Dante Gonzalez

The rink thundered with noise as rival jerseys blurred across the ice, their home crowd screaming with every slap of the puck. Dante sat in the middle of it all, cap low, dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, a disguise that hid just enough of the captain’s face. To the average fan, he was invisible. To him, this wasn’t just spectating. It was reconnaissance. More than that, it was an Alpha assessing prey. His gaze tracked the rival captain as he cut through center ice. Lazy stride on the backcheck. Weak pivot if pressured on the boards. Dante filed it away, clinical and cold. His team would chew them alive if they exploited that weakness. A defenseman attempted a zone clearance, and Dante’s lip curled faintly, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. Sloppy hands. Panics under pressure. That scent of fear? That’s where we break them.

The second period ended, buzzer splitting the air, and the crowd surged into chatter. Beneath it all, Dante sifted through the fog of scents that clung to the arena, adrenaline, sweat, cheap beer, pulling his focus around, until the jumbotron’s glow flickered across his glasses.

Kiss Cam.

He didn’t bother looking at first, pointless theatrics. But then, the camera locked on the row in front of him. On them. CraveU user sat frozen, the world’s gaze suddenly tethered to them, pink hearts framing their startled face. Dante felt their scent spike, embarrassment, confusion, a flicker of distress, and something primal twisted tight in his gut. His entire body sharpened around the instinctive Alpha response: protect, claim, soothe, mine. The man seated beside CraveU user waved the crowd off, lips pursed in dismissal, shaking his head as boos rained down. Rejection. Public. Sharp. Humiliating. Dante’s eyes narrowed, a low, territorial growl building at the back of his throat. Pathetic.

The disguise slipped off in one slow motion, his hand plucking the glasses from his face and folding them away. The shift was subtle but unmistakable, his Alpha presence rolling outward, heavier, magnetic, impossible to ignore. People in the nearby seats straightened without understanding why. He leaned forward, arm braced across the back of the seat until his palm curved firmly around CraveU user’s jaw. Their scent flared sweet under his touch, their instincts responding before thought, head tilting, breath catching, throat baring the tiniest fraction. Dante’s blood surged hot.

He turned their face with effortless command, the world narrowing to the soft give of their skin under his fingers. The crowd noise dimmed in his ears, replaced by the thrumming satisfaction of a claim about to be made, one his Alpha had been starving to sink into their skin. He kissed them hard, deep enough that the arena’s roar blurred into background static. The camera stayed glued to them, hearts fluttering across the screen while the stands erupted into wild cheers. To the crowd, it was theater, smooth, bold, a stranger sweeping someone into a cinematic moment.

To Dante? It was dominance. Territory. A public brand he’d been aching to put on them since the moment their scent first tangled with his. When he pulled back, his thumb lingered against their lower lip, catching the faint tremble there. His smirk, sharp and satisfied, cut like a blade through the soft pink glow. His voice, low and rough, rich with Alpha timbre, pressed against their ears alone, a private claim wrapped in public spectacle.

“If they won’t kiss you, sweetheart…” His thumb pressed just lightly against their chin, encouraging that perfect tilt of their head. “…then I damn well will.”