My Alpha Rejected Me Before the Finals, Then His Rival Smelled His Mate

I spent seven years keeping Jace Mercer on the ice.

I taped his injuries, slept outside hospital rooms, and believed him every time he promised I would become his Luna.

Then, on championship night, he rejected me on live television.

He gave another woman my place, my future, and the Captain Jacket I had carried for him after every victory.

The rejection nearly dropped me to my knees.

But the worst part came seconds later.

My suppressant shattered in the tunnel.

Jace’s greatest enemy caught me before I hit the floor.

Ronan Cross froze the moment my real scent reached him.

His Alpha wolf went feral.

Then he looked straight at my ex and asked,

“Why the hell does she smell like my mate?”

I thought Jace had stolen seven years of my life.

I was wrong.

He had been drugging my wolf so I would never discover where I truly belonged.

***

The roar of twenty thousand fans shook the concrete beneath my sneakers.

Confetti rained from the arena rafters in silver and gold sheets, coating the ice as the final buzzer echoed through the rink. The Ironfang Wolves had just won the league's final showcase before the championship series.

I stood near the mouth of the players' tunnel, hugging Jace’s heavy wool Captain Jacket against my ribs.

For seven years, this was our ritual. Win or lose, regular season or playoffs, Jace always skated straight to the tunnel first. He would drop his stick, pull off his helmet, and let me slide his jacket over his bruised shoulders before facing the press.

A sharp, familiar cramp flared in the center of my chest. I pressed a hand against my sternum, trying to breathe through the sudden heat. The dull ache in our mate bond had been flaring for four days now, but when I asked him about it yesterday, he brushed it off without looking up from his playbook.

*“They’re making us take heavy-grade scent suppressants for the finals, Wren,”* he had told me. *“It messes with the bond’s feedback. You’re overthinking it.”*

I had believed him. I always believed him. In my other hand, I carried his medical kit, complete with the custom ice pack I had molded earlier to fit the chronic fracture in his right shoulder.

Out on the ice, the Wolves piled on top of each other, screaming and raising their gloves to the ceiling. I smiled, waiting for Jace to break away from the huddle and skate toward the bench.

He didn't.

Instead, Jace skated toward the red carpet rolled out near the penalty box. A woman was already standing there under the spotlight. Sloane Keller, daughter of the pack’s primary corporate sponsor. She wore a tailored black coat, her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the freezing arena air.

Jace stepped off the ice, took Sloane’s hand, and led her directly to the center ice podium where the commissioner and the national broadcast cameras were waiting.

The arena announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “We now go down to Captain Jace Mercer for his post-game victory remarks.”

I stepped closer to the boards, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Jace took the microphone from the sideline reporter. His face filled the giant screens hanging above the ice, gleaming with sweat and victory.

“This cup belongs to Ironfang,” Jace said, his voice ringing through every television across the country. “And as Captain, leading this franchise into a new era requires strength, legacy, and unity. Ironfang needs a Luna who can truly stand beside an Alpha on every front.”

He turned slightly, looking straight into the main camera lens.

“To ensure our pack’s future remains undivided, I am officially declaring the end of my private mate promise to Wren Lawson. As of tonight, Ironfang moves forward with Sloane Keller by my side.”

The words hit me like a physical blow to the sternum.

A tearing sensation ripped through my chest, burning through every nerve ending where my soul had been tied to his since we were eighteen. The mate bond didn't just snap; it shattered, sending a wave of rejection sickness crashing into my stomach.

My vision blurred gray at the edges. My knees buckled, and I had to grab the dasher board just to keep myself upright.

The stadium broke into wild cheers, treating the announcement as a fairy-tale championship proposal. Flashbulbs went off like lightning across the ice.

Jace walked toward the bench to grab his gear, his expression tightening when he spotted me standing by the tunnel gate. He stepped through the gate, his jaw clenched as he leaned in close enough that only I could hear.

“Don’t do this here, Wren,” he muttered under his breath, his tone clipped and hard. “Don’t make a scene in front of the cameras.”

“A scene?” My voice came out cracked and hollow. “Jace, you just did this on live television.”

“Because it had to be clean,” he said, not even meeting my eyes. “You always knew you weren’t cut out to be Luna. You don’t have pack status, and you can’t handle the political side of this life. Sloane can.”

Before I could answer, Sloane stepped into the tunnel behind him, smelling strongly of expensive floral perfume and fresh champagne. She looked down at the heavy wool jacket clutched in my trembling hands.

“I’ll take that,” Sloane said smoothly.

She reached out and pulled the Captain Jacket from my fingers. I didn't fight her for it. I couldn't even close my hands.

Sloane slid her arms into the sleeves of the jacket that had carried my scent for seven seasons. She zipped it up, turned toward the lingering media photographers at the edge of the boards, and tilted her head up.

Jace wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her against his chest, and kissed her right under the flashing cameras.

The crowd roared again. Nobody looked at the girl standing against the concrete wall, choking on the phantom pain of a severed bond.

Jace broke the kiss and glanced back at me, his gaze lingering as if he expected tears or a breakdown.

I didn't give him one.

I looked down at the medical kit in my hand, knelt down, and set the ice pack flat on the rubber floor by his skates.

“Then she can learn where your shoulder locks when you’re nervous,” I said quietly.

I stood up, turned my back on them, and walked down the tunnel.

The moment I turned the corner out of sight of the rink, the adrenaline deserted me. The rejection backlash slammed into my nervous system with the force of a freight train. Cold sweat broke across my skin, my lungs seized, and the hallway tilted violently sideways.

My legs gave out entirely.

Before my knees hit the concrete floor, a pair of heavy, leather-gloved hands caught me under the arms, hauling me upward against a broad, solid chest.

“Easy,” a deep, gravelly voice cut through the ringing in my ears. “I’ve got you.”

I looked up through blurred vision into the dark, fierce eyes of Ronan Cross.

The Captain of the Blackridge Wolves. Ironfang’s most hated rival, fresh off the ice after losing the game, his jersey still soaked in sweat and ice shavings.

When my body collided with his chest, the impact crushed the glass bottle of high-grade scent suppressant tucked inside my jacket pocket.

The small vial shattered with a muffled crunch.

The heavy chemical blocker leaked into my lining, but without its pressurized seal, the artificial mask evaporated instantly, releasing my true scent for the first time in five years. Fresh cedarwood, crisp frost, and wild winter berries flooded the narrow corridor in an overpowering rush.

Ronan froze instantly.

His entire body locked rigid as iron. His fingers dug hard into my shoulders, his pupils dilating until the dark brown of his irises vanished beneath pure black. A low, shuddering sound tore from the back of his throat, his head dipping instinctively toward the exposed curve of my neck.

“Wren!”

Jace’s sharp voice bounced down the hallway as heavy footsteps sprinted around the corner. Jace came to an abrupt stop, his eyes landing on the way Ronan had me pinned against his chest.

“Get your hands off her, Cross,” Jace snapped, taking a threatening step forward. “She was with me.”

Ronan didn't step back. He tilted his head up slowly, his jaw set like stone, shielding me completely behind his massive frame.

His dark eyes locked onto Jace with lethal intensity.

“Then why the fuck does your ex smell like my mate?”