dead outside a private box when a familiar, shrill laugh pierced the air.

It was Savannah Blake, my sister.

"I bet that idiot Collins is still waiting for you, Mason! You should go play the part of the devoted lover one last time. What if he scents the trap and bolts before the ceremony?"

"You think he has a choice now?" Mason's voice was a low growl I no longer recognized. I heard the rustle of fabric-the sound of him marking her. "Even if he tries to run, the pack guards will collar him and drag him to the center of the rink by his throat."

Savannah giggled, a sound like breaking glass. "Collins will lose his mind when he realizes you've been sharing my bed every night since Ethan fell."

A physical blow couldn't have hurt more. My wolf thrashed inside me, howling in agony. I backed away, my knuckles white as I gripped my ceremonial robes.

When my father, Andrew Parker, collapsed after our family's hockey franchise went bankrupt, my stepfather, Denise Harper, didn't hesitate. He sold me to the Carters to settle the debt, masking the betrayal as "family loyalty." But now I saw the truth: Mason, the man who promised to protect me, was just waiting for Ethan to die so he could scavenge the remains of the Silvercrest empire.

My dreams weren't just dead; they were hunted down.

As the whispers in the room grew more heated, the grief in my chest turned into a block of black ice. For years, I had endured Denise and Savannah's cruelty for the sake of my father's legacy. I had been the "good son," the "loyal mate."

No more. I was done being the prey.

The ceremony was a blur of silver and cold. I walked onto the ice of the Silvercrest Arena alone, clutching a bouquet of winter lilies. I spoke the vows to the empty air and slid the heavy platinum band onto my own finger.

The gathered Alphas and scouts looked on in confusion, whispering about the "sham marriage," but I didn't care. As of this moment, I was a Carter. I was protected by the laws of the Great Pack. I was untouchable.

That night, I was escorted to Ethan's mountain estate-a sprawling fortress of glass and stone worth over 150 million credits. Before I could even scent the perimeter, the head housekeeper, Patricia Bennett, shoved me into the master suite.

My breath hitched. Ethan Carter lay on a massive furs-covered bed. Even in his shattered state, he radiated power. His features were carved from granite, his jawline sharp enough to draw blood. His skin was deathly pale from the long hibernation, but his beauty was terrifying.

If he were awake, a high-ranking Alpha like him wouldn't have looked twice at a disgraced socialite like me. Before the accident, he was the King of the Ice, the head of Silvercrest Holdings, a man rumored to be as ruthless in the boardroom as he was in the rink. They said he had ties to the darkest corners of Valeria-that he broke anyone who challenged his authority.

The heavy oak door creaked open.

"I'm so sorry, Collins! The pack meetings ran late, I only just got away to see you," Mason said, stepping into the room with a mask of fake concern.

"I just bonded with your Alpha Uncle," I snapped, my voice cutting through the air like a skate blade. "Address me with the respect my rank deserves."

Mason blinked, startled. "I know you're hurting. I didn't run with you because I wanted to secure our future. Ethan is a corpse in a suit. You won't have to lift a finger. Once he passes, Attorney Lucas Grant will ensure the entire Silvercrest estate falls to you-and then, it belongs to us."

He reached out to grab my hands, his scent cloying and dishonest. "Everything he built will be ours, Collins."

I looked at his hands and felt a wave of pure nausea. "Get your filth off me!" I roared, shoving him back.

Mason gasped. This wasn't the submissive Collins he knew. He moved to grab me again, to force an explanation, but then his face went ghostly white. His eyes fixed on something over my shoulder, his jaw dropping in sheer terror.

"He... he's..." Mason stammered, stumbling backward.

I spun around. On the bed, the "dead" Alpha's fingers twitched against the silk sheets. Slowly, with the weight of a mountain moving, Ethan Carter opened his eyes-and they were glowing a lethal, predatory gold.

The silver in Ethan's eyes wasn't just magnetic; it was the predatory glint of an Alpha who had scented blood. It was a gaze that froze the marrow in your bones.

