summary: Ilya Rozanov: the Russian Wolf, world-class hockey rookie. Werewolf. Shane Hollander: up-and-coming Canadian vampire. When they go head-to-head as the two best supernatural players in the league, what happens? Who falls first? Who falls harder? Who gets hurt, and who walks away? Will the two men find solace in each other, or will this rivalry kill them?
Having a werewolf on your team meant that you always had accusations of “unfair advantages” running after you— in the media, in the press, sometimes face-to-face when a tabloid junkie was feeling especially gracious. Never mind that the werewolf had gone through extensive testing and medication to make sure that he was on-par with his human peers at all times. Never mind that he took transformation blockers and was medically quarantined for each rut he had, nor that he wore nearly-invisible nose plugs and fang caps on the ice to knock his sensitivity to smell down to a human’s and to conceal his bite. Never mind that that werewolf was Ilya Rozanov. Never mind any of that.
Ilya was unbothered by being the odd one out. He had experienced it his whole life— the Russian, the wolf, the fag. The monster. He had managed to make it a selling-point of his; Ilya Rozanov, Russian wolf, world-class hockey player. Women flocked to him. Men did, as well, if not less frequently. Less publicly. But he had a reputation. He knew who he was.
He knew who he was— until he heard news of another, a different supernatural rising in the youth ranks. Shane Hollander, a promising young vampire from Canada. A vampire! Ilya didn’t know they were even legally allowed in the leagues yet. As far as he knew, he had never even met one before. He wondered what kind of man this Shane Hollander was. He wondered how he would defeat him.
But when Shane had approached him, meek and kind and welcoming, smelling of fir and spruce and cloves, Ilya’s brain had frozen. He was off the ice, so the nose plugs were back in his locker, but the scent-blocker patch that most supernatural athletes were required to wear itched at the back of his neck. He hated stifling himself just to be able to do what he loved, but no matter. No matter because his nose, his entire head was full of the scent of this vampire, this vampire who probably didn’t even know that he smelt so delicious.
