The Captain I Was Sent to Kill

FROSTBITE ACADEMY 

Dylan’s POV

The last time I saw a vampire smile, it had my father’s blood on its teeth. Sixteen years later, I was about to skate onto the same ice with one of them, and this time, I wasn’t running.

I stepped out of the cab into the morning cold. Frostbite Hockey Academy didn’t look anything like what I had imagined. I was expecting to see an old building, something that matched the kind of place that would shelter the thing I was hunting, but the building stood tall and grey against the pale winter sky, surrounded by thick trees that had already lost most of their leaves. The wind blew on my jacket, and I pulled my bag higher on my shoulder, staring at the entrance for a moment.

This is where it will all end, and I will make sure of that.

The anti-vampire unit had been tracking him for years. But it all led to dead ends, false leads, and cold trails before they finally pinpointed him to be here, hiding in human sight behind a hockey jersey and a captain’s title... Liam Novak. The name had lived in my head so long it had started to feel like a wound that never healed properly.

The air smelled different, just like the horrible creature hiding behind this walls. There was just silence, and the occasional crunch of dead leaves under people’s boots.

I had been seven years old when Vampires came for my parents.

I still remembered the way my mother screamed. The sound of it had lived inside my chest ever since, like a splinter too deep to pull out. My father never even got the chance… two of them drained him till he turned pale before I understood what I was watching. I hid under the bed because my mom told me to. When it was over, I crawled out and saw what they left behind… Vampires are disgusting creatures that aren’t supposed to exist in this world.

The anti vampire unit found me when I was nineteen, already good at hockey, and good at hiding how much rage I was carrying. They trained me, sharpened what was already in me, and gave me a direction to follow. I had been waiting for this assignment for years. I wasn’t here to play hockey… I was here to finish something that started the night my parents died.

I grabbed my second bag from the trunk, paid the driver, and walked toward the entrance.

I hadn’t made it ten steps inside before someone nearly ran into me.

“Whoa! easy.” The guy stepped back and looked me over with curious eyes. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a jaw that looked like it had been carved specifically to make other people feel less attractive. He grinned, unbothered by the near collision. “Are you lost or just walking around blindly?”

“I guess you’re the one that’s blind here” I said. “Anyways, I’m looking for the team.”

Something shifted in his expression, he grinned. “Oh! You’re the transfer student? From Ironridge?”

I nodded once.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Calen. I’m a left winger.” We shook hands, his grip was firm but friendly. “Come on, I’ll take you to the others. They’ve been waiting.”

I followed him through a long corridor. The walls were lined with framed photos, team pictures going back decades, trophies behind glass, names engraved in gold. 

Calen pushed open a heavy door and the noise was so loud. A room, where fifteen guys spread across couches and chairs, some in training gear, some still half-dressed. The conversation dropped the moment we walked in, and I felt every single pair of eyes land on me at once.

“Guys,” Calen said, easy and casual like he hadn’t just walked me into a wall of stares. “The transfer student is here.”

“Hi, I’m Dylan Petrov.” I said waving my hand slightly.

A few of them nodded. One guy near the window raised his chin in acknowledgment. 

“Welcome,” One of them said in a tone that wasn’t polite.

I placed my bag on the floor and stood there, looking at them in the same way they were looking at me.

Then one of them, a stocky guy with red hair and a face that looked like trouble itself, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Iron… ridge,” he said, dragging the word out slowly. “Isn’t that the place where that whole murder thing happened? What was it? The coach just disappeared and they found him…”

“Cole!” Calen cut him off with a look.

But he seemed to be the type that doesn’t read the room. He just shrugged and kept going, his eyes sliding over to me. “I’m just saying, it was all over the news. Something messed up went down there and then suddenly half the team transfers out.” He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle. “You were there when it happened, right?”

Everybody went silent, curiousity taking over their faces, waiting to see what I would do about Cole’s statement.

I looked at Cole eye ball to eye ball and kept my face completely still. “I was there, what more do you want to hear?” I asked, my gaze still fixed on him.

A few of them exchanged glances. Someone shifted in their seat. The guy by the window was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read, but it wasn’t hostile or friendly either.

I had expected this and prepared for it, told myself it wouldn’t bother me, that I came here with a purpose and the opinions of a room full of hockey players weren’t going to affect me. But, I felt a slight pain in my chest, standing in the middle of this room while people looked at me like I might be carrying something contagious. 

I was about to say something, just to change the topic in the room, when the door swung open behind me.

“Alright, let’s go guys,” A voice sharp and strict. I turned to see a guy standing in the doorway, already in full training gear, helmet tucked under his arm. “Practice starts in ten minutes. Anyone still sitting down in five is running extra laps and the captain is not gonna hear any excuses.”

They responded immediately. Guys were on their feet, grabbing gear, the low murmur of conversation picking back up as everyone started walking toward the door. Whatever tension had been sitting in the room dissolved just like that, like it had never existed.

Calen leaned at my shoulder. “The locker room’s this way. You brought your gear, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, reaching for my bag.

I changed quickly, not talking, or making eye contact with anyone who glanced at me. I focused on lacing up my skates, fastening my pads, pulling my jersey over my head. No matter where I was or what I was walking into, the moment I had my gear on, something inside me settled, I feel peaceful because hockey is the only sport that gives me that satisfaction.

I followed the others out through the tunnel and onto the ice.

The rink was massive, very clean and bright under the overhead lights, the ice looked almost too perfect to skate on. My blades hit the surface and I exhaled slowly, letting the cold air fill my lungs.

I started moving on it, finding my rhythm, watching the others warm up around me. I stayed toward the far end, keeping to myself, and getting a feel for my space.

That’s when I noticed him.

Across the rink, moving along the boards with his head low and his focus entirely on the puck at his stick. He wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, just skating, but something about the way he carried himself made it impossible to look anywhere else. He controlled his body, like every movement had already been decided before his body followed.

I didn’t know who he was yet, but something about him made the air feel different.

“Liam.” A voice called from the side door.

Then the side door opened and the coach stepped onto the ice, a whistle around his neck, and clipboard in his hand. Immediately, the captain skated to the center, and I realized with a cold jolt that it was the same person I had been watching from across the rink.

He pulled off his helmet and I saw his face for the first time.

I held my breath instinctively for a moment. It was the shocking realization that the guy I admired a few minutes ago is the same guy I’m looking for. I had seen his pictures in the file the unit had given me. He was undoubtedly a vampire because from years ago, he had the same face, never aging, and always moving to a new place before anyone noticed.

Liam Novak.

My fingers tightened around my stick so hard my knuckles ached. He was surrounded by humans who had absolutely no idea what he was. Hiding in plain sight, playing hockey, and living a clean unbothered life while my parents were buried in a cemetery I still couldn’t bring myself to visit.

He looked around the ice, and then his eyes meet mine. They stayed on me, steady and unreadable, for just a second longer.

Then he smirked, and he said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Show us what you’ve got, newbie.”

Everyone laughed.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Let them laugh. In a few months, one of us wasn’t walking off this ice alive… and it wasn’t going to be me.