MOONBOUND

07

AXEL

My jaw hangs open the moment I step onto the football pitch. Hayley wasn't exaggerating—it’s big. Almost twice the size of the one in Ashbrae High. The field here is a lush, green carpet that stretches wide, rounded by a track for athletics.

I glance towards the stands, most of which are empty, noting how high they go. Altogether, they could easily seat two thousand fans, at least. My gaze shifts to the East stand, where a small crowd of students occupy a few rows. They're probably here out of boredom, or just curious to watch the new guys prove themselves.

Neither reason helps the quivering in my belly.

On the benches, most of the team are tossing a ball back and forth between themselves, some others engrossed in playful chatter. I sight a few of the boys pointing with narrowed gazes, placing bets on who they think will make the team or not.

All the more reason to be anxious. Just great. Why did I agree to give football a shot again? Because Hayley thought you'd do good at it.

Of course. It's her.

I look up at the group of students in the stands again, and my breath catches in my throat—she’s here. Hayley sits in the middle of the third row, alongside Corey, her friend. The bespectacled girl sees me first. She waves before nudging Hayley who lifts her face in my direction.

The moment our eyes meet, a tender smile blooms across her face, and for just a split second, the sun streaking down isn't the brightest thing on the field. Damn, she's beautiful.

She's always been. Even as kids. But in the seven years that's passed between us, she's grown into everything I'd imagined. And more.

My lips curve to meet her smile and I wave back. But as my gaze lingers, I find myself pulled back to two evenings ago. To her room. To that kiss.

Swallowing hard, I rake a hand through my hair as the memory clouds my mind. Every trace of my finger on her skin, every breath—it felt like fire in my loins. My senses yearned for her in ways I've never experienced before. She's so perfect…

And I'm a wolf. A literal monster. I can't get too close to her, or she'll end up hurt. Or worse. Like my parents.

I've seen first hand how much danger things like me pose to humans. And I can't allow that for her.

But that kiss—God. How does one pull away from something like that?

Coach Phillips blows his whistle from the center of the field, snapping me back to the moment. He’s flanked by a group of fifteen boys as he waves me over. I jog up to join them.

“Oi, listen up, lads,” he bellows in a loud voice. “I want to see your A-game out there, alright? The Greystone Titans ain’t a bunch of p*****s. If yer want a spot on me team, show me fire, grit and balls! Got it?”

Every boy nods in approval.

“Good. Now you lads will be split into two teams of eight. Work with yer mates. First team to score five touchdowns wins this round. Go take yer place and wait for me whistle!” He yells.

I head over to join my team at the right end of the pitch. Most of them look tense, their eyes darting around nervously. One in particular, a short-statured boy with freckles on both sides of his cheeks, is fumbling with his helmet strap.

“Here, let me help,” I say to him, fastening the strap in place. After setting the helmet properly, I give his shoulder pad a light pat and he flinches a little.

My brows furrow with concern. “You good, buddy?”

The boy adjusts his glasses under his helmet. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” He mumbles.

I stretch out a hand. “I’m Axel.”

He doesn’t take it. “Harold.”

He's nervous. Far more than even I am. “Don’t worry, Harold. We’ve got this,” I wink. And for just a moment, I watch his expression unfurl into a thin smile.

Coach Phillips blows his whistle. “Ready?” Both teams signal readiness. “And… go!”

The game springs to life immediately. The opposing team moves the ball around carefully. Too carefully. Like they're unsure of what to do with it. One of them, a bulky boy, flings it towards his teammate. But he's too slow. I race forward and snatch the ball clean.

With every teammate behind me, there's no one to pass forward to. So I charge ahead, weaving my way past two players effortlessly. Another player dives for my legs and misses, crashing to the ground with a grunt.

Clutching the ball to my chest, I spin away from yet another opposing player, leaving just one man in front of me now. Through his helmet, I catch a glint of fierce determination in his eyes. He rolls his neck with a satisfying pop, then rushes forward to tackle me. Big mistake, pal. I feint left, then cut hard to the right, leaving him for dead as I drop the ball in the end zone.

“There ya go, lad!” Coach yells, blasting his whistle to restart the game.

My teammates form a ring around me, grinning at my burst of brilliance. Unanimously, they decide to make me the centerpiece of our gameplay.

