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.