Page 130 of Monstrous Serpent

Nothing.

I pivot, skating backward, staring at the back of his jersey. “Atlas?”

No response.

Stopping along the boards, I search for Hunter. He’s stretching, eyes locked on Atlas. And when Atlas skates around the corner, about to pass Hunter, he turns and goes the other way.

What the fuck?

Doyle glides up, bumping my shoulder. “The hell is that about? But . . . it might make it easier to get around them if they're not synced.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Kinda want to punch him right now. No one’s taking advantage of my boyfriends.

Goddammit.

When the hell did I turn into Connor Walsh—fuck—Henneman?

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Whatever is going on, I can’t do anything about it right now. So, I go back to warm-ups, glancing occasionally at the other side of the rink. Atlas is definitely keeping away from Hunter. Even their teammates keep watching them.

The horn sounds, and we make our way to the bench. Coach Nieminen yells at us one last time, then sends the starting line out. I smirk as the crowd gets louder. Time to kick some Serpent ass and make their fans regret showing up.

Knight juts his chin across the ice. “They changed their lineup.”

Atlas is out. But not with Hunter.

My grip on my stick tightens.

I crack my neck and slide into position on the wing, knees bent, stick on the ice, eyes on the dot. The ref drops the puck, and Connor wins it, sending it back to Knight, who snaps it up my wall. Rua shadows me step for step, his stick slashing at mine before I even have possession.

No whistle.

I glare at Rua over my shoulder. “Easy, hands of stone. Try playing the puck once in a while.”

“But you like it rough, Buttercup.” He winks and shoves me from behind, but not hard enough to draw a call.

I glance at the linesman. His attention is elsewhere, so I jab my elbow into Rua. “What I like is none of your business.”

He laughs. “You’ve made it the whole floor’s business. Oh, wait. That’s Trembley.”

Yeah, my boyfriend is loud. It’s why we don’t have sex at my house.

I stay on Rua as the Serpents pass the puck around. Reyes sends it to Shaw, who takes a nasty wrist shot. Novotny blocks it, and Knight picks up the rebound, sending it out of the zone.

Connor explodes through the middle while I angle up the boards with him, tracking the bouncing puck. It takes a funny hop and settles just ahead of my stick.

I reach, my weight tipping forward, when someone slams into me square between the shoulder blades. I go face-first into the glass hard enough that my teeth click together.

No whistle again.

But as I start to turn, Atlas darts past, not bothering to look my way.

My eyes narrow. “Hey, asshole. Don’t fucking take your bad mood out on me.”

No reaction.

Oh, that’s fucking it.

I get back in the play. Knight at the blue line. Our other winger at the far hash marks. Connor pops into the high slot for the return. Knight walks the line and wrists one.