Mason's face drained of all color, his cocky posture collapsing as he scrambled toward the door.

"Collins... I mean, Uncle Collins... it's late. I'll leave you and Uncle Ethan to your... rest!"

He didn't just walk out; he fled, the scent of his fear lingering in the air like burnt rubber. My chest tightened as I watched him bolt. My own wolf was whimpering, trembling at the sheer intensity radiating from the bed.

Was Ethan truly coming back from the brink? Was the King of the Silvercrest Rink not ready for the Great Hunt in the sky?

I wanted to demand answers, but my throat felt like it was filled with dry ice. I wanted to move closer, to see if he was really there, but my feet were fused to the floor. Panic finally broke my paralysis, and I stumbled out into the hallway, shouting for help.

"Patricia! Ethan's eyes! He opened them!"

Patricia Bennett, the head of the household staff, came charging up the stairs, her expression more weary than surprised.

"Master Ethan opens his eyes every sun-cycle, Collins. It doesn't mean his soul has returned to his body. Look at him-he isn't tracking your movement or responding to our scents." She let out a long, heavy sigh. "Dr. Harris says the odds of a wolf waking once the mental bond is shattered are nearly zero."

The unease didn't leave me. "Can we keep the fireplace roaring tonight? I'm... the dark feels heavy."

"Of course," Patricia nodded. "Rest now. You have to visit the High Pack Manor tomorrow to see Margaret. I'll wake you at dawn."

I changed into my silk sleepwear and climbed into the massive bed, feeling like a small bird nesting next to a dormant volcano. I sat stiffly, studying his rugged, motionless features. I waved a hand tentatively in front of his face.

"What are you hunting in your dreams, Ethan?" I whispered. No answer.

A sudden wave of grief crashed over me. My own betrayal by Mason and Denise felt small compared to this-a titan of the ice reduced to a statue.

"I hope you fight your way back, Ethan. If that parasite Mason gets his claws on the Silvercrest Holdings, you won't be able to howl in peace."

The moment the words left my lips, Ethan's heavy lids slid shut.

My heart thundered against my ribs. I stared at him, paralyzed. Wolves are sensitive to intent; even in a coma, could he hear me? I lay down beside him, my mind spinning. I was officially a Carter now. For the moment, I was protected by his name.

But what happens when his heart finally stops?

My jaw tightened. I had to use this window of time. While I was the consort of the Silvercrest Alpha, I would reclaim everything Denise and Savannah stole from me. Everyone who treated me like a pawn was about to find out I could play the game, too.

At eight the next morning, Patricia escorted me to the High Pack Manor to see Margaret Carter. The entire Carter lineage was gathered in the grand hall. I moved through the room, pouring ritual tea for the elders, playing the part of the dutiful mate.

Margaret watched me with sharp, calculating eyes. She seemed pleased with my restraint; an obedient omega was easier to keep on a leash.

"How was your first night in the fortress, Collins?" she asked.

"Quiet, thank you," I replied, my voice steady despite the flush on my cheeks.

"And Ethan? He wasn't a burden?"

I thought of his handsome, frozen mask and felt a strange pang of loyalty. "He was still. He didn't disturb me."

I didn't mention that in the middle of the night, I'd subconsciously sought his warmth, waking up draped across his chest like he was a heated pillow. The realization of what I'd done had kept me awake for hours.

"I have a welcoming gift for you," Margaret said, sliding a heavy silver box across the table. Inside was a cuff forged from lunar steel. "It matches your spirit. Do you like it?"

I knew better than to refuse the Matriarch. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

"I know the burden you carry, Collins. Ethan isn't himself. But there is a way for this union to serve the pack legacy." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low growl. "Ethan's time is short. He spent his life on the ice and in the boardroom, never taking a mate or siring an heir. He has no cub to carry the Silvercrest torch."

I went cold. An heir? She wanted me to carry a child for a man who couldn't even speak?

