Alma

Chapter Three: Alma

“Can you help me get this wrap undone?”

I asked Mark the question after noticing the knot was stuck, and with only one hand I couldn’t get it undone myself. The two of us are removing our hand wraps so we can clean the bag and mat before going our separate ways. Mark looks at the knot, confused as to why I even tied them as opposed to sticking or tucking the end. He grabs my hand, turning it over to face the stuck knot toward him and sees how my claws were trying to form, cutting the cloth. He nods in understanding and gets to work. Once the knot is untied, I unravel the wrap-- about three quarters through unwrapping, I hear the words “Wanna spar?” ring out. I’m not one to turn down a spar session, but I was really tired and now a little annoyed-- I had been yawning for the past forty-five minutes, and my eyelids were growing heavier by the minute; aside from that, I had just barely finished unwrapping my hands-- why not ask before unwrapping? Aside from finally freeing my hands from their wraps, Mark had seemed like he was tiring as well, but with foxes you never know-- they could be endless energy pits one second and snoozing the next, only to go back to bouncing off the walls with energy again. I didn’t know why, and I wasn’t about to ask. Since the question caught me off guard, I looked over at Mark quizzically. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh.” I didn’t think he had said that. My wolf was wagging her tail in the back of my mind, looking around. If there was going to be a spar, she wanted to see, exhaustion be damned.

“No, I said that. I was talking to you, fox. Do you want to spar,” the question comes from behind Mark and I, the last sentence sounding punchy.

Turning, I find Dante striding over to us, eyes blazing bright amber as his dark brows furrow, highlighting a small scar next to one of his eyebrows like he had been nicked with a claw. He is wearing a dark tank top, exposing a lot more muscle than I previously noticed. My wolf lifted her head, appreciating the sight. I turn to see Mark’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, but he didn’t refuse. “Why would you want to spar with me?”

“Why not?”

Oh, gods. The wolf is shining through Dante’s eyes, and he briefly looks at me before turning back to Mark with brighter eyes than even a moment ago. His wolf is on the surface, and pushing for control hard. Mark’s fox has begun to show as well. Wonderful. This alpha has no business challenging Mark. I see a muscle in Dante’s neck tick, and know he is clenching his teeth to keep control. I move my hand to get his attention away from Mark, and see his eyes immediately lock onto the movement.

“How about we don’t spar today,” I suggest, but being territorial, over-emotional males, they both ignore me, and Mark leads the way to one of the four sparring rooms.

The sparring rooms are small arenas that branch off from the main gym. These rooms allow spars without prying eyes, and have small infirmaries for after a fight. They are all stone, like most of the buildings, with removable padded mats on the walls. For this fight, the mats stay on the wall.

Fights always require three people. Two opponents, and someone strong enough to pry them apart; I will serve as the third person. Dante and Mark both confidently stalk to the center of the room, taking a fighting stance. Dante seems to tower over Mark, and is giving off a foreboding aura that I didn’t like. Before I can get a word in about it, Dante launches himself across the room, phasing as he does.

“Did the Alpha of the wolves just lose control?”

My question rings out in the small room, bouncing off the padded walls. Soon enough, the words are drowned out with snarls and growls and the occasional yip as someone gets a good bite in. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching the match and making sure no one is hurt too badly. For a fox shifter, Mark is interesting with a black eye mask and ear tips; he was also pretty big for a red fox, meaning he is definitely a dominant shifter or mixed, but he has nothing on Dante’s wolf, who is one of the largest wolves I’ve seen. Considering I come from one of the more powerful families in the wolf shifter community, this is saying something. And he is quite pretty-- instead of the ruddy brown most alphas take, he is more of a whitish- gray color.

The match only lasts five minutes at most, with Mark submitting. This was most definitely not a sparring match, which had the aim of honing skills as opposed to beating the opponent. Both of the guys phase back, while I walk to the infirmary room and grab two sets of clothing-- simple gray sweatpants and two white tank-tops. Walking back into the main sparring area, I toss them each a set before facing the wall behind me while they cover themselves.

