Ice Alpha's Sick Obsession

[POV: REMI]

"Move, Remi. Or I'll make sure you never walk on two feet again."

Jaxson's voice didn't just reach my ears; it vibrated through my very marrow. It was a low, jagged rasp that cut through the thunderous roar of twenty thousand fans screaming his name.

The air in the tunnel was thick, a suffocating cocktail of stale popcorn, expensive cologne, and the sharp, metallic tang of his sweat. I felt my lungs seize, the oxygen refusing to enter my chest. My heart didn't just beat; it slammed against my ribs like a frantic bird trying to break its own wings against a cage.

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling so violently that the silk of my dress hissed against my skin. The fabric was a deep, mocking gold-the color of his victory, the color of my cage. My palms were slick, a cold moisture pooling in the center that made the world feel slippery and unstable.

"I can't," I whispered, but the sound was swallowed by the crowd's chant.

Jaxson! Jaxson! Jaxson!

He didn't answer with words. He reached out, his massive hand, still encased in his heavy, salt-stained hockey glove, wrapping around my waist. The leather was abrasive, biting into the soft curve of my hip. It wasn't a caress. It was a brand.

He hauled me forward, dragging my small frame into the blinding glare of the arena lights. The transition from the shadows of the tunnel to the brilliance of the ice was a physical blow. The light felt like needles against my retinas.

The temperature dropped instantly. The rink ice breathed a crystalline frost into the air that hit my face like a slap. My skin erupted in a thousand tiny shivers, the fine hairs on my arms standing on end. Beneath my feet, the red carpet they'd laid out felt thin and treacherous.

"Smile," Jaxson hissed, his mouth barely moving as he waved his free hand toward the rafters. "You're the lucky charm, remember? Give them what they paid for."

I felt the bile rise in the back of my throat, a bitter, acidic heat that burned. My ears began to ring, a high-pitched drone that tuned out the world until all I could hear was the ragged rhythm of my own breathing.

I looked at him-the MVP, the god of the ice, my step-brother. He looked magnificent in his jersey, his face streaked with the grime of the game, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, predatory hunger.

"You're hurting me," I managed to choke out.

His grip tightened. I felt the bruise forming in real-time, a dull, throbbing heat radiating from where his fingers dug into my side. He didn't care. He turned me toward the cameras, the flashes of a hundred lenses exploding like miniature stars in my vision.

The world was a blur of blue and white, the smell of the cold ice mixing with the sudden, overwhelming scent of him-dark chocolate, bitter and rich, and the copper tang of blood from a cut on his lip. It was an intoxicating, sickening scent that made my head spin.

"Keep your mouth shut and your head up," he commanded, his voice a low vibration that I felt in my teeth. "You are a prop, Remi. Nothing more."

[POV: JAXSON]

"Is that the best you can do, little bird?"

I looked down at Remi, and for a second, the adrenaline from the win-the bone-crushing hits, the final goal, the weight of the championship-was eclipsed by the sheer, unadulterated sight of her breaking.

She looked like a porcelain doll someone had tried to glue back together. Her eyes were wide, the pupils blown out until the honey-gold of her irises was nothing but a thin, shaking rim. I could feel her heart hammering against my palm through the silk of her dress. It was fast, erratic, a rhythm of pure, delicious terror.

My blood was a wildfire in my veins. The stadium was screaming my name, but the only sound that mattered was the hitch in her breath every time I moved my thumb against her ribs.

I hated how much I wanted to crush her. I hated how the scent of her-lilies and fear-cleared the fog of the game better than any hit ever could.

"Look at the camera," I growled, pulling her closer until her shoulder was crushed against my chest.

She was so cold. Her skin felt like marble, chilled by the ice we were standing on. I wanted to burn her. I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat just to see if the heat of my rage could finally make her melt.

"Jaxson, please," she whimpered.

The sound of my name on her lips was a physical strike. It made the muscles in my jaw lock so tight I thought my teeth might shatter.

The Commissioner stepped forward, holding the mahogany box. Inside, the Championship Ring caught the light, a gaudy, diamond-encrusted weight of gold. It was everything I had worked for. It was the proof that I was the best.

But as he handed it to me, I didn't feel the pride I expected. I only felt the frantic pulse of the girl under my hand.

