Beg Me Like You Mean It, Captain

Later, when it was time to turn in, my cabin was far from peaceful. I was so exhausted that I didn’t mind.

I mean, I couldn’t even be bothered to change out of my base layers due to exhaustion, so how would I mind the noise that a certain someone was intentionally making?

I just collapsed onto the narrow cot, my muscles twitching with the kind of deep-seated fatigue that felt like it had reached my marrow.

Behind me, Reid was making heavy, deliberate thuds with his boots on the floorboards.

​"You’re just going to sleep? No ’Captain’s debrief’ for the rookie?" Reid’s voice was a like a needle in the quiet space, dripping with that trademark snobbishness.

I heard him pacing—three sturdy strides to the window, three back. Then, he let his hockey bag drop with a deafening thud right next to my head.

"I’m talking to you, Evans."

​I didn’t move. I didn’t even open my eyes. The weight of the day had pushed me past the point of caring about his ego. I let my breathing go shallow and heavy, feigning a sleep that was actually 90% collapse.

Reid huffed, a sharp, irritated sound. He began to whistle while he moved around the cramped space, intentionally kicking the leg of my cot as he passed.

"Boring," I heard him mutter.

He is so childish. I thought as I drifted off to the sound of his restless energy, my last conscious thought a desperate prayer that the blockers I’d taken would hold through the night.

...

​The end of the next morning’s drill felt less like a practice and more like a funeral for my stamina.

"Line up! Final sprints!" Coach Devin’s voice was a whip-crack against the frosted air.

I pushed myself off the ground, the blades of my skates biting into the chewed-up ice, but my legs felt like they were moving through waist-deep slush.

My heart was thumping, hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs that made my vision blur at the edges.

I finished the sprint in the middle of the team—a humiliating result for the Captain.

As I skated toward the bench, leaning heavily on my stick, the cold air didn’t feel refreshing anymore. It felt like steam.

​"Look at you, Cap," Miller panted, spraying snow as he stopped beside me. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Altitude finally hitting you?"

​"I’m fine," I said, but the word tasted bitter in my mouth. I looked across the ice. Reid was standing near the center circle, barely tired, his helmet off and his messy blonde hair steaming in the cold. He was watching me, but he wasn’t smirking this time.

His nostrils flared, his grey eyes narrowing with a sharp, predatory focus that made the hair on my arms stand up. I knew then that this wasn’t just the exhaustion of a three-hour drill.

There was a dull, heavy heat pooling at the very base of my spine, a thrum that matched the pulsing of my scent glands.

My skin felt too tight, over-sensitized to the rough inner lining of my jersey. The smell of the ice—usually so crisp—was being drowned out by something sweet and cloying that was rising from my own skin.

​Not now, I thought, a spike of pure terror piercing through the physical haze. Please, not here. Every Alpha on the ice was a potential threat, a wall of aggressive masculinity that my body was suddenly, traitorously, starting to crave.

​"Evans!" Devin’s voice boomed across the ice, sharp enough to make my head throb. He skated over, his eyes scanning my face with a frown. "You’re white as a sheet, Kain. You’re lagging. What’s going on?"

​I swallowed hard, trying to force some color back into my cheeks. The heat at the base of my skull was no longer a thrum; it was a roar.

"I’m fine, Coach," I said, the lie feeling like lead in my mouth. "Just... caught a bit of a chill during the night drills. I think I just need a breather."

​Devin looked skeptical, his gaze lingering on the way my hands were trembling against my stick.

"Fine. Get off the ice. Go back to the lodge and get some tea. If you aren’t back to your usual self by the afternoon briefing, I’m pulling you from the scrimmage."

​"Thanks, Coach." I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. I turned and skated toward the gate, my movements stiff and robotic.

I could feel Reid’s eyes on me—a heavy, sturdy presence that seemed to track the very beat of my heart—but I didn’t look back.

I knew that what was happening was the ’overload’ I’d been fearing. My own pheromones were screaming to break through the chemical suppression of the blockers, desperate to respond to the sturdy, overwhelming presence of the Alphas surrounding me.

I needed to disappear and get a new shot of the blocker and fast. There was no telling when my Pheromones would bloom and worst, develop into something I can’t handle.

Like a heat cycle, for example.

I can’t go into heat while still in Lake Placid and surrounded by my teammates. That was no different from a death sentence to me.

I slipped back to the lodgers, took off my clothes and just when I was about to take the blockers, I heard footsteps.

I would get caught if I took the blockers here. Besides, even if no one comes in, if the blockers take long to react, and a little bit of my pheromones slip out, any Alpha who sniffs it will know right away that I’m an Omage.

And so I got out and went towards the woods, by a rough ridgeline where the trees grew thick and the ground was scarred with deep, rough rocky cracks.

The air was cold here, just as the frozen lake itself, but the cold didn’t help. I was sweating through my clothes, my heart thudding a frantic, uneven beat against my ribs.

’I have to hurry. It’s just one shot of the blocker,’ I told myself, my breath hitching as I found a secluded ledge. ’And one dose of the suppressant, and I can make it through the night.

I sat on a flat stone, my knees shaking. I reached into my jacket, my fingers fumbling with the small casing. Inside were my lifelines: the clear vial of high-grade blockers and the pre-loaded syringe of suppressants.

The silence of the woods should have been a relief, but it felt heavy, like the world was holding its breath.

And I had this uneasy feeling. It must be because my pheromones were starting to spiral that there’s a dread creeping up my spine.

’Let’s just get this over with.’

I pulled them both out, dropping the syringe on the stone and planning to take the liquid in the vial first. My palms were slick with cold sweat and I could feel the pheromones under my skin starting to surge—that floral, sweet heat that would give me away to anyone within a mile if I didn’t act now.

I uncapped the vial, my vision blurring for a second as a sharp cramp hit my stomach. ’Focus, Kain. Just do it.’

"You look like you’re about to pass out, Evans."