Page 82 of The Price of Ice

The alpha sat back down, only then pointing to the side. “That chair is heavy enough to keep the door open.”

And he wanted to say it wasn’t necessary. It probably wasn’t. What kind of idiot would the guy have to be to attack a client in his own office? The door was heavy, but it’d hardly be soundproofed enough that the beta secretary a few steps away could miss screaming.

He glanced towards the chair, and then went for it, lifting it easily and propping the door open. His face was hot, but he didn’t care. He had every right to feel safe, and the man had offered, hadn’t he?

When he met Evans’ eyes. He expected condescension, perhaps pity. There was nothing but intense focus, helped by their deep blue colour. “Psychologist?”

“Yeah, I have a phone interview,” Kallen told him, still standing across the room. It was a lie, but he’d make it true as soon as he got home.

Evans nodded. “If you don’t think you can work with me—”

“No,” Kallen cut him off and saw the surprise in the other man’s face. Surprise but no anger, he was well-trained to look out for that on an alpha. “I’m still... No offence, but I was thinking I should have an omega lawyer.”

“You can,” the alpha said easily. “I will even recommend one. But if you’d like me to help, I promise I will do my best for you. I’m a fan, you see.”

“What?” He’d drifted closer and took a chair.

The alpha shrugged, a rueful smile turning his lips. “Played up to secondary school,” he explained. “And you know the Crocodiles aren’t much to write home about.”

It was true, the Terali team had been at the bottom of the league rankings for years. “Crocodiles can’t even hold a stick,” Kallen replied, a much-used joke amongst fans referring to the team’s mascot and namesake.

But the other man snorted. Now that he wasn’t frozen in terror, Kallen could take him in. He had to be around forty, dark-skinned and blue eyed, which was a striking combination even behind his thin-rimmed glasses.

And he hadn’t pretended Kallen wasn’t afraid. He’d given him a way out. That’s what he wanted, a way out.

“You need a minute to think about it?” Evans asked when he didn’t speak.

Kallen eyed him closely. For years, he hadn’t allowed himself to look at alphas for fear of offending them, but this was tooimportant not to look. Besides, what had he missed by looking away? “I guess if you are a fan...”

“I am,” Evans confirmed, holding his gaze easily. “And I will be very happy to help the team clean up.”

There was something dangerous in his voice then, but it didn’t frighten Kallen. He wanted that anger. No, heneededit, because if no one helped him to get it out and do something good with it, it was going to poison him from the inside.

“So how do we do this?”

THERAPY WAS IMPORTANT, he could see that. But the police report wasurgent, and it couldn’t wait until someone held his hand so he could talk about what had happened. So he had to find another way.

He knew if he let himself think about it, he’d put it off so as soon as he got home, he asked his parents to drive him to the local police station and asked for an omega officer there.

To his surprise, the one that came to get him after about half an hour was a woman, petite and dark eyed, black straight hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. She couldn’t have been even thirty, but her pale face was blank and professional when she invited him into a private room to talk.

She’d got him some water and then set something on the table between them. “Do you mind if I record this conversation?”

Kallen startled. “I... Why?”

“So I can write a report when we are done.”

“Oh.” He’d hoped she might be able to play it for other people. “Sure.”

She set it up and let him sip at his water, skin clammy despite how cool the room was. “I cannot take a guess,” she told him eventually. “But I can promise you I have almost certainly heard worse. Seen it too. And I will help if I can.”

He huffed, irritated at himself. “Yeah, just... I worked...workfor a hockey team. Play for them, I mean. And...” He let go of the glass and pressed his fingers hard against the tabletop instead. “They... Some of them hurt me. A lot. And Management wouldn’t do anything. I tried to tell them and they told—” He cleared his throat, hard enough he might have spat. “They told me it was my fault, that I provoked them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, but before he could tell her he didn’t want her pity, she went on, “but I have to ask how they hurt you.”

He froze, looking at his own fingers, pulse pounding in his ears. He’d told Levy, and Mr Evans. “Sex.”

“Was this during your heat?”

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