I took the ring, but I didn't put it on. Instead, I turned Remi toward me. I saw the way her throat worked as she swallowed, the delicate line of her neck exposed and trembling.

"Tell them," I whispered, leaning down so my lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Tell them how lucky I am."

I felt her shudder. A deep, convulsive tremor that started in her knees and traveled all the way up to her shoulders. She looked up at me, and for the first time in my life, I saw something other than fear in those wide, golden eyes.

I saw defiance.

"You're not lucky, Jaxson," she said, her voice suddenly steady, cutting through the roar of the crowd like a razor. "You're just a bully with a shiny toy."

The words hit me like a puck to the sternum. The air left my lungs in a sharp hiss. I felt the shift in the atmosphere, the way the cameras seemed to zoom in, sensing the crack in the script.

My vision went red at the edges. My fingers moved before I could think, my hand sliding from her waist to the nape of her neck. I bunched the gold silk in my fist, forcing her head back so she had to look at me.

"Careful," I breathed, the word a promise of violence. "I could break you right here and they'd still cheer."

"Then do it," she challenged, her voice a whisper that roared in my skull. "Stop pretending you need me for luck and just admit you're obsessed with me."

[POV: REMI]

The silence that followed my words was a vacuum. Even though the crowd was still screaming, it felt like we were trapped in a soundproof bubble of ice and hate.

Jaxson's eyes turned into twin voids of black. The grip on my neck was so firm I could feel the individual pads of his fingers pressing into my spine.

He leaned in closer. I expected a snarl. I expected him to drag me off the ice and throw me into a wall.

Instead, he did something worse.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead.

The touch was a violation. His skin was scorching hot against my frozen flesh. I felt the dampness of his sweat, the roughness of his unshaven jaw. It looked like a gesture of affection to the thousands watching, a "lucky charm" receiving her reward.

But his voice, whispered against my skin, was a death sentence.

"Don't you dare smile," he breathed, his teeth grazing my temple. "You're only here because I allow it. You breathe because I give you air. Remember that when we're alone."

My knees buckled. If he wasn't holding me up, I would have collapsed onto the ice, my blood staining the white surface. The ringing in my ears intensified until it was a physical pain, a sharp spike driven into my brain.

The ceremony ended in a blur. More flashes. More handshakes. More people telling me how "blessed" I was to be the sister of a legend. Each word felt like a stone being piled onto my chest.

He didn't let go of me until we reached the parking garage.

The transition from the roar of the arena to the echoing, concrete silence of the garage was jarring. The air here was dead, smelling of exhaust and damp stone.

The black limo was waiting, its engine idling with a low, predatory hum. The driver opened the door, and Jaxson shoved me inside.

I fell onto the leather seat, the cool material biting into my bare legs. He climbed in after me, the door slamming shut with a finality that sounded like a coffin lid.

The interior of the car was dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of the floor lights.

As soon as the car began to move, the mask fell.

Jaxson didn't look at me. He sat on the opposite side of the bench, his massive frame taking up far too much space. He stared out the window at the passing city lights, his profile sharp and cold as a glacier.

"Get away from me," he said.

The voice was different now. It wasn't the roar of the Alpha or the whisper of the bully. It was flat. Empty.

"Jaxson?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I said get away from me!" He roared, turning toward me. He lunged across the space, his hands grabbing my shoulders and shoving me into the far corner of the limo.

My head hit the window with a dull thud. Stars danced in my vision.

"Don't look at me," he spat, his chest heaving as if he'd just run a marathon. "Don't speak to me. Don't even breathe in my direction. You're nothing to me but a prop for the cameras. Now that they're gone, you're just a nuisance."

He retreated to his corner, a wall of silence rising between us.

I sat there, huddled against the door, my body shaking with a cold that had nothing to do with the ice rink. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the tremors.

And that's when it happened.

A sudden, searing heat erupted at the base of my neck, right where he had held me.

It wasn't a bruise. It wasn't the lingering touch of his hand.

It was a burn. A deep, pulsing fire that seemed to sink into my skin, carving a pattern into my flesh. It felt like a branding iron was being pressed against my soul.

I gasped, my hand flying to my neck. The skin was blistering, the heat radiating through my entire body until my blood felt like it was boiling.

