Puck’s Secret: Claimed by the Ruthless Captain

Mazikeen

The scent of stale sweat and expensive leather always made me want to vomit. I kept my chin tucked low, the hood of my oversized jacket pulled forward as I waved the crowded hallway of Northbridge Academy. Every person who brushed past me felt like a threat, a potential witness to the lie I was wearing like a second skin.

"Thorne! Move your pathetic ass!"

A shoulder slammed into mine, sending me reeling into the cold stone wall. I grunted, the impact rattling my bound ribs. I didn't look up to see who it was. In this place, it didn't matter. Everyone was bigger, stronger, and meaner than what I was pretending to be.

"I'm talking to you, runt."

A hand gripped the front of my hoodie, dragging me upward until my toes barely touched the floor. I finally looked up, staring into the face of my nightmare.

Atlas Vanderbilt.

He looked like he’d been carved out of a dark, jagged cliffside. His hair was a mess of dark ink, his eyes a blue so pale they were almost white. Tattoos climbed up his neck, disappearing under the collar of his varsity jacket. He smelled like winter air.

"Jace isn't home right now," I croaked fearfully, forgetting I was supposed to be Jace. I gasped and hoped he didn't hear that.

Atlas sneered, his grip tightening. "You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face after you choked at the scrimmage yesterday. You’re the reason the Northbridge rank is dropping. You’re a stain on this pack’s reputation."

"Then kick me off the team," I challenged, the fear in my gut turning into a cold, hard knot of defiance.

Atlas laughed, and the sound was like glass breaking. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against mine.

"And lose my favorite punching bag? Not a chance. I’m going to make sure this tournament is the worst two weeks of your miserable life."

He shoved me back, and I hit the lockers with a dull thud. My chest ached, the binder digging into my skin with every shallow breath I took.

"Atlas, honey, don't waste your breath on that boy."

A girl with platinum blonde hair and a smile that looked like a razor blade stepped up beside him. Catelyn. The Alpha’s sister and the undisputed queen of the academy's social ladder. She looked at me with pure disgust, as if I were something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.

"He’s pathetic," Catelyn said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

"Why is he even allowed to breathe the same air as us? Look at him. He’s trembling."

"He’s a Thorne," Atlas said, his eyes never leaving mine. "They’re born to tremble."

"I heard his mother is finally losing the fight," Catelyn added, stepping closer to me. She reached out, flicking the brim of my beanie.

"Maybe if you weren't so busy being a failure, she’d have a reason to live. It must be exhausting, knowing you’re the reason your family is a joke."

I clenched my fists inside my pockets, my nails biting into my palms. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her that I was doing more for my family than she ever would. But I stayed silent. Jace would have stayed silent.

"Get to the barracks, Thorne," Atlas commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "If you’re a second late for the meeting, I’ll personally throw your gear into the lake. Along with you."

They walked away, their laughter echoing down the hall. I waited until they were gone before I let out the breath I’d been holding. My hands were shaking.

I made my way to the dorms, my heart sinking as I looked at the room assignment board. I’d been praying for a single. I’d been praying for a miracle.

Room 101: Atlas Vanderbilt & Jace Thorne.

The air left my lungs in a sharp hiss. It was a setup. There was no way this was a coincidence. Atlas had requested this. He wanted me where he could see me, where he could break me in private.

I walked to the room, my boots heavy on the carpet. I pushed the door open, hoping he wasn't there yet.

He was.

Atlas was sitting on the edge of his bed, his shirt off, showing the sprawling ink that covered his back and shoulders. He was cleaning a hockey blade, the metal glinting in the dim light of the room. He didn't look up when I entered.

"Close the door, Thorne," he said.

I did as I was told, locking it behind me. The room felt tiny, the walls closing in on me. The scent of him was everywhere, suffocating and masculine.

"This is your side," he said, gesturing to a narrow cot in the corner. "Don't touch my stuff. Don't look at me. And if you make a sound while I’m sleeping, you’ll regret it."

"Fine by me," I muttered, heading for my bed.

I sat down, the spring groaning under my weight. I needed to change. I needed to get out of these wet clothes and re-bind my chest, but I couldn't do it with him sitting there like a gargoyle.

"What are you waiting for?" Atlas asked, finally looking up. His gaze was intense, stripping away my layers until I felt naked.

"I... I like to change in the bathroom," I said.

Atlas smirked, a cruel, knowing look. "Since when? We’ve been in the same locker room for three years, Thorne. Don't tell me you’ve suddenly grown a pair of modesty wings."

"I'm just tired, Atlas. Drop it."

He stood up, his massive frame blocking the light from the window. He walked toward me, each step deliberate. I backed up until I hit the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"You're acting weird," he whispered, leaning one hand against the wall beside my head.

"Even for you. You’re smaller. Your voice is off. And you haven't looked me in the eye once today."

"Maybe I'm just sick of your face," I snapped.

Atlas’s eyes darkened. He reached out, his hand hovering near my throat. I flinched, closing my eyes, waiting for the blow.

It didn't come.

Instead, I felt his fingers brush against the collar of my hoodie, tugging at the fabric.

"What are you hiding, Jace?"

Before I could answer, the door to the suite burst open.

"Atlas! The coach is calling a flash meeting on the rink! Now!"

Atlas didn't move for a long second, his eyes boring into mine. Then, he pulled away, grabbing his shirt from the bed.

"This isn't over," he said, pointing a finger at me. "Move. Now."

I followed him out, my head spinning. I had to get through this. I had to stay focused.

The rink was freezing, the mist rising off the ice in ghostly sheets. The entire team was lined up.

"Listen up!" the coach barked. "We’ve had a security breach. Someone’s been leaking our playbooks to the rival packs. Until we find out who the rat is, no one leaves the campus. And that means full-time barracks supervision."

My stomach dropped. No leaving? No going home to see my mom?

"Vanderbilt," the coach said, looking at Atlas. "You’re in charge of the North barracks. If anyone does anything wrong, I want to know."

"Count on it," Atlas said, his eyes sliding to me.

The meeting ended, and the guys started dispersing. I tried to slip away, but a hand caught the back of my jersey.

"Not so fast, Thorne."

It was Atlas. He leaned down, his voice a cold whisper in my ear.

"I just realized why you don't want to change in front of me."

I froze.

"You’re bruised, aren't you?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly low. "From the scrimmage. You’re hiding an injury so you don't get cut from the team."

I let out a shaky breath, nodding quickly. "Yeah. It's bad. I don't want the coach to see."

Atlas let go of my jersey, but he didn't move away. He looked at me with something that wasn't quite pity, but wasn't pure hatred either.

"Show me," he said.

"What?"

"Show me the bruise, Thorne. If it’s as bad as you say, I’ll decide if you’re fit to play. Lift your shirt."

I stared at him, the world tilting on its axis.

"I said, lift your shirt. Now."