Icy Nights: Mated to The Three Alphas

The bus doors wheeze open and the cold hits her face so hard her eyes water.

"North Star campus." The driver doesn't look up from his phone. "Watch your step. Slick out there."

"Thanks," Jessie says, and the word comes out shaky because her teeth are already chattering. She drags her suitcase down the steps, the wheels banging on each one, and nearly eats it at the bottom. Doesn't. But close. The wind slices straight through her hoodie and she realizes, standing there with her fingers already going numb, that she left her good gloves in her old dorm back in Buffalo.

Of course.

She shuffles toward Welker Dorm, head tucked down, suitcase wheels catching on frozen slush every few feet. Someone has taped a tiny plastic snowman to the vending machine outside the entrance. Its head is lopsided. She notices it for half a second and then forgets it.

Inside, the hallway smells like burnt popcorn and some kind of floral spray that's trying too hard. Room 314. She pushes the door open.

A blonde girl is dancing in front of the mirror, earbuds in. Another girl sits cross-legged on her bed, lining up little bottles of toner and serum on the windowsill like a tiny pharmacy.

"Oh my god, you must be Jessie." The blonde yanks out her earbuds and grins. "Thank god. We were legit worried we got a hoarder or something. I'm Tinsley. This is Brooke."

"Hey," Brooke says without looking up. "Top bunk or bottom? I already stole the outlet by the mirror."

"Bottom's fine. Less chance I'll, uh. Fall off."

"You do that a lot? Fall off things?"

"No. I mean. Not yet."

Brooke snorts. It's almost a laugh.

Tinsley flops onto her bed, which is covered in a bright pink comforter that looks aggressively comfortable. "Where you from? Wait, let me guess. Wisconsin?"

"Buffalo. Canisius transfer."

"Canisius? Isn't that, like, super small? Why'd you leave?"

Jessie drops her suitcase on the lower bunk. The frame creaks. "They offered me more money here. Scholarship stuff."

"Ugh, same. Well, welcome to the tundra." Tinsley gestures dramatically at the window, where snow is starting to come down again in fat, slow flakes. "You like hockey?"

"Uh. Not really."

"Oh, you're gonna suffer." She points at the massive poster above her desk. A bunch of guys in red and gold jerseys. "That's the Golden Wolves. And that one in the middle? Martins Heller. Captain. Campus is obsessed with him. Currently dating Lila Beaumont, but honestly nobody thinks it'll last."

"She sounds like a piece of work," Brooke mutters.

"She is. Rich, mean, and she acts like she owns him." Tinsley rolls onto her stomach. "Anyway, Martins is off-limits unless you want Lila to destroy your life. Which, fair warning, she's done before. To other girls."

"I'm not here for boys," Jessie says.

Tinsley raises an eyebrow. "Famous last words. Come on, I'm starving. Let's hit the dining hall before the lunch rush gets insane."

Jessie doesn't really want to go. Her skin has been prickling since she got off the bus, warm under the surface like a low fever. Probably just the temperature change. Probably. But her stomach growls loud enough that Brooke glances over, so she follows them out.

The walk to the dining hall takes forever. Or maybe it just feels that way because Jessie can't feel her ears. Students push past in puffy coats, breath fogging, boots crunching. Some guy on a skateboard nearly clips her shoulder and doesn't even turn around. She notices a flyer for a winter formal tacked to a bulletin board, half the little tabs already torn off.

"So what's your major?" Brooke asks. She's pulled her hood up so only her nose is visible.

"Undecided. Maybe biology."

"Professor Solberg teaches intro bio. She's brutal. Don't take her unless you enjoy crying in library bathrooms."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The dining hall is chaos. Just straight noise. Tray clatter, someone yelling about a group project, the smell of old grease and cleaner and something sweet from the dessert station. Jessie grabs a tray and loads it up without thinking. Mashed potatoes. Pasta with meat sauce, a lot of it. The biggest coffee cup they have.

"You gonna eat all that?" Tinsley eyes her tray, then her own sad salad.

"I'm hungry."

"Respect."

They weave past tables, and that's when Jessie sees them. The Golden Wolves. Dead center of the room, like they own it. Which, from the way people keep glancing over, they basically do.

And there he is.

Martins Heller. Dark hair, a charcoal suit that probably costs more than her textbooks for the year. One of his cuffs is unbuttoned, she notices, like he's been messing with it. He's scrolling on his phone, looking bored, like the noise around him is static.

"There he is," Tinsley whispers. "Look at his jawline. I'm gonna pass out."

"He's just a guy," Jessie says.

"A guy who looks like he was carved by a horny sculptor."

Brooke chokes on her water.

Jessie tries not to look at him. Her stomach does a weird flutter, and her face feels too warm all of a sudden. She tightens her grip on the tray and focuses on walking.

