Luca appears beside us like a fucking demon in glitter and blood, pulling something from the inside of his jersey. He tosses it to Kai, who catches it with one hand andshoves his entire other palminto Julian’s open wound.
Julian screams.
Not a hockey scream, but a real one—raw, animal, involuntary, the kind that tears straight out of your ribs and dies in someone else’s throat before you even realize you made the sound.
His body starts to convulse, jerking violently as his face twists in agony, every muscle fighting whatever the hell Kai just pumped into his system.
And that’s when I grab him. One arm across his chest, the other gripping his jaw. “Stay the fuck awake,” I growl into his ear, dragging him back against me, locking him down with my weight. “Don’t fucking dare pass out on me, Reaver.”
His eyes flicker, glassy. Blood slicks the side of my neck. I shake him hard—once, twice. His head lolls. “Hey. HEY. Look at me. You don’t get to fuckingsleep.You sleep, you die. You die, I kill you myself. You hear me?”
Julian tries to talk. Just a croak.
“Fucking louder.”
“I—I scored,” he mumbles, mouth wet, breath stuttering.
“Yeah, you scored. Big fucking deal. You pass out, and Igutyou in your sleep.”
Kai’s ripping open the clotting pack, pouring the powder straight into the wound with no warning, no apology. Julian screams again—this one higher, sharper, desperate—but he doesn’t pass out. Which means he can still feel it. Which means he’s still alive.
That’s something.
But he’sstill bleeding.
“Kai,” I snap, voice low and lethal, “he’s draining too fast—”
“Iknow!” Kai barks, elbowing me aside. “Rafe—grab something. I need a fucking tourniquet.Now.”
I don’t hesitate. I reach down, grab my own skate, rip the lace out with a violence that pops three of the eyelets. Doesn’t matter. I wrap it around Julian’s upper thigh and pull.
He screams again. Body jerks like I electrocuted him. Kai doesn’t even flinch—just nods sharply and shoves harder, pressing into the wound like he’s trying to crush the bleeding out with pure will.
“Don’t let him sleep,” Kai snaps again, already packing gauze into the torn skin.
I slap Julian across the face, hard. His eyes fly open—wide, bright,furious—and that’s the first time I breathe since I saw him drop.
“Still with me, golden boy?”
His breath rattles. His voice is barely a whisper. “I’m gonna kill you for that slap.”
I grin. “Good.”
Above us, Leonardo is standing in his box.
The rest of the crowd is either screaming or stunned, but Leonardo’s lit up like fucking Christmas tree—face glowing, drink raised, eyes shining like this is the single greatest night of his goddamn life. A body dead. A goal scored. A legend reborn.
The bleeding starts to slow. Kai’s hands are still working fast and vicious—gauze, pressure, tape, clenched fingers and clotting dust like black market magic. Julian’s face is white with blood loss, but his breathing steadies. The panic in my spine begins to ease just enough for me to think straight again, and that’s when I know—we move now.
“We’re taking him off,” I growl.
Kai doesn’t argue.
We lift him—Kai under his arms, me gripping under his knees, careful to keep the pressure tight around the thigh. He groans, bites down hard on a curse, but doesn’t scream this time. The crowd watches like jackals tracking the wounded antelope, but nobody interferes. Not with me still holding a gun and Kai glaring like he could kill with just his fingers.
As we haul him toward the edge, I bark over my shoulder, voice booming across the ice—“FINN! Keep the net. Three more minutes, puppy. Fucking kill them all.”
Finn’s head whips around—eyes bright, grin spreading like blood across white. “Yes, sir!” he howls, raising his stick like a weapon, already skating backward into the crease like it’s a throne he built with his own madness.
