Chapter 47: He’s Obviously Not Angry

Daemus skated to the center face-off circle, his skates cutting sharply into the freshly resurfaced ice.

His teammates lingered behind him, exchanging deeply concerned glances. Daemus wasn’t steaming anymore at least, but he stared straight ahead with a dead, lifeless gaze.

The swagger the Timber Wolves had carried through the first two periods disappeared instantly. The opposing center skated up to the circle, took one look into Daemus’s hollow silver eyes, and swallowed hard, nervously adjusting his grip on his stick.

Daemus didn’t even look at the puck in the referee’s hand. His mind was miles away from the freezing arena.

He was picturing Blair.

He pictured her with that playboy Jasper. Daemus tried to shut the thought down immediately. She isn’t like that, he reasoned with himself.

But a cold, twisted logic crept into the back of his mind. Blair was desperate. What if that pretty-boy Fish noble promised her information? What if he claimed he knew where her roommate was, or what those monsters in the woods were? Daemus didn’t actually know how far she would go to get the truth.

He imagined: Blair, her cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson, shyly spreading her legs on a plush mattress. He imagined her looking up at a beastman who wasn’t him, her voice a soft, trembling whisper as she begged, Please be gentle.

I shouldn’t be angry, Daemus chanted internally, his jaw locking so tight it ached. I shouldn’t be angry. It is a fake relationship. I shouldn’t be angry.

He gripped the shaft of his hockey stick.

I shouldn’t be angry.

His knuckles turned stark white inside his gloves. The material of the stick began to groan under the sheer force of his grip.

CRACK.

The deafening snap echoed through the quiet arena. Daemus had squeezed the hockey stick so hard it literally exploded in his hands, splintering into two jagged, jagged halves that clattered onto the ice.

The referee instantly blew his whistle, waving his arms to signal a quick timeout before the puck had even dropped.

Daemus stood still, staring blankly at the broken pieces at his feet.

The coach slid onto the ice, grabbing Daemus gently by the elbow and pulling him aside toward the boards.

"Daemus, look at me," the coach whispered, keeping his voice low so the surrounding opposing players couldn’t hear. "I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, and I really hope you work it out. But I have to bench you."

Daemus slowly turned his head. He looked past the coach at his teammates. The defensive line and the goalie were watching him, their expressions a mixture of pity and tight-lipped agreement. They needed a leader right now, and Daemus was a liability.

Daemus let out a long sigh. "Okay."

He removed the captain’s "C" patch from his jersey, and silently handed it to his alternate. Without another word, Daemus stepped off the ice and took a seat at the very end of the wooden bench.

The whistle blew, and the game restarted without him.

Daemus leaned his elbows on his knees, staring at his feet. He didn’t understand why her absence was tearing him apart like this. It’s not even that important, he told himself. It’s just that my mother and sister are sitting right up there. They expected my "mate" to be here. That’s why I’m annoyed. I won’t hear the end of their opinions.

But Uncle Silas’s mocking voice kept ringing in his ears. She was with Jester. Or whatever his name was. Daemus had already forgotten it.

Stop thinking about it, Daemus commanded himself.

He forced his head up, trying to focus on the game. His team was far behind, and the clock was ticking down fast. He watched his right-winger battle for the puck against the boards, the loud smash of shoulder pads hitting the glass vibrating through the bench. The Apex winger lost his footing. A Timber Wolf stole the puck, rocketing down the center ice on a breakaway.

The Timber Wolf took the shot. The puck sailed right past the Apex goalie’s glove, hitting the back of the net with a sharp ping. The red goal light flashed blindingly bright.

Daemus winced, but his brain refused to stay on the ice. The intrusive thoughts flooded right back in.

He pictured Blair kissing someone else. Touching someone else. He thought about the wide, innocent, aroused look in her bright eyes when he touched her. He remembered how soft she felt and how wet she got; the soft moans too that filled his ears when she came.

The feeling of her lips pressed against his...

The way she looked at him like a little lamb begging to be eaten...begging to be ruined.

He realized that he didn’t want anyone else to ever see that look. He wanted it entirely for himself.

She doesn’t belong to me, his brain argued weakly. She is a free human. She can be with whoever she wants.

He knew that. He accepted that. But the burning ache deep in his chest wouldn’t stop.

BZZZZZZZT.

The final horn blared through the arena, a harsh and unforgiving sound.

The game was over. The Apex Wolves had run out of time. They had been beaten, and beaten badly.

The devastation crashed down on Daemus like a physical weight. He stood up as his exhausted, bruised teammates skated off the ice and trudged toward the locker room tunnel. As they passed the bench, they didn’t offer any supportive fist bumps. They just shot him rightfully angry, betrayed glares. He had abandoned them when they needed him most.

The boos and groans from the home crowd echoed from the rafters. The fans weren’t hiding their deep disappointment.

Before turning to follow his team into the tunnel, Daemus tilted his head back and looked up at the VIP section behind the glass one last time.

His mother and sister were packing up their coats. And the seat beside them was still...empty.

Blair never showed.