Page 25 of Power Shift

“Firstly, I want to ensure you that you’re well protected here. There will be constant security on the premises while you’re here. In addition, we work very closely with the authorities when it comes to these circumstances.”

“By circumstances, you mean my alphas?” She tucks a chunk of black hair behind her ear and huffs. “They’re not my alphas anymore. I’m just . . . not used to saying otherwise yet.”

I want to go to her and wrap her in a hug. Suddenly, my problems aren’t all that dire anymore.

“We know. Either way, while you’re here, you don’t have to worry about them. And for while you’re not at the clinic, I understand you have a restraining order?”

“I do,” she confirms, shifting uncomfortably.

“Perfect. We’ll move to the birth-related discussion now if that’s alright?” I ask.

Sadie takes a sip of the tea and keeps the mug held close to her chest as she meets my eyes. “That’s alright.”

“Do you have any preferences? A birthing plan ready? If not, we’re more than happy to help you create one. They’re kind of my specialty,” I say.

Clover dives a hand beneath the table and reaches for the one I have on my thigh. She squeezes my fingers in thanks and appreciation. I grip hers just as tight.

We’ve been here together so many times, but somehow, every time gets better. With every omega we help, our confidence grows. The desire to strive for more is an overwhelming feeling, and I’ve grown addicted to it.

Giving Sadie the experience she deserves during such a beautiful, life-changing moment is what keeps me going. And I know that even if all I had at the end of the day was the work we do here, I’d be happy.

9

JASPER

The tasteof iron fills my mouth as I spin past a defenseman and tuck the puck back between my skates to where I know Landon waits. In a blink, I’m slammed up against the boards, the air forcefully expelled from my lungs before I’m slipping free of the hold.

Ronan’s there before I make it far, plowing straight through the player who just knocked me around, leaving him crumpled on the ice. He hangs around the guy splayed on the ice, taunting him with words I can’t hear over the ragingRo-nan, Ro-nanchants in tonight’s crowd. It’s electric in here for a regular Thursday night, and it isn’t helping calm the players. Fists pound the fibreglass, and signs are pushed flush against it to try and grab my attention, but I keep it on Ronan, worry burning a hole in my gut.

The ref blows his whistle, ending the play. I spare a glance down at the player, slowly pushing myself down the ice before Ronan’s being shoved toward me. He bounces off my chest, his helmet narrowly avoiding clunking me in the face.

A couple of players on the other team are snapping at him for the admittedly questionable hit, but he doesn’t say a word in protest. Just like the past few days, he’s silent, half in his own world. The only emotion he seems to show is anger.

Hawthorne, the opposing team’s captain, comes skating over at the same time the ref joins us. Landon fits himself beside Ronan and clutches him by the shoulder, the C on his jersey impossible to miss with its bright blue colour.

“It’ll be interference,” the linesman warns us.

I flick off my right glove and thumb away the bead of sweat on my nose. “Is that necessary?”

“It’s a weak call,” Landon snaps, jabbing a finger toward the other team’s bench. “Nothing when Orlovsky slew-footed me earlier, but you’re going to call this?”

The ref skating off doesn’t care what Landon has to say. My pack leader has been biting off chunks of him all game, and he knows damn well that he’s one more snarky comment from earning an unsportsmanlike penalty.

Hawthorne rolls his eyes at Landon. “The difference is intent. You know anything about that, Montgomery?”

Landon bares his teeth. “Want to find out? My intent will be crystal fucking clear in a few seconds.”

I slip between them and focus on the linesman, grateful for the A on my jersey. “Two minutes for Ronan. We’re all good here.”

Ronan isn’t one for arguments on a good day, but this week, I think the idea of getting into it on the ice with the ref would send him into a spiral. He’s already heading to the box without another word to anyone.

With my ungloved hand, I tug at the back of Landon’s jersey and haul him away from everyone. He snaps his eyes toward me and scowls, a flash of betrayal there and gone.

His voice is tight. “You know I’m right.”

“It doesn’t matter if you are or not. We need you focused on the game, Lan. Not starting pointless arguments.”

“Ronan was right to knock that fucker on his ass. Are you okay?”

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