Freya's pov

I stare at my phone, reading Sebastian’s text again—6 AM at the rink, bring your best, the ice shows everything—and my stomach twists, because it’s 3 AM, and I haven’t slept, my mind running through every way this could go wrong, like not being fast enough, or them noticing I’m different, or messing up so bad they kick me out before I start.

Tyler mumbles about biochemistry in his sleep, and I want to wake him just to talk, but what would I say, that I’m scared three alpha werewolves might see through my disguise in a few hours? My hands shake as I get out of bed, fear making it hard to breathe, but there’s also excitement, a buzz under my skin, because this is my chance to prove girls even like me can play hockey as well as boys.

I slip into the bathroom and look in the mirror, where Freddie Sterling stares back with tired eyes and sharp cheekbones, the short haircut making my face look older, stronger, and I practice deepening my voice, squaring my shoulders, standing like I belong even though I feel like I’m falling apart.

“You can do this,” I whisper to myself, “you’ve played hockey your whole life, they’re just boys, big, intimidating boys, but still just boys.”

It doesn’t calm me much.

My alarm buzzes at 5:30, but I’m already dressed, hockey gear feeling heavy, each piece another part of the lie I have to keep up, and the walk to the arena feels endless, the campus quiet with frost on the grass, my breath puffing out in the cold, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure it echoes across the empty quad.

I reach the arena, hands shaking as I push the door open, and inside, the dim emergency lights make everything feel strange, quiet, heavy. I’m lacing my skates when footsteps echo behind me.

“Early bird, huh?” Logan says, already in full gear, standing still but giving off a quiet strength that makes my mouth dry.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, hoping my voice stays steady, “thought I’d get here early.”

He nods, eyes locked on mine, studying me like he can see every secret I’m hiding, and says, “Smart, Sebastian doesn’t mess around, he’ll push you until you break or prove you belong.”

“What about you?” I ask before I can stop myself, “Do you think I belong?”

The question hangs between us, my pulse racing, palms sweating in my gloves, and Logan’s stare sharpens, making me feel exposed, but he says, “I think you’re hiding something, but everyone’s got secrets, what matters is if you can play when it counts.”

He steps onto the ice, moving smooth and confident, and I want that ease, that sureness, so bad it hurts, so I take a breath and follow him, the cold air hitting my face, clearing my head, because this is where I’ve always felt right, where fear fades, and it’s just me and the game.

“Look who showed up early,” Sebastian’s voice cuts through the rink as he skates out from the other tunnel, Zane right behind him, and my brain freezes.

Sebastian moves like he owns the ice, all sharp confidence, and when his eyes meet mine, my stomach flips, heat spreading through me. “Hope you’re ready, Sterling,” he calls, “because we’re not going easy on you.”

Sterling, not pretty boy this time, but the nickname from yesterday still stings, making me wonder if I look too soft, if he suspects something, or if he’s just being a jerk.

Zane glides up, smiling, but his eyes are sharp, calculating, and he says, “Morning, Freddie, ready to show us what you’ve got?”

With all three staring at me, I feel small, like they’re circling me, their alpha energy making me want to run, but this is my shot, my dream, so I force a grin and say, “Born ready.”

Sebastian’s smile is all challenge, and he says, “Let’s see it.”

The next hour is brutal, drills that would exhaust anyone, fast passing sequences that burn my arms, one-on-one battles for the puck that leave me gasping, shooting exercises where they pick apart every move while I fight to stay upright.

But I keep up, and more than that, I shine, every late night in London’s underground rinks, every time I got knocked down and stood back up, every goal I scored when no one believed in me, it all comes together, and I’m not just good enough, I’m better.

The fear is gone, replaced by adrenaline and joy, because this is why I risked everything, why I cut my hair, left my family, became someone else, for moments like this, playing the game I love at this level.

“Damn,” Zane says after I slip past Sebastian so clean he almost falls, “where’d that come from?”

I grin, chest tight with pride, and say, “Just warming up.”

Sebastian skates over, stopping close, his scent—pine and something heavy—making my head spin, my heart pounding, and he says, “Not bad, Sterling,” his voice rough, “but let’s see you handle real pressure.”

Logan slides in on my other side, Zane on the other, and I’m boxed in by three alphas, their intensity making it hard to breathe, the air heavy, tense.

