Page 3 of Ice Wolf
James: “It’s been rough. As you can see, I’m suffering. The beast broke my arm. It hurts like a son of a… Oh, sorry, man. Just nervous. I’m fearful he’ll come for me. I think he wanted to… eat me.”
Carter, his expression showing signs of bursting into laughter: “I can understand why you’d be afraid. Can you tell us in your own words what happened when you were confronted by Saint Masters?”
James, nodding and looking pitiful as he ran a shaking hand through his hair: “Sure. I was just sitting there having a drink after work. You know, trying to unwind after working a ten-hour shift. I was minding my own business and suddenly I was attacked. This monster came out of nowhere.”
Carter: “When you say attacked. What does that mean?”
James: “I mean Saint Masters, you know the dude. The asshole who thinks he’s somebody on the Chicago Wild Dogs hockey team just came at me for no reason whatsoever. He threw a punch then a chair. Then his body started shaking uncontrollably. Next thing I knew, there was this evil-looking creature with bulging silver eyes staring down at me. Looked likeone of those hunched-over werewolves from the movies. It’s all true. Ten-inch claws and a long snout. Crazy shit, man. I thought I was going to die. He lunged. He swung. You should see what his claws did to my arm.”
Good Morning America, Sheila Porter: “Professor Canton, I understand you’re the leading expert on zoology. What can you tell us about the possibility that werewolves do exist? And if so, does that mean they are a superior being to that of a human?”
Professor Canton: “Well, Sheila, I’ve been studying wolves and their behavior for years. While it has yet to be proven the creatures can alter their forms, my studies have confirmed their DNA is advanced, leading to the possibility that werewolves can evolve from the body of a wolf. Let’s just say they have superpowers that we’ve yet to unlock.”
Sheila: “Professor, are these superpowers affected by the stages of the moon?”
Professor Canton, laughing maniacally: “Well, Sheila, if you’re suggesting they change only when there is a full moon, you would be wrong. They shift when they are angry or feeling the effects of being in heat.”
Sheila, her eyes opening wide: “Heat?”
Professor Canton, nodding emphatically: “Thirsting for a mate.”
Saint
What. The. Fuck?
The smooth, expensive whiskey I’d just consumed the night before was about to make a reappearance. I glared at the television before returning my attention to the shit I’d found on the internet. There wasn’t a major newspaper, magazine, or television news station that hadn’t run with the ridiculous story.
Come on. Who the hell believed that garbage?
Monsters in a grimy bar?
Shit. This was doing nothing for my hangover. One too many whiskeys. While I’d deserved to have a little fun after making the winning goal, I should have left with the others. Maybe then I would have avoided stepping into a pile of dog shit.
Instead, I’d found my way to a dive bar for one last drink.
One fucking last drink all by myself when I knew what could happen.
That’s when things had gotten ugly.
Snorting, I flipped through Instagram, chuckling as I slapped my boots on the coffee table and leaned back. Holy crap. My name had exploded across the internet. Being called a savage had taken on a new meaning. Sure, I accepted that I was the bad boy of the NHL, a real beast on and off the ice. That’s one reason I’d carried the nickname with me all the way from playing in college to the fame and glory of where I was today.
Right.
It could all come crashing down if the team didn’t make the playoffs. Forget the multimillion-dollar endorsements. Forget the contract extension.
This shit I didn’t need.
All your fault, tough guy. Forget the Wheaties box deal.
Yeah, I had to guess it was bad form to have a man on the box of morning cereal capable of eating his fill in human beings for breakfast.
I continued scrolling, chuckling after reading half the taglines and fisting my hand with the other. My fans were a trip, but the haters were more brutal than usual.
Attacking an innocent civilian? Fuck me. The jerk hanging his dick out like a prized toy had been a terrible and very angry drunk, especially when pawing a beautiful female customer who hadn’t wanted her breast fondled by his sweaty hand. What the fuck had I done wrong except to protect the girl? I’d just explained to him what it meant to be a gentleman.
Okay, so things had gotten a little out of hand, but he’d deserved the brutal punches.
Maybe not every one of them, but close enough. He’d likely think twice about assaulting a woman again.
