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    There’s what feels like a million alpha scents oozing out from the cracks of the ornate double doors he’s paused in front of. Logically he knows it’s just a hundred. A hundred alphas and their beta chaperones. A hundred alphas carefully vetted by his mom even though omega matching balls are sixty years out of date. They’d whipped this one up special, just for him.

    Because he’s Shane Hollander.

    He’s got two Stanley Cups and he’s the face of so many different brands that had wanted to show they were all about the ‘modern omega’. Shane sure as fucking hell hadn’t felt like a modern omega when Crowell had unearthed an archaic rule from the depths of the league handbooks.

    Omegas must be mated by the age of 25 to be eligible to continue to play.

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    17 May 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Ch 9

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    “You have no idea who your parents really are, do you?” the Russian asked seriously after a few minutes passed of them staring at one another, though it was really more Shane glaring and heaving while Ilya calmly observed him with an unsure glint in his eye.

    “I have no idea what I’m doing here and what you want with them. If this is some kind of stupid business dispute, I have bad news for you, asshole. I don't know about their business, I don’t even know what their business is, and I’ve never been involved in their business,” Shane seethed as slowly as he possibly could so Ilya could understand that he genuinely had no idea of what was going on. “Now will you please untie me and take me home? I don’t even care if you knock me out again, just fucking let me go!”

    Ilya set the glass down to the side of him on the black leather cushion and rose from his seat, unfolding gracefully until he was towering over Shane with cool indifference. He bent slightly, leaned in close enough to Shane’s face that he could smell the vodka the Russian man had been drinking, then said easily, “I think I will keep you, actually.”

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    17 May 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Ch 5

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    Ilya knots Shane’s mouth. It’s unbearably intimate.

    Also, Shane’s heat is approaching, and Ilya’s softest, comfiest clothes have gone missing.

    Shane doesn’t nest, but he may have built a large, incredibly comforting pseudo-nest in his bed. Made entirely of Ilya’s clothes.

    Ilya🤍: How is throat feeling today? 😈
    Shane: 🖕

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    14 May 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane and his coyote don't agree on much, but they definitely agree that Ilya Rozanov is theirs.

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    10 May 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    His mother’s eyes darken with weariness Shane recognizes instinctually, a grief separate but not wholly unlike his own. A tear makes its way down her cheek, but Shane’s stay put, stubborn, cradled in his lashline like if he doesn’t cry, maybe none of this is as bad as he thinks it is.

    “Just—I just have to ask,” she says. Her voice lowers to a whisper, that ever-steady corner of her mouth wavering as her palm envelopes his cheek. “How long have you been hurting?”

    My whole life, probably, Shane thinks. I'm sorry. I just didn’t know.

    --

    [Or: Shane learns that skill, passion, and meticulous control aren't necessarily immunity, and that rest isn't something he's owed so much as he has to carve out for himself; sometimes with a whisper, sometimes with his pride on the line, sometimes on his hands and knees. And still, regardless, despite—he refuses to give up on this either, even if this time it means believing in himself instead of familiar schedules or rituals. Even if it means his whole life has to change to do it.

    Even if it means having to believe that he's worth that much in the first place.]

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    07 May 2026