My heart skipped a beat, then another, before settling into a heavy, rhythmic thud that matched the pulse of the fire on my neck.

I looked at Jaxson in the shadows. He was still staring out the window, but I saw his hand twitch. I saw the way his own neck flared red in the darkness.

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit of horror.

The mate-mark.

The ancient, unbreakable bond of our kind. The one thing that was supposed to bring peace and belonging.

It was burning for him.

It was burning for the man who had just told me I was nothing. It was claiming the man who looked at me with enough hatred to level a city.

I stared at his silhouette, the fire on my skin screaming the truth I couldn't accept.

I was bound to my executioner.

[POV: REMI]

"Did you really think the scent of your desperation wouldn't reach me across the table?"

Jaxson didn't even look up from his plate. The silver fork in his hand scraped against the fine china with a screech that set my teeth on edge. The sound vibrated through my jaw, a jagged serration that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

"I'm not doing anything, Jaxson," I whispered. My voice was a thin, brittle thread.

My palms were slick against the mahogany surface of the dining table. A cold moisture pooled in the center of my hands, making the wood feel greasy. Beneath the table, my knees knocked together, a rhythmic tremor I couldn't suppress no matter how hard I pressed my heels into the plush carpet.

"You're breathing," he snapped. He finally lifted his head. His eyes were twin abysses of ice, devoid of the warmth that usually characterized a mate's gaze. "That's doing enough. You're clogging the air with that pathetic, sickly sweet pheromone."

The air in the dining room was heavy, thick with the scent of his morning coffee and the underlying metallic bite of his cologne-something that smelled like ozone and crushed pine needles. But beneath it all, my own body was betraying me. A slow, honeyed heat was beginning to coil in the pit of my stomach, a pulsing warmth that radiated outward to my fingertips.

It was the heat. The mark on my neck felt like a live coal pressed into my skin. It throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a heavy thud-thud that echoed in my inner ear until the room seemed to tilt.

"I can't help it," I said, my voice gaining a desperate edge. "You know I can't. The bond-"

"There is no bond," he cut me off, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "There is a mistake. There is a biological glitch that I am currently choosing to ignore. You would do well to do the same."

He stood up, the chair legs screaming against the floorboards. The sound was a physical blow to my chest. He moved around the table, his presence like a storm front moving in. As he passed me, the air shifted, dragging his scent across my senses. Dark chocolate and rain. It was a cruel irony. My soul wanted to lean into him, to bury my face in the crook of his neck and let the fire consume me.

My body leaned forward instinctively, a magnetic pull I couldn't fight.

He didn't even pause. He walked through the space I occupied as if I were made of glass and mist. His shoulder didn't even graze mine, but the displacement of air felt like a slap.

"You're a ghost in this house, Remi," he said over his shoulder, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as he headed toward the basement door. "Stop acting like you have a heartbeat."

I watched him go, my chest heaving. The silence that followed was worse than his shouting. It was a vast, suffocating weight that pressed down on my shoulders until I felt my spine curve.

I looked down at my plate. The food was untouched, growing cold. My stomach turned, a sharp cramp of nausea twisting my gut. I wasn't a ghost. I was a woman on fire, and he was the only rain in the world-and he was refusing to fall.

I reached up, my fingers trembling as I touched the mark on my neck. The skin was raised, a jagged pattern of heat that felt like it was burning through my very soul.

"I won't die here," I whispered to the empty room. "I won't let you watch me burn to ash."

I pushed away from the table, my movements frantic. I needed a way out. I needed a life where his silence wasn't the only thing I had to listen to.

I ran to my room, the soles of my feet slapping against the cold hardwood. My breath was coming in short, jagged gasps. I pulled my laptop from the desk, my fingers fumbling with the keys. The screen's glow was a harsh, artificial blue against my tear-stung eyes.

I clicked the bookmark I had hidden in a folder labeled "Archives."

Northwestern University - Admissions Portal.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm. I had applied weeks ago, in the dead of night, while Jaxson was out at the rink. It was thousands of miles away. It was a place where the air didn't smell like him.

The cursor hovered over the login button. My finger shook so hard I had to use my other hand to steady it.

I clicked.

The page loaded with agonizing slowness. I held my breath, the oxygen in the room feeling thin and used up.