Cody Jenner sticks his foot out.

She sees it happen but not fast enough. His leg shoots into the aisle, he yells something to his buddy, laughing, and Jessie's boot catches his ankle and the tray tilts and everything goes wrong.

"Oh, shit."

She lunges. The tray doesn't.

It flips. Coffee and pasta and red sauce and all of it, the whole hot mess, splatters across Martins Heller's chest.

The crash rings out. Then quiet. The kind of quiet where people are holding their breath.

Jessie is on her knees. She doesn't remember falling. Marinara drips off the edge of the table. Plop. Plop. The coffee has soaked into his suit, turning the gray wool a deep, ugly brown.

"Oh my god," Tinsley says, somewhere behind her.

"Did she just," Brooke starts.

"She's dead," someone else whispers.

Martins sets his phone down. Slow. He doesn't even look at the stain. He looks at her, his eyes a pale, cold blue.

"Do you have a death wish?" His voice is low. Not yelling. Worse. "Or are you just naturally clumsy?"

Jessie's mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

"Dude, your suit," one of the players mutters.

"I can see that, Kade."

Before Jessie can find words, a whistle shrieks. Coach Rorvik. Wide as a doorframe, gray sweats, a scowl that looks permanent. He stops beside the table and takes in the scene.

"Heller. Sit." He points at Jessie. "You. That suit is eight hundred dollars. You're on scholarship, so I know you can't pay that. You're gonna work it off."

"I can get a job on campus," Jessie manages. Her voice sounds thin. "I'll pay you back."

"You're gonna be the Golden Wolf mascot at Saturday's game. Marlon Gibbs will fit you after practice. Don't be late."

The mascot suit. The heavy, furry, suffocating wolf costume that everyone on campus makes fun of.

"Coach, come on," Tinsley says. "It was an accident."

"Accidents have consequences. You're her friend? Make sure she shows up."

Jessie pushes herself to her feet. Her legs are shaky. She grabs a handful of brown napkins from the dispenser and steps toward Martins, dabbing at the stain.

"I'm so sorry. I really didn't see his foot. I can clean this. I can..."

"Stop touching me." His voice is tight.

She doesn't stop. Can't seem to. Her skin feels too hot, prickly, and leaning close to him makes it worse. His cologne is sharp. Underneath it, something else. Something wild.

He grabs her wrist.

"I said stop."

His grip hurts. His fingers wrap all the way around, skin hot against hers, and Jessie's breath catches. She looks up.

His pupils have widened so much there's barely any blue left. His jaw is locked tight and something in his expression flickers, hungry and startled at the same time.

"What the," he starts. Then stops.

He drops her wrist. Jerks his hand back like she's burned him. Presses his palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. His breathing has gone uneven.

"You okay, man?" someone asks.

"Fine." But he's staring at her throat now. Just staring.

"Martins?" A girl appears at his elbow. Perfect hair, flat expression. Lila Beaumont. She looks at the stain, then at Jessie, and her mouth tightens. "What is this? Who is she?"

"Nobody," Martins says.

His voice cracks.

The room is still quiet. Jessie's wrist throbs where he grabbed her. She can hear her own pulse in her ears. And somewhere deep in her chest, something stirs. Something that hasn't moved in a long time.

Martins shakes his head. Just once. Like he's trying to clear something out.

But the scent is already in his lungs. Sweet. Different. He can't place it.

"Arms up. And don't rip it. This thing costs more than your tuition."

Marlon Gibbs says it without smiling. He's holding the mascot suit open like a body bag, and the smell that hits her makes her eyes sting. Old sweat, fake fur, someone else's bad decisions.

"That thing probably has its own ecosystem," she mutters.

"Quit whining. The mouth has mesh, you'll breathe."

"What about the rest of me?"

"You'll live. Game starts in twenty, let's go."

She steps into the suit. It swallows her legs, her chest, her arms. Marlon yanks the zipper up her spine so hard she stumbles, and now the wolf head is crooked and she can only see through the left eye hole.

"It's crooked."

"It's fine."

"I can't see half the hallway."

He sighs and jerks the head into place. "Better?"

"Not really."

"Good enough. Go stand by the tunnel and look happy. The crowd eats this crap up. And don't fall."

"Wasn't planning on it."

He nudges her toward the rink. The suit weighs a ton, and she nearly trips over the giant paws twice before she even gets to the tunnel mouth. Already her hoodie is sticking to her back.

The arena slams into her. Stomping feet, screaming voices, a wave of sound that vibrates right through the fur. "WOLVES! WOLVES!"

The air smells like Zamboni exhaust and popcorn and the sharp Minnesota cold that leaks in through every door. Some kid points a foam finger at her and shrieks, "Do the thing! Do the thing!"