Having grown up in a pack that phased and ran together every month, I am no stranger to nudity, nor does it make me uncomfortable; however, privacy is a value of mine, and I gave them what semblance of privacy I could; I couldn’t leave them in case one lost control and attacked the other, meaning facing away was the best I could do. Plus, Dante was still barely in control as I walked the clothing to them and only stopped growling when I turned around.

A pregnant pause passes, with nothing but the rustling of cloth covering skin heard. Once Dante clears his throat, I turn around and face them, watching them in silence for a count of three heartbeats before announcing, “That wasn’t a sparring match, rather a dominance fight. Congratulations guys, you have proved the giant wolf is stronger than the fox. I’m heading to my dorm now.” I hope they both heard the disapproval in my voice-- this match could have ended badly had Mark not submitted.

I begin to walk out of the sparring room when a growl stops me in my tracks and causes me to spin on my heel, outraged. Dante is once again in his wolf form. Luckily, the clothing he had been wearing was still intact on the floor next to him, and he is still staring me down. What the hell is wrong with this guy? I got in one tiny fight, not for the first time I’ll admit, but suddenly I’m not supposed to leave his sight? He can go ahead and shove it, but after Mark is out of harm’s way. “The Alpha has lost control, again,” I murmur as I walk back into the room.

I couldn’t leave, not with a loco wolf on the loose. There would be lots of death. Rather, I bow down to Dante, figuratively and literally. I enter the room and slowly lower myself to the cold concrete floor, averting my eyes and baring my throat. God, this is humiliating. I make sure to keep my head lower than his and signal Mark to leave; he slowly moves toward the exit while Dante’s eyes are locked on me, but he doesn’t leave.

“Hey, big guy. You mind passing the wheel back to Dante?” I try to be calm and placent.

The snarl I receive in response lets me know that isn’t going to happen. Great. “Nevermind, nevermind. The wolf is good. Would you mind changing to another form so we can communicate clearly?”

This time I don’t get a snarl, but rather Dante, or rather his wolf, is once again a man. “Okay, good. Now, will you put on the clothing and come with me? You’ve got a pretty nasty gash on your head.” Dante the wolf looks at my own forehead where I hit it off the wall earlier in retaliation, c*****g an eyebrow and making him bleed some more.

He did have a pretty large cut, and whereas we heal fast, we can still get sick if wounds aren’t properly treated. Dante stands, unfolding his overbearing, at least six-foot frame. Myself, being only five foot four, stands up with him, slowly to show him I am not a threat. Then I begin walking to the infirmary room, again slowly, while telling Mark to leave through multiple hand signals as Dante dresses before following me. The door softly closes shortly after Dante and I enter the infirmary.

I grab the first aid kit, which I hand to him, being sure not to look him in the eye, rather focusing on my own feet. “Can you please hold this so I can clean that cut?”

Dante grabs the kit with a sigh before walking over to the exam table in the middle of the room. He stands beside it, but pats the table next to him. “You want me to go over there,” I ask, and the wolf-man nods.

I cross the room and stand next to him, but Dante’s wolf isn’t happy, setting the first aid kit down and picking me up, setting me on the table before boxing me in with his arms. “You gotta tell me how to help.”

My voice is quiet but the words are rushed, and the wolf nods before grabbing my hands in both of his, holding them. “Uh, Dante? You driving yet? I really need to clean your forehead-- its healing and is pretty dirty.”

Contact is important for shifters, and can help calm us. However, contact is normally brief, not stretched out, as this is. Dante growls, and his grip tightens on my hands. “What do you need, bud? You have to tell me.”

The male looks me in the eye, and I look away, causing him to snarl. The snarling stops when I look him in the eyes again; so, he wants me to look him in the eyes. Alright, I can do that.

"You really need to tell me something, Dante."

Dante's eyes stop glowing for the count of two heartbeats, but he says nothing. "Well, that wasn't helpful. I guess we're stuck holding hands then, huh?"

At the mention of holding my hand, the wolf looks down at the point of contact, dragging a thumb over my knuckles. Then, he smirks. "Still cocky, that's for sure," I mumble to the room, knowing he is going to hear it.

