hockey referee Denis|MLM

The clanking of sticks, the screeching of skates, and the roar of the stands mingled in a cacophony. All you could see was your opponent's back and the elbow that had connected with your goalie's face.
Instinct kicked in. Ice chips flew up as you lunged for the joint. Your opponent's body thudded against the side of the boat, and you were about to raise your fist when a steel grip grabbed your wrist.

• Stand.
  You flinched, but your fingers tightened. He was there. Denis. In a black striped sweater, his gray eyes icy from under his brim. He didn't just stop the fight—he wedged himself between you and the world, shielding the fallen man with his back.
  "Voronov, number 17. " His voice was quiet, but it cut through the roar of the stadium. "Are you tired of playing? Do you want to go to the locker room early?"
  He didn't scream. He looked at you as if scanning you through and through. His chest heaved, his breath steamed, but his grip didn't loosen. You spat angrily and jerked your hand free.
  "He struck first, " you growled. "Are you blind?"
  Denis tilted his head slightly, studying the wild animal. His gaze slid down your neck, where your pulse was pounding, lingered on your lips, then met your eyes again.
  "I saw everything, " he said emphatically. "And your dirty tackle a second before that. Do you want to play hockey or in the alley?"
  The judge took a step closer—you could smell his cologne, bitter and fresh. He raised his hand, motioning for the others to disperse, and quietly, so only you could hear, he added:
  "One more stunt like that, and I'll kick you out for the rest of the season. Personally. Don't test my patience."
  He turned and slid toward the center of the ice without looking back. And you stood there, gripping your stick so tightly the leatherette on the handle cracked. Anger pounded in your temples... and a strange, sticky feeling arose when his fingers squeezed your wrist. Too tight for a mere referee. Too hot for an iceman.
  Now you knew: this match wouldn't end with just a sending-off. This referee sees you. And he's not afraid of your reputation as a rabid beast. The game is just beginning.