The Hockey Captain Hates His Mates

CHAPTER ONE

VESPER

I turned eighteen today.

Apparently, that was supposed to be a big deal.

According to my father, I was now officially an adult.

According to my best friend, I was finally old enough to find my mate.

According to me?

I just wanted to be at the ice rink.

So, naturally, I had more important things to worry about.

Being eighteen was supposed to feel different.

Magical, even.

My wolf was supposed to wake up completely.

My senses were supposed to sharpen. I was supposed to feel some mysterious pull toward my destined mate.

At least, that was what every girl in my pack talked about.

Their eighteenth birthdays were practically national holidays.

They woke up hoping to smell their mate.

They stared at every attractive male like he might suddenly start glowing.

They whispered about Alpha bloodlines, powerful wolves, fated mates, first kisses, marking ceremonies, and all the other things that apparently made turning eighteen so exciting.

Me?

I wanted a new pair of hockey skates.

I had absolutely no interest in finding my mate.

Actually, let me correct that.

I had no interest in finding any boy.

Boys were exhausting.

They were loud.

They were dramatic.

They had egos the size of mountain ranges.

And unlike hockey pucks, they couldn't be conveniently slammed into a wall when they annoyed you.

Hockey made sense.

You had a rink.

Two teams.

One puck.

One goal.

And if someone annoyed you, you could legally body-check them.

Simple.

Predictable.

Perfect.

“Hockey is just a guy’s sport, you know that, right?”

I nearly groaned.

It was the last thing I wanted to hear after a hard first day at Winter Claw. All I wanted was to eat my dinner in peace.

Unfortunately, the boy sitting across from me seemed determined to make that impossible.

“Girls are naturally weaker wolves on the ice,” he continued, gnawing on a burger. “They’re not as fast, and nowhere near as strong.”

I stared at him.

Not because I was offended.

Well, not only because I was offended.

I was far too horrified by the show happening inside his mouth to respond.

The way he chewed with his mouth open was putting me off my own dinner. Somehow, I couldn't look away.

“Like you.”

He pointed a chip in my direction.

“Way too short, especially for a goalie.”

I blinked.

I wasn't sure he even realized he was insulting me.

Given his cheerful tone, we could easily have been talking about something as harmless as the weather.

Instead, he was explaining why girls didn't belong at an elite ice hockey summer Academy—or playing the game at all.

Before I could answer, my brother spoke from beside me.

“Shows how much you know.”

Vega didn't even look up from his food.

“Shorter goalies are usually much more agile. Vesper’s reflexes are insane, and I haven’t seen anybody as good as she is.”

The boy snorted.

“Whatever. I think we all know the only reason your dad opened the summer academy up to girls this year was to check the diversity box.”

“Actually—” Vega tried to argue, but the boy wasn't finished.

“I guess having a few girls around camp isn't the worst thing in the world.”

His eyes moved over me.

Then he grinned.

“It is nice to have something pretty to look at and fuck.”

“Watch it, dude,” Vega warned.

But I didn't need my brother to defend me.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, and smiled as sweetly as I could.

“Yes, I guess you're right.”

The boy raised an eyebrow.

“There’s obviously no way I could ever be as skilled as you.”

He winked.

“You haven't seen half my skills. Yet…”

I almost choked on my food.

Not because his words were clever.

Because I was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Seriously,” I said, keeping my face straight. “It's really impressive.”

His grin widened.

“You can talk, think, and chew all at the same time.”

A few girls sitting farther down the table burst into laughter.

I continued.

“I'm sure that's exactly what they're looking for in the Lunar Hockey League.”

It took him a second.

Then another.

Finally, his grin disappeared.

His face twisted into a scowl as the laughter around us grew louder.

His eyes shifted to my brother.

“Can you get your sister in line?”

Vega simply shrugged.

“She has a point.”

That was the final straw.

Our friend shoved his chair back, grabbed his things, and stood.

“Just because your dad played in the Lunar Hockey League doesn't mean he passed any of his talent onto you two.”

He stormed away.

And somehow, even after he was gone, I could still hear him chewing.

I stared after him.

I should have known he was a jerk the moment he sat down.

The ugly tip of his hair were practically a warning.

Still, as funny as the whole thing had been, his words stayed with me.

Because beneath the jokes and the confidence was a tiny, irritating voice.

The insecure part of me.

The part I tried very hard to ignore.

What if he was right?

My father had refused to let me play hockey competitively my entire life.

He didn't usually take much interest in my hobbies, but something about me and hockey turned him into a stubborn, irrational tyrant.

It didn't matter that I'd spent years practicing with Vega.

It didn't matter that I'd been stopping pucks since the moment I learned how to skate.

Vega had discovered he could prop me up in front of a net when I was little, and apparently, that was all it took.

I loved the game before I was even old enough to understand what loving something meant.

Hockey was where I felt like myself.

Where I wasn't someone's daughter.

Wasn't someone's little sister.

Wasn't a girl waiting for her eighteenth birthday so she could finally meet some mysterious male wolf.

I was just Vesper.

A goalie.

A fighter.

Someone who could stop a puck flying toward her face without blinking.

But my father didn't see it that way.

As far as he was concerned, hockey was not for me.

And apparently, neither was this camp.

I looked around the dining hall.

Dozens of young wolves sat at tables around me, laughing and talking about their first day on the ice.

Most of them had been playing competitively for years.

Some had fathers, brothers, and entire families with hockey records.

I had spent years training in secret.

Years watching Vega play.

Years begging Dad.

And somehow, on my eighteenth birthday, I'd finally gotten one chance.

One chance to prove that I belonged.

My fingers tightened around my fork.

I wasn't going to let some idiot with bad manners ruin it.

Or my father.

Or anyone else.

If they wanted me gone, they'd have to drag me off the ice themselves.

Because I hadn't fought this hard just to get here.

I had earned my place.

And I was going to prove it.

Even if I had to become the best damn goalie Winter Claw had ever seen, I would do it.

My wolf stirred beneath my skin, making me freeze in place. Her presence felt stronger today—different, somehow. Suddenly, my senses dialled up to maximum. I could hear every single conversation around me, the sharp scrape of every chair, and the steady thud of every heartbeat.

Then, cutting right through the familiar smells of food, sweat, and the cold air blowing off, a new scent hit me.

It was warm, wild, and impossible to ignore.

My wolf went completely still. Then, in the quiet of my mind, she whispered a single word:

Mate.

My fork clattered onto the plate.