“Three-on-one,” Sebastian says, “keep the puck for thirty seconds, you’ve got our respect, lose it…”

“I won’t lose it,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, even though I’m shaking inside.

Sebastian leans close, his breath near my ear, and says, “Confident, I like it, but confidence without skill’s just noise.”

He pulls back, eyes locked on mine, challenging, and I can barely think straight, but the puck drops, and it’s chaos, Sebastian coming at me with raw force, Logan precise and relentless, Zane quick and tricky, but I’ve been ready for this my whole life without knowing it.

I move fast, slipping through gaps, using their size against them, finding space where there shouldn’t be, passing to myself, dodging like they’re standing still, fear gone, just fire and focus, fifteen seconds, twenty, twenty-five.

Sebastian dives for the puck, and I slide it between his legs, spinning past so fast he nearly hits Logan, then Zane tries to trap me against the boards, but I use his speed to slip by, twenty-eight, twenty-nine.

“Time!” Zane calls.

The rink goes quiet, just our heavy breathing, and I’m shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline, but I’m still standing, still holding the puck, still here.

Sebastian skates over slow, stopping close, his eyes intense, and says, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Logan joins him, nodding, and says, “Kid’s got real skill.”

“Skill?” Zane says, sliding up, and they’re around me again, but it feels different, like I’ve earned something, “That was something else.”

Sebastian taps my helmet with his glove, a small gesture that feels big, and says, “Welcome to the team, Freddie Sterling, try not to outshine us too bad.”

I should feel on top of the world, because I passed their test, earned their respect, got my spot on the Crescent Moon Wolves, but as they skate toward the locker room, I see Sebastian glance at Logan and Zane, something passing between them, sharp and unspoken, making the air feel heavy again.

I passed their test, but as I watch them talk in low voices, I can’t shake the feeling the real challenge is just starting, and I don’t know if Freddie—if I—can handle what’s next.

Sebastian’s words stick with me—the ice doesn’t lie—but I’m starting to think the ice might be the only thing telling the truth here.

Freya/Freddie's pov

I’m sitting in the locker room, staring at my phone’s black screen, trying to wrap my head around what just happened on the ice. I passed their test, actually pulled it off, and the reality of it hasn’t sunk in yet. The adrenaline’s fading now, leaving me shaky, exhausted, and aching all over, but it’s the kind of pain that feels good, the kind that tells me I pushed myself to the limit and came out stronger.

From a few rows over, I hear Sebastian, Logan, and Zane talking in low voices, their words mixing with the clatter of hockey gear being tossed into lockers and the sound of running water. It’s just normal post-practice noise, but nothing about today feels normal. My stomach’s twisting, not from fear this time, but from something else, something I’m not ready to dig into.

I can still feel the way they looked at me out there, Sebastian’s eyes sharp and intense when I kept up with their drills, Logan’s voice steady with pride when he called my playing solid, Zane saying my name like it carried weight. I press my back against the cool metal of my locker, trying to steady my breathing, but the air feels heavy, like it’s holding its breath.

“Freddie? You good, man?” Zane’s voice pulls me out of my head.

I look up, and there he is at the end of my row, concern all over his face. He’s fresh from the shower, hair damp, wearing just a towel around his waist, which does nothing to help my already scrambled emotions. Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I focus on unlacing my skates to avoid staring. “Yeah, just processing,” I say, keeping my voice even. “That was intense.”

He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of cedar and vanilla, warm and calming, which is confusing because his presence should make me more nervous, not less. “You killed it out there,” he says, and the pride in his voice makes my chest tighten. “Seriously, none of us thought you’d be that good when Sebastian told us about you.”

I glance up, and the warmth in his eyes flips my stomach. “Thanks,” I say, “you guys didn’t exactly go easy on me.”

Zane grins, his whole face lighting up. “That was us being nice, wait till you see real practice.”

The idea should scare me, but instead, I feel this strange excitement, like I want to push harder, prove myself again, see that look in his eyes one more time. Before I can say anything, Sebastian appears behind him, fresh from the shower too, water droplets on his shoulders. His presence hits me like a wave, all danger and power in the way he moves, those dark eyes locking onto me.

“Sterling,” he says, his voice low and rough, sending a jolt through me. “Good work today, you might actually survive this team.”

From him, that feels like high praise, and my chest swells even though my phone’s still in my hand, reminding me none of this might matter in a few hours. “Thanks,” I manage, “I won’t let you down.”