Status: Accepted.

A sob broke from my throat, a ragged, ugly sound. I collapsed back against my chair, the plastic biting into my shoulder blades. I could leave. I could pack a bag and disappear before the sun went down.

Then, from the vents in the floor, came the sound.

Skritch. Skritch. Skritch.

It was the sound of his skates being sharpened in the basement. A rhythmic, metallic rasp of steel against stone. It was a predatory sound, steady and unrelenting. It sounded like a countdown.

[POV: JAXSON]

The stone was too soft. Or maybe the steel was too hard.

I pressed the blade of my skate against the spinning wheel, sparks showering my gloved hands in a cascade of orange fire. The vibration traveled up my arms, a numbing, bone-deep hum that helped drown out the noise in my head.

But it didn't drown out the scent.

She was upstairs. I could feel her. Every time her heart sped up, I felt a phantom twitch in my own chest. Every time she breathed out that sweet, cloying heat, my nostrils flared with a hunger that made my stomach knot into a hard, painful mass.

"Focus," I growled at myself.

The basement was cold, smelling of damp concrete and gear, but I was sweating. My jersey was stuck to my back, the fabric heavy and irritating. The mark on my own neck was a screaming red line of agony. It felt like someone was dragging a serrated knife across my skin, over and over, in time with the sharpening wheel.

She thought she was subtle. She thought I didn't see the way her eyes followed me, or the way her hands shook when I got too close.

I hated her for it. I hated her for being the one the universe had chosen to tether me to. She was a weakness. A soft, fragile thing in a world that only respected the blade.

Skritch. Skritch.

I pulled the skate back, checking the edge. It was lethal. It was perfect.

I could hear her footsteps now. They weren't the quiet, hesitant shuffles of the morning. They were quick. Determined.

I felt a surge of something dark and hot in my gut. It wasn't just the bond. It was a territorial roar that made my vision blur at the edges. She was planning something. I could smell the adrenaline on her, sharp and metallic like a coming storm.

I stood up, dropping the skate onto the workbench with a heavy clatter.

I didn't use the stairs. I moved through the shadows of the basement, my senses dialed to a frequency that only she occupied. I could hear the rustle of paper upstairs. I could hear the frantic clicking of a mouse.

I moved toward the back staircase, the one that led directly to the hallway outside her bedroom. My movements were silent, a predator stalking through his own forest.

I reached the top of the stairs and paused. The door to her room was cracked open.

I could see her through the sliver of space. She was standing by the window, her back to me. Her shoulders were squared, her head held high in a way I hadn't seen since the ceremony on the ice.

She was holding a piece of paper. She was smiling.

The sight of that smile-a real, genuine flash of joy that didn't involve me-felt like a spear through my lungs. The air in the hallway turned frigid. My hands curled into fists, the leather of my gloves creaking.

How dare she? How dare she find a light that didn't come from my fire?

I waited until she went into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting up a low hiss in the background.

I stepped into her room.

The air here was saturated with her. It was a physical weight, a cloud of lilies and that honeyed heat that made my head swim. I walked to the bed, my eyes locking onto the paper she had left on the duvet.

I picked it up.

Admissions Office. We are pleased to inform you...

The words blurred as a red haze descended over my vision. My heart didn't just beat; it exploded against my ribs. The fire on my neck flared into a white-hot agony that stole my breath.

She was leaving. She was going to take that scent, that heartbeat, and that infuriating defiance and hand it to a world full of men who weren't me.

My claws didn't just emerge; they tore through the tips of my gloves.

I didn't think. I didn't weigh the consequences. I only felt the primal, agonizing need to destroy the bridge she was trying to build.

[POV: REMI]

The water was too hot. It turned my skin a bright, angry red, but I didn't care. I scrubbed at my arms, at my neck, trying to wash away the phantom feeling of Jaxson's presence.

I felt lighter than I had in years. The acceptance letter was a ticket. A key to a cage I had lived in for far too long.

"I'm going," I whispered into the steam. "I'm actually going."

I turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping myself in a thick, white towel. My skin was tingling, the heat of the shower finally dulling the ache of the mate-heat for a few precious seconds.

I wiped the fog from the mirror. I looked at myself. My eyes were bright, the gold in them sparkling with a newfound fire. I looked like someone who had a future.