She has no idea what the thing is. She waves anyway and almost clocks a cheerleader in the face.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Through the mesh, she spots Tinsley on her feet, waving her own foam finger, mouth wide open. Brooke is next to her, clapping politely, like she's at a tennis match.

"Go Wolves!" someone yells.

"Yeah! Go!" she yells back, her voice muffled inside the head.

And there's Lila Beaumont. Front row, VIP section, draped in a custom Heller jersey. Lacey Drumond and Maris Cole flank her like backup singers.

Lila looks at the mascot and says something that makes both of them laugh. Lacey leans over, and Jessie can just make out the words: "That's the cafeteria girl, right? She looks so stupid."

Jessie flexes her fingers inside the paws. Not worth it. A guy nearby is filming on his phone. Great.

She's gonna be on TikTok. Mascot fail compilation. She can see the caption now: New girl ruins captain's suit, gets furry karma.

The horn blares. The Golden Wolves hit the ice.

The noise changes. It's sharper now, the blades scraping, sticks cracking. Jessie presses up against the glass, fogging it with every breath. She's seen hockey before, back in Buffalo.

This feels different. The way they cut across the ice, the way they know where each other are without looking. Weird.

Martins waits at center ice, helmet catching the lights, stick resting across his thighs. He wins the face-off before she can blink, and the puck is already down the ice, bodies slamming into the boards so hard the glass shakes. Her stomach does a weird little flip that she refuses to think about.

Probably just the heat. She's been standing too long, the fur trapping everything. Now she's lightheaded. That's all.

But it doesn't feel like lightheadedness. It feels like something inside her has rolled over and stretched, for the first time in a long time.

Second period, and she's burning up. Her hoodie is soaked through in patches. She does a little dance by the glass for a cluster of kids, and one of them shouts, "You're the best mascot ever!" which would be nice if she wasn't pretty sure she might pass out.

Maybe I'm getting sick. Maybe mascot suits are torture devices. Maybe I should've eaten more than coffee today.

Coach Rorvik waves her over. "Mascot! Get to the bench, do a bit during this timeout. Keep 'em loud!"

"On it!" She shuffles toward the home bench. The players are right there, breathing hard, gulping water, and the smell of sweat and ice and something sharp like pine hits her through the mesh. She stops at the boards and waves at the crowd.

"Come on, let's go Wolves! Make some noise!"

Jonah Kline drops his water bottle.

He's mid-sip, and he just stops. The bottle slips, bounces on the rubber mat, ice cubes scattering. His nostrils flare.

"What the hell," he breathes. He turns his head, scanning the bench, then locks onto her.

"What's wrong with you?" Silas Vane mutters, not looking up from his stick tape until Jonah doesn't answer. Then Silas follows his stare. His hands go still.

The tape rips in his grip and the roll drops to the floor. "Jonah. What are you..."

"I don't know." Jonah's voice is tight. "Smell that?"

Silas doesn't answer. His dark eyes are fixed on the mascot.

And then Martins. He's got his helmet half off, sweat darkening his hair, reaching for his drink when he freezes. His fingers curl into a fist on the rail. He lifts his head, slow, and looks right at the mesh where her eyes are.

All three of them. Staring. The band is playing. The crowd is screaming.

Nobody else sees a thing.

Jessie's throat tightens. She tries to wave again, a little jerky motion, and then one of the giant paws catches on the boards and she stumbles, barely grabbing the railing. Nope. Absolutely not.

Running.

She waddles, fast as the suit allows, away from the bench, into the dark tunnel. The noise fades behind her. Concrete replaces rubber.

She rounds a corner and stops, panting, the wolf head crooked so she's mostly blind. She adjusts it, then rubs the back of her neck where the fur has chafed.

A door slams.

She spins around. They're there. All three. Jonah, water still dripping off his chin.

Silas, tape residue on his fingers. Martins, helmet off, those ice-blue eyes locked on her.

Nobody says anything.

Jessie's voice comes out thin. "What do you want?"

Martins steps forward.

"Take off the head." Low. Not a request.

Inside Martins, his wolf snarled.

Mine.

The cage door rattles but doesn't budge.

"Come on." She yanks the latch again. Nothing. The mesh is digging into her shoulder blades and the mascot head is still crooked, so she's stuck staring at the locker room through one eye hole.

Rubber floor mats with tape residue on them. A bin of used towels. Someone's jockstrap hanging off a hook near the showers, which is just. Great.

She knows exactly who did this. Trent Lasky and a couple of his frat buddies were cracking up as they shoved her in here after the game.

"Team tradition," they'd said. "Rookie mascot gets the cage." Real creative.

"Hello?" She shakes the door. It clangs but stays shut.

"Seriously. Let me out."

The post-game crowd noise is muffled through the concrete, a distant roar like a TV left on in another room. She kicks the cage. Hurts her foot more than the door. She kicks it again anyway.

