The Ice King’s Forbidden Bond Chapter 01
Eden’s POV
The phone beside the stack of books buzzed, but I
ignored it and kept organizing my notes.
I had my head buried in a werewolf neuroscience
textbook, a highlighter in one hand and the other flipping through the pages, when my phone vibrated
for the third time in fifteen minutes.
Mom: [Eden, sweetheart, you’re coming to Adrian’s
game tomorrow night, right? The twins are so excited!]
Mom: [He just became team captain. He’s been playing
amazingly lately. We have to go cheer him on.]
Mom: [Don’t make me come drag you out of the library myself.]
I let out a muffled groan and dropped my forehead onto the open textbook with a thud, Nine years.
Nine whole years, and it was always the same thing.
With one finger, I typed back: [Fine. But I’m only staying for one period.]
Liar.
I knew I’d watch the entire game. I always did.
I closed my eyes and let the memories wash over me, just like they always did whenever I tried not to think about him.
Nine years ago, when I was eleven, I wore glasses that were bigger than my face and clutched my favorite little wolf plush tightly in my arms as I followed Mom away from our old pack and arrived at the Darkstone
Pack for the first time.
Mom had just married Alpha Ben and become the pack’s new Luna.
And Alpha Ben had a son. He was a fifteen–year–old giant, broad–shouldered and powerfully built, with
striking green eyes and a permanent scowl on his face.
“Eden, this is Adrian,” Mom said with an overly bright smile. “You two are brother and sister now. Isn’t that exciting?”
Adrian looked me up and down, snorted, and muttered, “Great. The pack got itself a four–eyed nerd.”
I narrowed my eyes, hugged my wolf plush even
tighter, and fired back, “Still better than some brute who could beat a monster but couldn’t win a debate.”
That was how the war began. And somehow… it never ended.
I shoved the memory aside, packed up my things, and left the library.
The entire drive home, I kept reminding myself that I wasn’t going to the game because of him. I was going
for the twins and Mom. It definitely wasn’t because the thought of Adrian in full gear, drenched in sweat and
breathing hard, made something deep inside my stomach tighten in the most traitorous way imaginable.
By the time I got back to the pack house, the place was
already in chaos. Cora and Lucas were running around in tiny Blizzard jerseys with Adrian’s number on the back, while Mom stood in front of the hallway mirror putting on lipstick.
“Eden, you’re finally home!” she said with a bright smile. “Go get changed. I already laid out Adrian’s new
jersey for you.”
I froze halfway up the stairs, “I’m not wearing his jersey.”
“You always wear his jersey,” Lucas shouted from the living room. “It’s tradition!”
I hated that it had become a tradition.
What I hated even more was secretly loving the way his scent lingered on the fabric long after the game was
over. God, he smelled so damn good.
Fifteen minutes later, I sat in the passenger seat of
Mom’s SUV, swallowed up by Adrian’s oversized Blizzard jersey. The number 23 and his last name, Callahan, stretched across my back like a brand.
It smelled just like him, fresh vanilla mixed with a hint of cologne and something deeper that always made me unconsciously press my thighs together.
The arena buzzed with noise and excitement.
As we made our way to our reserved seats, I tried to disappear into the corner.
But the moment the team skated onto the ice for warmups, my eyes found him instantly.
Six foot five of solid muscle and barely restrained
aggression. His hair was already damp with sweat, and his sharp green eyes cut across the ice as he skated. Even from this high up, I could see the rise and fall of his shoulders beneath the pads and the power driving every stride from his thighs.
He looked like a damn weapon.
As always, he glanced up toward our section.
Our eyes met.
For a split second, the roar of the arena faded away.
His gaze slowly swept over me, or rather, over his jersey wrapped around my body. A dark look flashed
across his face. His jaw tightened before he gave me a
slow, mocking smirk and casually looked away,
My heart pounded so hard that I felt dizzy,
Stop it, Eden. You hated him, remember?
After the game, a hard–fought 3-1 victory, Mom
insisted we wait outside the locker room for him.
The hallway was packed with people. I drifted toward the back, folded my arms, and pretended to scroll
through my phone.
Finally, the doors opened, and the players began filing
out. Then Adrian appeared.
He still carried the dampness of his shower. His black sweatpants hung low on his hips, the zipper of his team hoodie left halfway open to reveal the firm lines
of his chest. A duffel bag rested over one broad shoulder.
He looked exactly like every filthy fantasy I had ever had, and immediately hated myself for having.
His eyes landed on me at once.
“Nerd,” he drawled, his voice low enough that only I
could hear as he stopped in front of me. “Nice jersey.”
“Jerk,” I shot back immediately, lifting my chin. “You played like garbage in the second period. You almost
cost the whole team the game.”
He stepped closer, his large frame completely surrounding me. That stupid, arrogant grin spread across his face as the scent of fresh soap and lingering
sweat drifted toward me like a drug.
“Really?” He leaned down, his lips brushing lightly
against the edge of my ear. “Then why were you
staring at me the whole game like you wanted me to
pin you against the boards?”
Heat rushed into my cheeks, and my body betrayed me with a sudden ache.
“I was not…”
“Bullshit.” His warm breath skimmed across my skin.
“I could see your thighs pressed together from the ice, Eden. Every time I looked up, you were doing that
because of me.”
I shoved against his chest. He didn’t move an inch.
“You’re disgusting,” I hissed.
“And yet you’re blushing.” His gaze lingered on my lips before slowly drifting lower, as though he could see straight through the jersey. “Keep wearing my name on your back, Eden Bear. It suits you.”
Before I could think of a sharp comeback, Mom called
out, “Adrian, you played wonderfully!”
He straightened immediately and flashed her that
perfect golden–boy smile, “Thanks, Mom.”
Then he looked back at me, his voice dropping again,
“Come home with me tonight.”
“I’d rather walk.”
His smile turned sly.
“Suit yourself. But after tomorrow’s final
regular–season game…” He paused. “I’ve got
something for you.”
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing there
alone, my heart pounding against my ribs, my nipples
tight beneath my bra, and that traitorous ache
lingering between my thighs.
I hated him.
I hated him so much it made my chest hurt.
And the worst part?
I was starting to think it wasn’t hate anymore.