I walked back into my bedroom, the carpet soft beneath my damp feet.

"Jaxson?" I called out, the name slipping out before I could stop it.

The room was silent. But the air felt different. It felt charged, like the moments before a lightning strike. The smell of dark chocolate was so thick it was almost suffocating.

I looked at my bed.

My heart stopped. The blood drained from my face so fast the world went gray for a second.

The letter was there.

But it wasn't a letter anymore.

It lay in the center of my white duvet, a pile of jagged, white confetti. It hadn't been cut by a blade or torn by hands. The edges were shredded, tattered by something sharp and irregular. There were long, deep gouges in the mattress beneath it, the fabric ripped open to reveal the foam inside.

It looked like the work of an animal.

I stumbled forward, my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. I picked up a piece of the paper. It was the corner with the university seal. It was damp with a dark, sticky fluid.

I turned around, my back hitting the wardrobe.

Jaxson was standing in the corner of the room, half-hidden by the shadows. His chest was heaving, his jersey torn at the shoulders. His eyes weren't blue anymore. They were a glowing, predatory amber that pierced the darkness.

"You're not going anywhere, Remi," he said.

His voice didn't sound human. It was a guttural, terrifying vibration that seemed to come from the floorboards themselves.

He stepped forward, and I saw his hands. They were stained red, the tips of his fingers elongated into hooked, ivory points.

"You thought you could leave me?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper that was scarier than any shout.

He lunged.

I didn't have time to scream. He didn't grab my waist this time. He grabbed my throat, his claws grazing the sensitive skin of my mate-mark. He slammed me back against the wall, the impact rattling my brain in my skull.

The heat between us was no longer a pulse. It was an explosion.

He leaned in, his nose pressing against the pulse point of my neck. I felt his hot breath, the scent of blood and chocolate overwhelming my senses.

"Tell me you're staying," he growled into my skin. "Tell me you're mine."

I looked into those glowing amber eyes, and despite the terror, despite the pain, I felt the reversal. I felt the power shift. Because in his eyes, I didn't see a monster.

I saw a man who was terrified.

"I'm staying," I whispered, my voice cold and hard as the ice he played on. "But not because I'm yours, Jaxson. I'm staying so I can watch you break trying to keep me."

His grip faltered. For a heartbeat, the monster vanished, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock.

And then, the front door downstairs slammed open, and a voice echoed up the stairs.

"Jaxson! We have a problem! The test results came back!"

Jaxson froze, his claws digging slightly deeper into my skin.

"What test results?" I gasped.

He didn't answer. He looked at the door, then back at me, a secret burning in his eyes that made the mate-mark on my neck scream in agony.

"The kind that mean you're not my sister, Remi," he whispered. "And the kind that mean I've been lying to you since the day we met."

[POV: REMI]

"Is this the part where you tell me you're having the time of your life, or should I just keep guessing?"

I turned toward the voice, my silk slip dress shifting against my thighs like a second, cooler skin. The air in the penthouse was a pressurized chamber of bass, expensive gin, and sweat. My heart wasn't just beating; it was a rhythmic hammer against my ribs, a dull ache that radiated through my chest.

"I'm fine, Leo," I said, tilting my head. My throat felt tight, as if a pair of invisible hands were slowly closing around my windpipe. "Better than fine. I'm free."

Leo, the captain of the rival city's team, leaned against the marble counter. He smelled of sea salt and clean linen, a stark, refreshing contrast to the dark, suffocating musk that usually haunted my lungs. My palms, usually slick with cold sweat when I was near the mansion, were finally dry.

"You don't look free," Leo remarked, his eyes tracing the line of my jaw. "You look like someone waiting for the floor to drop out."

"Maybe I like the drop," I countered. I took a sip of my drink, the liquid burning a cold trail down my throat.

The room was a blur of neon and shadow. I could feel the eyes of the city's elite on me, the "little sister" finally stepping out of the MVP's shadow. My skin felt electric, a thousand tiny sparks dancing under the surface. It was a rebellion. Every breath I took in this room was a strike against the silence Jaxson had tried to drown me in.

"He's going to come for you," Leo whispered, stepping closer.

