Chapter 16 Damian's Pov
1125 Words
The moment my shoes hit the field, I knew I wasn’t ready.
My grip on the stick felt wrong. My shoulders felt tight. My wolf paced under my skin like he wanted to claw his way out, and the only thing holding him back was the thin thread of control I’d been clinging to since last night.
Coach Wallace blew his whistle before I even reached the center line.
“Ross!” he shouted. “Front and center. Now.”
Great. Perfect start.
I jogged over, sticking to the same neutral expression I used whenever the coach got into one of his moods. He paced in front of the team like he was preparing us for a national war. Clipboard in hand, whistle swinging, jaw locked.
His eyes landed on me with that familiar mix of irritation and expectation.
“Tomorrow’s match is non-negotiable,” he said. “We win. Do you hear me?”
I nodded, “Yes, Coach.”
“And you—” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “You don’t screw up. One mistake from you, and I’m benching you the rest of the season. I don’t care if you’re the strongest wolf on this damn team.”
Jason whispered behind me, “Someone woke up extra dramatic today.”
Coach snapped around. “I heard that, Jason.”
Jason straightened immediately. “Sorry, sir.”
The team snickered. I didn’t.
I wasn’t in the mood.
Coach turned back to me. “Focus, Ross. I don’t know what’s going on with you these days—the rumors, the drama, the mate nonsense, the drop in your performance—but I’m only going to say this once.”
He leaned closer.
“Get your head straight. Today. Not tomorrow. Today.”
I nodded again because arguing would only make things worse.
“Good,” Coach barked. “Warm-up. Move.”
We scattered across the field, and I forced my breathing to level out.
Just play. Just get through this. One clean practice. That’s all you need.
But the second I stepped into formation, everything slipped.
…
It started small.
My timing was off during the first drill. A half-second delay. Barely noticeable.
Except Coach noticed.
“Ross! Again.”
I reset and tried harder.
Then my reflexes lagged. A shot from Liam flew past me before I even reacted.
“Ross! Are you asleep?”
“I’m good,” I called back, even though I wasn’t.
My wolf growled, restless. Distracted.
The dead wolf from last night flashed through my mind. The twisted body. The burnt smell. Jane’s scream. Her shaking. The way she clung to Geneva like she might collapse.
I blinked hard, trying to push the image away.
Then the letter. The glow under my door. The pulse. The sense of danger that crawled up my spine every time I even looked at it.
Focus. Focus now.
I forced myself back into position, shoulders squared.
Coach blew the whistle.
We moved again.
And I missed another shot.
Then another.
And another.
“Ross!” Liam yelled. “Dude! Wake up!”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My chest tightened more with every mistake. Sweat built on my forehead even though the air was cool.
I could feel every pair of eyes on me. Confused. Concerned. Annoyed.
Coach shouted again, voice cutting through everything.
“What is wrong with you today?”
I had no answer.
Not one I could say out loud.
Not Jane.
Not the dead wolf.
Not the challenge.
Not the letter glowing like something that shouldn’t exist.
But the truth was sitting heavy in my chest.
Everything was wrong with me today.
…
We ran a defensive sequence next, something I could normally do in my sleep.
“Ready!” Coach barked.
The ball shot my way.
My instincts should have taken over. Muscle memory. Wolf reflexes.
But nothing fired right.
My stick moved a second too slow. My feet planted wrong. My mind drifted again, to the arrogant Alpha waiting for me tomorrow, to his stupid smirk, to the words that still burned in my head.
“Winner gets the girl.”
My teeth clenched.
My wolf snarled and shoved forward.
And that was the moment everything snapped.
The ball flew straight past me and hit the net behind me with a loud smack.
Jason yelled, “Damn, Damian—what’s happening?”
“Ross!” Coach threw his whistle to the ground. “Enough! Do it again!”
I couldn’t. I didn’t trust myself to.
But I still tried.
I pushed forward for the next play—
Misstepped.
Slipped.
And then—
I went down.
Right onto the field.
Hard.
The noise of practice kept going for a second, as if everyone assumed I’d get right back up. But I didn’t move. Not right away.
My breaths came too fast. Too shallow. Sweat dripped down my face, but it wasn’t just physical exhaustion. It was everything crashing at once, piling too high, weighing too much.
My wolf went still inside me.
Not calm.
Not controlled.
Just… stuck.
I pressed a hand to the turf and tried to sit up.
Jason jogged over. “D? Dude, you okay?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
Coach shouted from across the field, but his voice blurred into the background.
Everything around me felt distant.
The grass under my palms.
The stick next to my knee.
The sound of teammates running drills.
My heartbeat thudding too fast.
My wolf pacing, unsettled.
The memory of the corpse.
Jane’s scream.
Jane shaking.
Her scent filled with fear.
The glowing letter sitting in my room like it was waiting to bite me the second I touched it.
And tomorrow—
Tomorrow was the match.
Tomorrow I’d be facing that Alpha.
Tomorrow the whole school would be watching.
Tomorrow Jane would be somewhere in the crowd, probably pretending she didn’t care, but feeling everything anyway because wolves always feel everything.
I closed my eyes.
For the first time since I became Alpha—since I learned what power felt like, since I mastered control, since I built the reputation I fought so hard to keep—I felt something cold settle in my chest.
Doubt.
What if I couldn’t win tomorrow?
What if I couldn’t even play?
I opened my eyes again.
Coach was staring at me across the field. Not angry now. Not yelling. Not pacing.
Just staring.
Hard.
Like he knew something was seriously wrong.
Jason crouched beside me. “Talk to me, man.”
But I still didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t try to stand.
Because the truth was loud now, louder than the whistle, louder than the crowd, louder than my wolf.
I wasn’t ready.
- Writer