"I want you to provide Ethan with a successor," Margaret declared.

The room went silent. The shock on the faces of the extended family mirrored my own.

"Mother, Ethan has been under heavy sedation and healing spells for months," Mason's father, Mason's uncle, interjected. "He's likely sterile."

Everyone already had their sights set on Ethan's territory. They didn't want a new Alpha in the cradle.

Margaret smirked. "I've consulted with Dr. Harris. We have... methods. Silvercrest needs a blood-heir. Even a daughter would suffice to hold the seat."

All eyes turned to me, heavy with judgment and greed.

"You're still in the academy, aren't you, Collins?" Mason's aunt chirped. "A pregnancy would ruin your chances of finishing your hockey stats."

"Exactly," her husband added. "Collins is far too young to be tethered to a nursery."

Margaret ignored them, looking directly at me. "Are you willing, Collins? You should realize that you and the cub would inherit the entirety of the Silvercrest estate. It's a fortune that would make you the most powerful wolf in Valeria."

"I'll do it," I said, my voice cutting through the room.

I saw the flicker of rage in Mason's eyes and felt a surge of triumph. I would do anything to ensure he never touched a single credit of Ethan's legacy. Besides, if I refused, this family would simply find a way to force me.

Margaret beamed. "Excellent. I knew you had more iron in your blood than those other vapid socialites."

After the gathering, I walked out into the crisp morning air, only to be intercepted by Mason. The sun was bright, the mountain birds were calling, and I felt like vomiting at the sight of him.

"Take the carriage ahead, Patricia," I said. She nodded and gave Mason a warning look before retreating.

Mason waited until we were alone under the pines. "You're killing me, Collins! You wouldn't even let me scent your neck while we were together, and now you're jumping into bed to breed for a dying man?"

"An heir means the estate is mine," I sneered, enjoying the way his face twisted. "Why wouldn't I take the crown?"

"It's a clever play," Mason hissed, stepping into my space. "But why use him? We can have our own cub and tell the Matriarch it's Ethan's. It would still be a Carter. My grandmother would never know the difference."

My disgust turned into a cold, sharp blade.

"You've got plenty of greed, Mason, but you're lacking the brains to back it up," I warned. "Ethan's inner circle-Brandon Hayes and the rest-are monsters. They are loyal to Ethan alone. If they find out I'm carrying your brat, they won't just exile you. They'll hunt you for sport."

Mason flinched as if I'd struck him. He knew I was right. Ethan's "minions" were the most feared enforcers in the Kingdom.

"I'm just joking!" Mason stammered, trying to reclaim his ego. "Whoever the father is, the kid is a Carter. When Ethan kicks the bucket, I'll treat the cub like my own."

I sighed, looking at him with pure pity. "Mason, your uncle's child would be your cousin. Try to keep your family tree straight."

He looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon.

"I'm leaving," I said. "Your grandmother has already sent Dr. Harris to the estate to begin the process."

Back at the mansion, I was immediately taken to the medical wing. Two specialized healers were waiting. The process was clinical and cold-if I was in my cycle, they would harvest; if not, they would trigger it.

"Don't be anxious, Collins," a female doctor said as she prepped the equipment. "This is a small price to pay for the security of the Carter name."

I lay back on the cold table, my pulse racing. "How long until we know if it worked?"

"It's impossible to pinpoint the moon-cycle. If the stars align, we could see results in ninety to a hundred days. If not, it could be a cold eternity," Dr. Harris said, his voice echoing in the sterile medical wing of the estate.

He adjusted his glasses, offering a tight smile. "You've got the vitality of a young wolf, Collins. I expect your body to accept the essence without much resistance."

The weeks bled into each other until the first frost of autumn settled over the Kingdom of Valeria. The air turned sharp, smelling of pine and upcoming snow.

I stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, my skin still tingling from the hot spray. Dropping onto the edge of the massive bed, I reached for a tin of heavy winter salve I'd picked up at the village market. The winds were getting brutal, and even a shifter's skin could crack in this climate.