The statement causes him to look back up and lift one side of his top lip, giving me a nice view of his sharp, pointy canines. "Duh, of course you have teeth. I have them too, see?" I bare mine in a non-threatening way, causing him to chuckle.

That has to be good, right? I hope so, because my patience is running out. Soon my annoyance is going to build to the point where it is obvious, though my wolf refuses to acknowledge anything wrong with the situation. Of course you don’t, I tell her snidely before focusing on Dante once more. He let go of one of my hands and used the free hand to pick up a few strands of my hair, looking at it in the light. “Yup, that’s my hair. Can I have it back?”

I watch him as he examines my hair-- the one characteristic on my head that I get from my father; its plain brown, though it shimmers like my skin if looked at in the light. I notice Dante has a few little scars on his face, probably from training or fighting, and a larger one on his collarbone dropping down toward his chest below the collar of his top. A few freckles can be seen dusting his skin, which is definitely tan from being in the sun. He has a pretty face, but his eyes are stern, with a seemingly permanent furrow line between his brows. My hair dropped as Dante goes back to looking me in the eyes, silently telling me he is more dominant and issuing a challenge; except his are no longer glowing. “Oh, good. You’re back. Now that I know you probably won’t kill me, can I maybe clean your head and go home?”

Relief floods my bloodstream as I wait for Dante to let go of my hands and backs up a step before nodding. “Sorry,” he offers, his voice sheepish and slightly embarrassed, bringing a smile to my face.

“No problem. Are you okay now, or are you going to lose it again?”

“I’m okay. But can… can I walk you to your dorm?”

I consider this a moment. The quad in the evening is a busy place, and I need to walk across it to get to my dorm. If Dante and I are seen walking to my dorm by the wrong set of eyes, chances are there would be some nasty rumors spreading, and I would make a lot of enemies among the other she-wolves on campus, even if none of them have a claim on him. However, I would have a lesser chance of running into one or more of the Oni’s friends if he were to walk with me. Rumors be damned, I value my life just a little, and accept his offer.

After I cleaned his forehead, and my own, we set out from the gym and find that dinner had already started, meaning it was six o’clock, three hours since school had ended. Since we have more than one form and house two spirits, we burn a lot of calories, and in turn, require a lot of food. Never can a full-blood shifter skip a meal. Being a half-blood, I can skip a meal every now and again, much like how I don’t have to run every month. Dante, however, has other ideas as he grabs my arm and practically drags me to the dining hall. “I’m fine, I just want to go to my room.”

“Nope. You need to eat, especially after the partial phase today.”

Judging by his tone, there would be no argument, and I decide to comply, hoping it will help me get back to my room sooner.

At any mealtime, the dining hall is packed and segregated. So segregated. You can reach out and touch the inter-creature tension— not many were willing to blatantly blow off their superiors for friends in a public space, making the dining hall awkward. The inside of the building was a stark contrast to the drab cement and stone-walled exterior. The walls were painted pastel blue, with dark wooden tables and plastic and metal chairs occupying the room. Posters, advertisements, and notices can be seen on the cork boards, and taped to the wall. The floors were made of tile for quick and easy clean-up, and plants grew up the columns that supported the second floor-- these plants reached toward the ceiling, which was made of glass. Different types of food suited to all species of monster can be found here, including Fae food, raw fish, and animal entrails, all of which are prepared upon request. Most of us, typically wielders and shifters, eat normal human food, such as salads, soups, and meals that are also available. Not feeling very hungry, I go to grab a salad, only to be stopped by Dante, who growls.

“I’m here, and I am getting food, just like you wanted. You can’t micromanage everything,” I hiss back.

“That is not going to give you what you need.”

“Don’t care,” I reply in a singsong voice before facing the room, looking for a place that I could possibly sit without being bothered.

I find a seat in the back of the room and rush toward it, leaving Dante behind. Quickly snagging a seat, I place the walls at my back and look out over the room, making sure no one will interrupt me before I start to eat.