Something flickers in his eyes, making my pulse skip. “See that you don’t.”

Logan joins them, and now I’m surrounded by three half-dressed guys staring at me with different kinds of intensity. The air feels thick, charged like the moment before a storm. “Team meeting tonight,” Sebastian says, his gaze still on me, “seven PM, film room, we’ll go over plays and expectations.”

“I’ll be there,” I say, even though the meeting’s seven hours before my mysterious appointment, and I don’t know if I’ll even be at this school by then. They share a look, one of those silent conversations that makes my skin prickle, like they’re talking about me without saying a word.

“See you then, Freddie,” Zane says softly, and the way he says my fake name twists my stomach again. They walk off together, their voices dropping to whispers I can’t quite catch, but I hear bits— “different,” “something special,” “can’t figure it out.”

Once they’re gone, I slump against my locker, my body heavy, the adrenaline completely gone now, leaving me shaky and scared. I check my phone again, hoping I misread the message, but it’s still there, threatening to ruin everything. A friend. What kind of friend sends a text like that, threatening to expose my secret? I saw it right after practice, after proving myself to the captains, and I can’t figure out who’d do this.

Back in my dorm, Tyler’s getting ready for class, humming like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and the normalcy of it feels so out of place after this morning. “Dude, you look wiped,” he says, pausing as he pulls on a hoodie. “How was practice with the holy trinity?”

“Brutal,” I say, which is true, “but good, I think I might actually make the team.”

His face lights up. “That’s awesome, Emma’s gonna flip when I tell her, she’s been dying to know what the new hockey guy’s like.”

The idea of people watching me, talking about me, makes my stomach clench. “She’s asking about me?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

Tyler grins, tossing me an energy bar. “You’re kind of a big deal now, new player making the team mid-semester? That’s rare.” He pauses, smirking. “Plus, you’re kinda cute for a hockey player, half the school’s gonna have a crush on you by next week.”

The energy bar tastes like nothing as I chew, great, more attention is the last thing I need. The day drags on like torture, classes I can’t focus on, lunch I can’t taste, my mind stuck on this morning’s practice, replaying Sebastian’s stare, Logan’s quiet strength, Zane’s smile that does things to me I don’t understand. This pull toward them is dangerous, it makes me careless, and I can’t afford that. I need to stay focused on hockey, remember why I’m here, keep my distance.

But when seven PM hits and I walk into the film room, all my plans fall apart. They’re already there, looking up as I step in, and in the dim light, they’re even more overwhelming. Sebastian’s sprawled in his chair like he owns the place, Logan’s sitting straight, eyes tracking me, and Zane waves me over with that easy grin.

“Right on time,” Sebastian says, his tone approving. “I like that.”

I take a seat near the back, hoping to blend in, but Zane shakes his head. “Come sit with us, Freddie, you’re part of the team now.”

Those words hit me hard, making my chest tight with something I can’t name. I move closer, sitting near them, and the next hour is incredible. They break down game footage with sharp precision, pointing out weaknesses, discussing strategies with a passion that pulls me in. Their knowledge is unreal, and I get caught up in it, forgetting everything else for a while.

“What do you think, Freddie?” Logan asks, pausing the footage on a power play setup. “How would you attack this defense?”

All three turn to me, and my mouth goes dry, but I look at the screen, and my hockey brain takes over. “The left defenseman’s cheating toward the net,” I say, pointing, “if you send someone wide right and draw him out, there’s a gap in the slot.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows go up, and he nods, something like respect in his eyes. “Exactly what I was thinking, good eye.”

His approval warms me, and I try to tell myself it’s just about hockey, but the way he’s looking at me feels like more. When the meeting ends, they walk out together, their voices low, and I catch snippets as I pack up— “definitely hiding something,” “did you see how he moved,” “there’s something about him.”

I wait until they’re gone before leaving, my legs shaky, heart still racing from being around them. Back in my dorm, Tyler’s asleep, a biochemistry textbook open on his chest. I sit on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort out what I’m feeling. I should be thrilled, I made the team, impressed them, I’m living my dream, but I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something dangerous.

My phone buzzes, and my heart jumps, but it’s just David: How’d today go?

I stare at the text before replying: Made the team, it’s complicated.

He texts back fast: Everything okay? You sound stressed.

I want to tell him about Sebastian’s piercing looks, Logan’s quiet strength, Zane’s smile that messes with my head, but I can’t, not like this.