His proximity didn't trigger the fire. The mark on my neck remained dormant, a cold piece of lead beneath my hair. It was a relief so sharp it almost brought tears to my eyes. I wanted this. I wanted to be near someone who didn't make my blood boil and my soul scream.

"Let him," I said, my voice gaining a jagged edge. "I want him to see. I want him to know that I'm not a prop he can just leave in a basement."

"You're bold tonight, Remi." Leo reached out, his thumb grazing the skin of my wrist.

The touch was light, almost nothing, yet my heart jolted. Not with desire, but with the sheer, terrifying realization of what I was doing. I was playing with a wildfire, standing in the middle of a dry forest with a handful of matches.

"I'm tired of being afraid," I lied.

The lie tasted like copper in my mouth. My stomach twisted, a hard knot of dread forming in the pit of my gut. My ears began to ring, a high-pitched drone that started to drown out the thumping bass of the party.

Then, the vibration started.

It wasn't the music. It wasn't the movement of the crowd. It was a low, sub-audible frequency that hummed through the soles of my feet, crawling up my calves and settling in my marrow. The floorboards seemed to moan under the weight of an approaching storm.

"Do you hear that?" Leo asked, his posture straightening, his eyes darting toward the heavy oak doors of the penthouse.

"I feel it," I whispered.

The air in the room suddenly turned freezing. The scent of dark chocolate and ozone-heavy, oppressive, and violent-ripped through the aroma of the party. It was a physical force, a tidal wave of pheromones that made the other guests stagger.

The heavy doors didn't just open; they were thrown back with such force the handles embedded themselves in the drywall.

Jaxson stood there.

He didn't look like a hockey star. He looked like a god of war who had lost his way in a neon wasteland. His eyes were glowing, two embers of amber light that locked onto me with the precision of a heat-seeking missile.

[POV: JAXSON]

"Get your hands off her before I tear them from your shoulders."

The words didn't feel like they came from my throat. They came from the beast that had been clawing at my chest since the moment I realized she had left the house. My blood was a river of liquid fire, surging through my veins until I thought my skin would split from the pressure.

I stepped into the room, and the crowd parted like water before a shark. I didn't see the faces. I didn't see the luxury. I only saw her.

And him.

The sight of Leo's hand near her skin was a physical wound. It felt like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it bruised. The mark on my neck was no longer burning; it was screaming. A white-hot agony that blinded me, leaving only the scent of her as my guide.

"She's a guest, Jaxson," Leo said, though his voice wavered. He stepped in front of her, a pathetic shield. "She doesn't belong to you."

"You have no idea what belongs to me," I growled.

The floor vibrated with every step I took. My lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass, each breath a sharp, biting reminder of the distance between us. I could smell the sea salt on her now-the scent of him clinging to the silk of her dress.

It made me want to burn the building to the ground.

"Remi, we're leaving," I commanded. My voice was a jagged rasp, stripped of any humanity.

She didn't move. She didn't flinch. She stood there, her small frame framed by the city lights, her honey-gold eyes wide and defiant.

"No," she said.

The word was a bullet. It hit me square in the chest, stopping my momentum. The silence that followed was deafening, a vacuum that sucked the oxygen out of the room.

"What did you say?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper that made the people nearest us flee toward the balcony.

"I said no," she repeated, her voice steady, cold as the ice I lived on. "I'm not your lucky charm. I'm not your prop. And I'm certainly not your sister."

The revelation of the blood test hung in the air, a hidden blade finally drawn. I felt the shock ripple through me, a cold drenching of my rage. She knew. She had found out the lie I had been guarding like a dragon over its gold.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I hissed, taking another step forward.

"I know that you've been lying to me since the day our parents married," she said, her voice rising, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "I know that there is no blood between us. Which makes this-" she gestured to the space between us, to the invisible, agonizing bond- "so much worse."

She stepped around Leo, walking right into my personal space. She was so close I could see the pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat. She was so close I could feel the heat radiating from her body, a siren call to my soul.

"Are you going to drag me out in front of everyone, Jaxson?" she challenged. "Are you going to show them exactly how much of a monster you are?"

My hand twitched. My claws were itching to emerge, to claim, to mark. But I stayed my hand. The power was shifting. She was holding the leash now, and she knew it.

"You're making a scene," I managed to say, my jaw aching from the effort of not lunging.