"Hey, Ethan," I murmured, glancing at the silent Alpha beside me. "The mountain air is getting dry. You want some of this? I doubt the nurses think about moisturizing your face."

I shifted closer, dipping my fingers into the cool cream. I began to work it into his skin, tracing the rugged lines of his jaw and the high arc of his cheekbones.

Suddenly, Ethan's eyes snapped open. They weren't the dull silver of a sleeper anymore; they were a searing, molten amber, glowing like twin hearths in the dim room.

The sheer predatory intensity of his stare hit me like a physical blow. My breath hitched, sticking in my throat. I was used to his eyes opening-it happened almost every day-but this was different. There was a soul behind the glass this time.

"Am I being too rough?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. I forced my hands to stay steady, continuing the rhythmic circles on his temples. "I'm barely pressing down, I swear."

To settle my own nerves, I started rambling, a habit I'd picked up during these long, quiet months.

"I saw some chatter on the pack links... they said the reason you never took a mate was because your wolf was broken or your body couldn't handle the heat. But looking at you now? I don't buy it. You've still got the build of a Captain. These arms... these legs... they're built for the ice."

I finished with his face and gave his bicep a playful, lingering pat through the fabric of his shirt. It was a light touch, meant for a man who couldn't feel it.

But the world stopped when a sound vibrated through the air-a sound that didn't come from me. It was a low, gravelly rasp.

"Was that you?" I gasped, recoiling so fast I nearly tumbled off the bed. My eyes went wide, fixed on him with frantic intensity. "Ethan? Did you just speak?"

Ethan didn't just look at me; he observed me. The hollow emptiness was gone, replaced by a searing cocktail of emerald rage, bone-deep suspicion, and cold hatred.

"Mrs. Bennett!" I screamed, bolting for the door like a pup fleeing a silver trap. "Patricia! He's awake! Ethan spoke to me! He's back!"

My skin was flushed, my pulse was a frantic drumbeat, and I could barely get enough air into my lungs.

Ethan Carter was back.

I was certain of it. It wasn't just the amber glow in his eyes-it was the word he had forced through his throat. Even though his voice was raw, like grinding stones, it carried the weight of an Alpha's command.

He had looked at me and demanded to know who I was.

My mind went completely white. Every person in Valeria had told me he was a ghost in a shell, a dying legend. I had never actually prepared for the moment the King of the Rink would demand an account of my presence in his sanctuary.

Within thirty minutes, the mansion was swarming. The silence of the estate was shattered by the arrival of the inner circle and the family.

"I knew your spirit was too strong to break, Ethan!" Margaret cried, her face wet with tears of genuine relief.

"Welcome back to the world, brother," Henry added, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You have no idea the shadow that fell over the pack. Mother's grief nearly turned her coat gray overnight."

After a grueling examination, Dr. Harris turned to Margaret, his voice trembling with awe. "This is a literal miracle. There were no neural markers for this yesterday. Now that Master Ethan is vocalizing, we just need to start the physical restoration. He'll be back on his skates before the playoffs."

The shock was too much for Margaret; her knees gave out, and she fainted into Henry's arms. He quickly carried her out to find her a smelling salt.

The doctor, Patricia, and the pack guards remained in the room, while I hovered by the doorframe. I was too terrified to cross the threshold.

The aura rolling off Ethan was suffocating. He was propped up against the headboard now, his shoulders broad and imposing even after months of atrophy. His gaze was like a hawk's, pinning me to the spot with an icy, lethal stare.

"Who is he?" Ethan growled, his voice a deep, vibrating threat that made the doctor flinch.

Patricia bowed her head, her voice hushed with reverence. "Master Ethan, this is the mate Margaret arranged for you during your slumber. His name is-"

Ethan's lips thinned into a hard, cruel line. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth as he cut her off.

"Get him out of my sight. Now."