Page 2 of Sticks & Serpents

The icy surface felt even colder as Damien bore down on Logan with alarming speed, muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. There was no hesitation in his movements—only raw power and intent written across his face.

The thud of bodies crashing against one another echoed louder than any cheering crowd could muster. My chest tightened as anxiety surged through me; I couldn’t just stand here watching this play out.

The moment hung heavy in the air as Damien approached Logan with unyielding determination—a force of nature intent on wreaking havoc right in front of me.

I could hardly breathe as I watched Damien surge toward Logan. It felt like everything around me blurred into a haze. Time slowed down as I saw him coiling like a snake, every muscle in his body tensed for the strike.

Damien didn’t like normal. Normal was boring; it suffocated him. He thrived on disorder, and in this moment, he embodied it completely.

Then it happened. With a sickening thud, Damien collided with Logan in a vicious check that sent Logan sprawling across the ice. The crack of bone against ice echoed through the rink, sharp and jarring. Logan’s body slid to a halt against the boards, his face contorted in shock and pain.

The whistle blew immediately, piercing through the arena’s tense atmosphere, but Damien remained rooted to the spot. He stood over Logan like a hawk surveying its prey. His stormy blue eyes locked onto Logan’s, an icy glare that seemed to say everything without uttering a single word.

Logan lay there gasping for breath, stunned beneath Damien's imposing presence. I held my own breath as tension crackled between them—Damien's aura was electric and volatile, ready to erupt at any moment.

“Get up,” Damien challenged quietly, his voice low yet potent enough for me to hear from where I stood at the glass.

I knew he didn’t mean it in any encouraging way; it was more of an order than anything else. He wasn’t done yet—his stance radiated defiance as if daring Logan to rise back up and fight him again.

My heart raced, pounding against my ribcage as I wrestled with conflicting emotions. Part of me wanted to rush out there—to drag Damien away from this primal showdown—but another part of me couldn’t look away from the spectacle unfolding before my eyes.

Logan tried to push himself up but faltered, clearly shaken by what had just happened. And the thing was, Logan was a big guy.

He had that rugged charm that made him effortlessly appealing, with his strong jawline and tousled hair that seemed to defy gravity. His broad shoulders were built like a fortress, and even now, lying flat against the ice, he exuded a raw masculinity that made him both intimidating and captivating. The flicker of vulnerability in his hazel eyes as he stared up at Damien revealed a different side—one that contrasted sharply with his usual bravado. Logan's muscles rippled beneath his dark jersey and pads, making it clear he was no stranger to physical confrontation; even now, as he struggled to regain his composure, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was more than just an opponent.

Damien loomed over him, an unyielding force of nature with fury crackling around him like electricity. I stood frozen against the glass, torn between instinct and desire—wanting to leap onto the ice to protect Logan but also aware that intervening could mean stepping into Damien’s chaos.

Not that Logan needed my protection at all.

The guy could clearly protect himself. I had watched a few games back in April when the U of M team came over and played Crestwood. Logan was… captivating.

This was more than hockey; this was Damien Sinclaire in his rawest form—a storm about to unleash its fury on anyone foolish enough to challenge him.

Logan shoved off his helmet as he stood up, hair falling into his eyes as he glared up at Damien. The intensity in that moment could have ignited the entire rink.

But Damien didn’t flinch; he was already turning his head. My heart skipped, anticipation tightening my chest like a vice.

His stormy blue eyes locked onto mine.

Everything stopped. The shouts from the benches faded, the buzzing energy of the game dulled into silence. It was just him and me in that electric moment—like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to fall.

He still wore his helmet, but I felt the weight of his obsession bearing down on me. It was an invisible tether that wrapped around my chest, squeezing out every breath I tried to take.

I wanted to move, to break free from that piercing gaze that seemed to unravel every barrier I’d carefully constructed around my heart. My feet felt glued to the floor as memories crashed through me—his laughter, the way he could make everything feel wild and alive one minute and chaotic the next.

But this wasn’t about nostalgia; this was about survival.

And yet...

Damien lifted a gloved hand. The movement was slow and deliberate, almost languid in its mockery. He waved at me.

That simple gesture felt like a taunt, echoing in my mind long after it left his fingertips. A part of me wanted to scream back at him to stop—to cut through this surreal connection that bound us together in such a painful way.

But there I stood, paralyzed by that wicked smile hidden beneath his helmet—a smile that promised chaos wrapped in charisma. The air buzzed with tension, crackling with unspoken words and feelings I had buried deep down for far too long.

Logan got back on his feet beside Damien’s towering figure, but my attention remained locked on Damien's mocking wave—an invitation wrapped in a challenge I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to.

He knew.

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