When a rival player in possession of the ball trips and stumbles to the floor, Harold snags the ball from him. He throws it to me and I mow through the opposing team once more, scoring again. Then again. And again.

The small crowd in the stands go ballistic with every touchdown, squealing with excitement. Adrenaline floods through me as I decimate the opposing team singlehandedly. Whatever nerves I felt moments ago are vanished—now replaced by that mountain of confidence again.

Hayley was right. I’m damn good at this.

As I charge forward for the fifth time, the rival team brace for impact. Sort of. They form a wall, rooting themselves firmly on the line in a bid to stop me.

I’m about to bulldoze straight through them when I spot Harold running beside me. He huffs and puffs with every step, like he'll break apart if the game goes on for another minute.

So I draw the defenders in, make it look like I’m going for it, but at the last second, I toss the ball his way. Harold fumbles for a moment and almost loses it, but he manages to hold on and cross the line for the final touchdown.

My entire team erupts in cheers as Coach’s whistle signals the end of play. Claps and squeals soar from the east stand, where the small crowd are seated. But only one figure holds my attention—Hayley is on her feet, smiling as she claps eagerly. A warm flutter stirs in my chest and I flash a smile back at her. I let my gaze drift, soaking in the merry atmosphere…

Then I see him.

Shane rises from the bench, his gaze trained on me like a hunter that's found his mark. His eyes shift to Hayley, noticing the way she watches me… then he sneers. Instantly, the smile on my face wanes.

I watch him stride across to Coach Phillips, leaning in to whisper something with his eyes still glued to me. I try to focus my heightened sense of hearing on what is being said, but I’m too far away to get anything.

Coach blows his whistle again, calling us in.

“Great energy, lads. I loved it,” He beams proudly. “Now we’re mixing things up.” He beckons on a few of the first team players. “I’m pulling three of you lads from each side and reshuffling the teams. We’ll play a few more minutes, then call it.”

Harold and two others are replaced on our team, while three boys from the opposing side step off the field—to be replaced by Shane and his crew.

Dread forms a knot in my stomach as I watch Shane strap his gear with practiced calm. The bastard's here for me. I just know it.

The sun sets behind a cloud, and a small breeze stirs across the field when Coach blows his whistle, setting the game in motion. Instantly, I sprint to the edge of the field, putting as much distance as I can between myself and Shane's trio.

A teammate launches the ball towards me and when I catch it, I tear down the field with nothing but open space ahead of me—

Then something—someone slams into me with brute strength.

The force of the impact hurls me out of the pitch and onto the tracks by the side. I hit the ground with a heavy thud, the air sucked clean from my lungs. My ribcage clamps down like a vise, and I drag in breath through my mouth. Pain shatters every inch of my body.

I hear Coach’s whistle shriek for a timeout as my eyelids split open, my vision hazy for a few seconds. Then they sharpen, and I see him. Shane.

He towers above me, his figure blocking out the last rays of sunlight splaying on this side of the field. Then he crouches low to meet me at eye level, whipping off his helmet to reveal a sinister look carved on his face.

“Show. Me. Your. Real. Eyes.” He spits each word out with a venomous edge in his tone.

Screw this asshole. I’ve had it. I shift my weight, numbing the pain in my bones as I try to stand… But I stop dead when I see it:

His eyes—they’re suddenly glowing a deep crimson red.

Fear ripples through me, like ice spreading through my veins.

Shane tilts his head eerily. “You can’t do it, can you?”

Coach blows his whistle again. “O’Connor, get yer ass back here. New kid, sit the rest of this one out!”

Shane stands upright and makes a show of helping me up, offering a hand. As he lifts me to my feet, he leans in close. “I’ll find you tonight, green eyes,” He whispers. “And there’ll be no escaping me then.”

He lets go without another word and jogs back onto the field.

Harold walks up to me from the bench and throws my arm around his shoulder, helping me down the tunnel. Every step towards the locker room sends a wave of pain coursing through me.

But it's nothing compared to the shock in my bones.

Shane is a werewolf. Just like me. Yet it's not the realization of what he is that rattles me most. It's what he said. Finding me tonight.

Because tonight, there'll be a full moon.