Chapter 63: Edward Stein

​The moment the cue was given, I pulled my forehead back, breaking the contact so fast it felt like tearing a piece of tape off an open wound.

My lungs practically begged for the neutral, air-conditioned studio air, trying to instantly purge the thick, lingering trace of frozen pine that had completely clogged my senses.

I let go of his hand, my fingers cold and slightly trembling from the sheer force of his grip.

​Reid slowly let his arm drop to his side, but he didn’t take a step back right away. He stood firmly in my space for a fraction of a second longer, his smoky grey eyes tracing the rapid, uneven rise and fall of my chest with a dark, satisfied glimmer before he finally slid his hands into his pockets and strolled toward the edge of the stage.

​I forced my posture back into its usual rigid alignment, ignoring the hot, angry flush still throbbing against my collarbone under my black sweater. I walked toward the side desk, where a crew member handed me a damp towel to wipe the foundation off my face.

​As the crew began to frantically dismantle the heavy softboxes and wrap up the cords around the seamless paper, a sudden ripple of polite chatter echoed from the main entrance of Stage Two.

​"Hey, isn’t that...?" Marcus, our manager, mumbled from near the production monitors, squinting toward the doorway.

​I pulled the towel away from my eyes, blinking against the lingering afterimages of the strobe lights, and looked over.

​Walking onto the set with an easy, confident stride was a tall, remarkably handsome Alpha. He wasn’t wearing Serpent’s gear, but his broad, athletic build and commanding presence made him instantly recognizable to anyone in the league.

He had sharp, cleanly styled dark hair, an open, genuinely warm expression, and a structured grey coat that fit his broad shoulders perfectly.

​Edward Stein.

​He was the Alpha captain of the Avalanche—the very team we were scheduled to face on the ice in exactly two Fridays. But unlike the vast majority of Alpha captains in the professional circuit who treated me like an anomaly or openly mocked me for being a ’Beta’ leading a first-line offense, Edward had always been a rare exception.

He was uniquely respectful, always acknowledging my strategy after a game without an ounce of that typical, condescending Alpha superiority.

​"Stein," Marcus greeted, walking over with a surprised smile. "What brings the Avalanche captain to our studio? Scout mission?"

​"Nothing like that, Marcus," Edward laughed, his voice smooth, clear, and completely devoid of the aggressive edge most dominant Alphas carried. He shook Marcus’s hand politely. "We have a sponsor meeting on the fourth floor later this afternoon. I heard the Serpents were down here finishing up their mid-season media layout, so I figured I’d drop by and say hello to Kain."

​My name slipped past his lips naturally, completely free of the mockery I usually braced myself for when facing another captain. I tossed the damp towel onto a crate and walked forward, keeping my face steady and professional despite the lingering exhaustion in my ribs.

​"Edward," I said, offering him a genuine, polite nod as I reached the edge of the carpet. "Didn’t expect to see you in Seattle before the match."

​"Likewise, Kain," Edward smiled warmly, his dark eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure as he stepped forward.

​Unlike Reid, who always invaded my space like a territorial wave, Edward stopped at a perfectly respectful distance. But as he stood there, a very faint, clean scent of cedarwood drifted from him—a completely normal, unaggressive Alpha broadcast. It was polite, steady, and remarkably refreshing.

​"I watched your game against Vancouver last week," Edward continued, leaning a hand casually against his hip as we fell into an easy, comfortable rhythm. "Your defense rotation in the second period was brilliant. Honestly, I’ve been trying to figure out how to break your neutral-zone trap for the coming Friday, but you don’t leave many holes, Captain."

​"You’ll just have to wait two weeks to find out," I replied, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through my rigid mask for the first time all day.

It felt incredibly easy to talk to him. There were no hidden threats, no blackmail, and no suffocating mind games. Just two captains talking shop.

​But as the easy conversation flowed between us, a sudden, heavy draft of freezing cold air seemed to drop over the entire studio stage.

​The pleasant scent of Edward’s cedarwood was instantly, violently suffocating under a massive, aggressive spike of frozen pine.

​I didn’t even have to look to know Reid had walked up behind me. His towering, heavy frame materialized right at my left elbow, his presence so thick and suffocating it felt like a physical wall blocking out the studio lights.

He didn’t say a word at first, but the sheer, territorial weight of his dominant Alpha aura was practically vibrating through the floorboards, entirely directed at the man standing in front of me.

​Reid’s smoky grey eyes narrowed into razor-sharp, icy slits as he stared down at the rival captain, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle leaped under his clean skin.

He was visibly, quietly furious. Just what was his problem now?

Edward noticed the sudden shift in the air, his dark eyes flicking from me to the massive frame that had just positioned itself at my side.

He didn’t flinch or display any aggression; instead, his expression remained perfectly polite, a professional smile resetting on his handsome face as he adjusted to Reid’s stifling presence.

​"You must be Reid McCoy," Edward said, extending his hand with the easy grace of an experienced captain. "I’ve watched your tape from the last few games. You’ve got incredible speed on the first line. It’s nice to meet you."

​Reid didn’t answer right away. He stood completely rigid, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark crewneck, deliberately letting the silence stretch between them for a few agonizing seconds.

His smoky grey eyes tracked Edward’s extended hand with a look of pure, snobbish disdain, as if the gesture itself was beneath him.

​The territorial weight of his frozen pine pheromones spiked again, a silent, vicious broadcast that made my inner Omega squeeze with a sudden, anxious panic.

I shot a sharp, warning glare up at Reid’s profile, my jaw clenching. Don’t you dare ruin this.

​As if sensing my internal spike of distress, Reid finally slid his right hand out of his pocket. He didn’t offer a polite greeting. He just stepped forward, closing the distance until his shoulder heavily brushed against mine, and gripped Edward’s hand.

​"Edward Stein," Reid murmured, his smooth, arrogant drawl cutting through the studio quiet like ice. He didn’t break eye contact, his fingers tightening around the rival captain’s hand in a grip that looked entirely too firm to be friendly. "I’ve heard... plenty about you."