"I'm making a choice," she snapped. "And my choice isn't you."

She turned her back on me.

She turned her back on the bond.

I felt a roar build in my chest, a primal, devastating sound that shook my very foundation. The world turned red. The scent of Leo's sea salt on her skin became an insult I could no longer endure.

[POV: REMI]

I took a step away from him, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. My heart was a frantic drum, a chaotic rhythm that made my head spin. I had done it. I had faced the monster and walked away.

But the air behind me didn't move. It ignited.

Before I could take a second step, a hand wrapped around my upper arm. It wasn't a shove or a pull; it was a total claim. Jaxson swung me around with a grace that was terrifying, pinning me against the marble pillar that stood in the center of the room.

"Leo, move," Jaxson said, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Jaxson, stop it-" Leo started, but Jaxson didn't even look at him. He just threw a backhand that sent the other man sprawling across the floor.

"I won't tell you again," Jaxson growled.

I was trapped. His body was a wall of muscle and heat, pressing me into the cold stone. I could feel the individual buttons of his shirt pressing into my chest. The scent of him was a drug, a thick, intoxicating cloud that began to dissolve my resolve.

My hands came up to push him away, but they ended up gripping his forearms. His muscles were like cords of steel, vibrating with a tension that felt like it could shatter the room.

"Let go," I whispered, but my voice lacked the fire it had moments ago. The mate-mark was winning. It was pulsing a rhythmic heat into my nervous system, turning my bones to wax.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I looked. I looked into the eyes of the man who had lied to me my entire life. I looked into the eyes of the man who was currently destroying my only chance at a normal life.

"You smell like him," he whispered.

His voice had changed. It was no longer a roar. It was a low, velvet promise. He reached up, his hand moving slowly, deliberately. I expected a strike. I expected him to shake me.

Instead, his large, calloused hand slid around my throat.

He didn't squeeze. He didn't choke. His thumb rested right over my windpipe, his fingers splayed across the back of my neck, covering the burning mark with his palm. It was the most possessive, terrifyingly gentle gesture I had ever experienced.

"I can smell the salt on your skin," he breathed, leaning down until his lips were a hair's breadth from mine. "I can smell where he touched your wrist. It's like a rot in the air."

My breath hitched. My heart skipped three beats in a row. The electricity between us was no longer a spark; it was a localized lightning storm. I could feel the hair on my arms standing up. I could feel the moisture return to my palms, but this time it wasn't cold. It was hot.

"I don't care," I choked out, though the lie was so thin it was transparent.

"Liar," he whispered.

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against mine. The tip of his tongue flicked out, tasting the air between us. I felt a shiver cascade down my spine, a violent, beautiful tremor that made my knees buckle.

He held me up by the throat, his grip tightening just enough to let me know I was his. The world around us-the party, the music, the gasping guests-vanished. There was only the stone at my back and the fire in front of me.

"Did you think I couldn't smell him on you?" he asked, his voice vibrating through my skull. "Did you think I'd let you walk around carrying another man's scent like a trophy?"

"You have no right," I managed to say.

"I have every right," he countered. "Every drop of blood in your body knows who you belong to. Every breath you take is mine to give."

He leaned in, his lips finally grazing the corner of my mouth. It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim.

"You're coming home," he murmured against my skin. "And once we're behind those doors, I'm going to scrub every trace of him off you until you can only smell me."

He pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching mine. I saw the obsession there. I saw the madness.

And then, his eyes shifted. They moved to something behind me, something over my shoulder. His grip on my throat tightened instinctively, his entire body coiling like a spring.

"What is it?" I whispered, my heart leaping into my throat.

He didn't answer. He looked at the elevator across the room, which had just chimed.

The doors slid open, and a man in a dark suit stepped out, holding a black leather case. He didn't look like a party-goer. He looked like an executioner.

"Jaxson?" the man called out, his voice cutting through the silence of the room. "The board has made their decision. Given the... recent revelations about your family status, your contract has been terminated."

The world went still. The MVP, the god of the ice, had just been stripped of his crown.

Jaxson's hand dropped from my throat. He turned toward the man, his face a mask of cold fury. But before he could speak, the man continued.

"And Remi? You might want to come with us. Your real father just touched down at the airport."