Her hoodie is stuck to her back. Her hair is plastered to her forehead in wet strings. She probably smells like a wet dog that crawled into a gym bag and gave up.

The heavy door at the far end swings open.

Three figures walk in. The room doesn't go silent or anything. It just feels different.

Quieter, maybe. Like they'd brought their own atmosphere with them.

Jonah Kline is pacing. He doesn't even glance at the cage at first. Just walks back and forth in front of the benches, running a hand through his hair, breathing hard through his nose.

"I can't shake it," he mutters. "You guys feel that?

It's like... I don't know. Something's off."

Silas Vane stops near the showers. He doesn't pace. He looks around the room slowly, like he's checking for something he lost, and then his attention catches on the equipment cage.

"Jonah." Quiet. "The cage."

Martins comes in last. He drops his bag on the bench with a thud and doesn't look at anything.

"Probably just leftover adrenaline. We've been off all night. Happens."

"No." Jonah stops pacing and turns toward the cage. "No, it's coming from in there. Whatever that smell is, it's coming from inside."

He walks toward her. Weirdly quiet for a guy that size. Jessie leans back and a zip tie digs into her shoulder blade.

"It's the mascot," Martins says. Flat.

"Take the head off," Jonah says. Not to her, exactly. To whoever he thinks is inside the suit.

"I can't." Her voice comes out muffled and small. "The latch is stuck. Some guys locked me in here as a joke and I can't get out."

Nobody says anything for a second.

Jonah grabs the door. Silas says, "Wait, maybe don't..." but Jonah doesn't wait.

He yanks, and metal screams, and then he's holding the entire cage door in one hand like it's made of cardboard. He stares at it.

Then he tosses it aside, and it clatters across the rubber floor and bangs into the lockers.

Jessie stares at the bent hinges. Then at Jonah.

"Okay." She steps out carefully, pulling the wolf head off and dropping it. Cool air hits her face and she sucks in a breath.

"Nope. Hold on."

She points at the door on the floor. Then at him.

"Did you just. Did you seriously just rip that off?"

Jonah opens his mouth. Closes it. He looks at the door, then at her, then at his own hand like he's not sure what just happened.

"I was supposed to unlock it," he says. "I think."

"You think?"

"It just... came off."

"It didn't come off. You tore it off. That's steel. That's actual metal."

She looks at the other two. "Is he on something? Is this a team thing? Do you guys all do that?"

"Adrenaline," Silas says. Calm. Like that explains anything at all.

"That's not adrenaline. That's not a thing. That's not..." She stops.

Rubs her forehead with the back of her wrist. "Forget it. I'm leaving."

"You should probably leave," Martins agrees. He doesn't move out of the way.

Jonah is still looking at his hand. "I really didn't mean to do that," he says, more to himself than anyone. "I just wanted to open it. Sorry."

Silas watches Jessie without blinking. He kept looking at her like he was trying to figure something out.

"What?" she says.

He doesn't answer. His gaze drops to her throat.

"You keep doing that," she says. "The staring thing. It's weird."

"Sorry," Silas says. He doesn't stop.

"Martins?" The voice comes from the hallway. Sweet. Sharp.

Lila Beaumont.

Everyone freezes. Martins steps back so fast he nearly trips over his own gym bag. Jonah turns away, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the locker combination dials. Silas finally looks somewhere else, exhaling through his nose.

The door opens. Lila walks in wearing a coat that probably costs more than Jessie's laptop, carrying one of those expensive coffees like she had somewhere better to be.

"Coach Rorvik is looking for you," she says, and then her eyes land on Jessie. The smile drops.

"Oh. It's you. The mascot girl."

"I was just leaving."

"Did you get lost, or were you trying to sneak into the showers?" Lila's mouth curves, not quite a smile.

"I've heard about girls like that. Hockey bunnies, right? They'll do anything to get near the team."

Jessie grabs her duffel bag from the bench. "I was locked in a cage."

"That's one way to get attention."

"I didn't..." Jessie stops. Not worth it. "Whatever."

She pushes past, and her shoulder brushes Martins's arm. Her skin tingles where they made contact, a weird shivery feeling that runs all the way down to her fingers.

She keeps walking. Past the lockers, past the showers. Almost to the hallway.

Just before she crosses the threshold, she glances back.

Lila is already draped over Martins's arm, talking about dinner reservations and some restaurant downtown. Jonah is staring at the broken cage door, shaking his head slowly. And Silas...

Silas is still watching her. She realizes he's not looking at her face. He's looking lower. Her throat.

She rubs her neck. It aches there.

Mine.

The word slides through her head. Not hers. Not exactly. And for half a second, in the reflection of the hallway glass, her own eyes flash gold.

Then it's gone.

She runs.