Chapter 12 Damian's Pov
1168 Words
Practice was supposed to clear my head. But it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse.
We were halfway through drills when Jason passed me the puck, and I fumbled it like a rookie. The sound it made when it clattered against the boards felt way too loud.
“Dude,” Jason muttered, skating past me, “are you dying, or are you in love?”
“Shut up,” I snapped.
He laughed, “So not love?”
I ignored him and went after the puck again, but my wolf growled inside me, still on edge from yesterday. That damn Alpha. His smug face. His challenge. The words “winner gets the girl.”
I tightened my grip on the stick.
My wolf pushed forward again, claws scraping at the inside of my skin like he wanted out right now.
“Ross!” Coach Wallace barked. “Are you asleep?”
“No,” I said.
“Then act like it!”
The whistle blew, sharp enough to make half the team flinch. We reset the drill. I skated hard, forcing my body to move faster than my head.
Didn’t work.
Every time I blinked, I saw that Alpha’s stupid smirk.
Every time I inhaled, I smelled Jane’s scent mixed with the cold bite of the parking lot yesterday.
Every time I focused, something inside me pulled toward her like a magnet.
It was annoying.
Distracting.
Dangerous.
We ran another set of drills, and I managed to mess up again. This time it was worse. I passed to no one. Literally no one. The puck went straight into empty space.
Coach Wallace blew the whistle so aggressively it probably broke something inside the plastic, “Ross! You drunk?”
“No,” I said through clenched teeth.
“You sure? Because that pass looked like you were hallucinating.”
The guys laughed. I didn’t.
I skated back into place, jaw tight.
Coach walked toward me, hands behind his back like he was about to give a speech at my funeral, “If your head’s going to be anywhere but here, at least make it somewhere useful.”
“My head is here,” I lied.
“Uh-huh,” Coach said. “And I’m a fairy queen.”
The team snorted. I glared at them.
Coach pointed his stick at me, “If you mess up Saturday’s game because you’re busy thinking about that Garice girl—”
“I’m not thinking about her,” I said too fast.
The silence after that comment was the kind that instantly made you look guilty.
Jason whispered under his breath, “You hear that tone? Yeah, he’s thinking about her.”
I elbowed him. Hard.
Coach shook his head, “Look, Ross. I don’t care if she’s your girlfriend, your mate, your imaginary friend, or whatever the hell she is. What I do care about is you not playing like someone replaced your brain with mashed potatoes.”
“Coach—”
“No,” he cut in. “Fix whatever’s going on. Because if you don’t? I’ll bench you Saturday.”
That one actually hit.
Benched.
On Saturday.
The same Saturday I was supposed to deal with that stupid Alpha challenge.
Perfect.
I swallowed the irritation clawing up my throat. “I’m fine,” I said.
Coach stared at me for a long second like he was trying to read my soul. Then he blew the whistle again. “Run it back! And Ross—try using your eyes this time!”
The guys laughed again.
Practice dragged after that. Every sprint felt heavier. Every drill felt slower. My legs burned, my lungs burned, and my patience burned the most.
I pushed myself harder, trying to force some rhythm back into my body. Anything. Even a scrap would’ve helped.
But nothing clicked.
My focus slipped over and over. My wolf growled over and over. And my thoughts kept looping back to yesterday.
Jane’s face.
Her reaction.
Her walking away without looking at me.
Her leaving the moment she saw me about to lose control.
My wolf hated that more than anything.
When practice finally ended, I ripped off my helmet and tossed it into my bag, not caring where it landed. The team gave me wary glances but didn’t say anything.
Good.
I wasn’t in the mood.
Jason walked over while I unlaced my skates. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because that practice was—”
“Jason.”
He held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Just checking.”
I shoved my gear into my bag and hauled it over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
“Try not to fight anyone tonight,” he called after me.
“No promises.”
***
By the time I got back to the dorms, the sun had already dipped. The hallway was quiet, everyone either out or asleep. I appreciated the silence.
For about two seconds.
Because the moment I reached my door, I froze.
A black envelope lay on the floor.
Perfectly centered and perfectly placed.
No name.
No handwriting.
No scent.
Nothing.
It was just there like some horror movie prop someone dropped off for fun.
Great.
My wolf growled low, unsure. Not violent, just cautious.
I crouched down and picked it up, turning it over in my hand. Still nothing. No markings. No pack seal. No trace of who sent it.
Just pitch-black paper that felt… too clean.
I sighed and unlocked my door, “Fantastic. Exactly what I needed. A mystery.”
Inside my room, I tossed my bag aside and set the envelope on my desk. It looked even weirder against the normal clutter.
I pulled my shirt over my head, planning to shower before dealing with whatever that was. Maybe it was some secret apology letter. Or a threat. Or something from the school about Saturday.
Or maybe it was from that Alpha.
The thought made my wolf bristle.
I grabbed my towel and turned toward the bathroom—
Then stopped.
Because something behind me glowed.
I turned slowly.
The envelope, the plain, black, boring envelope was glowing.
A faint, eerie shimmer pulsed along the edges like it had swallowed light and was leaking it back out.
I stared at it.
My wolf stepped forward inside me, ears up, alert.
“Okay,” I muttered. “That’s new.”
The glow got a little brighter, just enough to paint a soft outline across the desk.
I didn’t move toward it.
Didn’t touch it.
Didn’t open it.
I just stood there, towel in hand, heartbeat slowing into something sharp and focused.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t normal.
And it wasn’t harmless.
Great.
As if I didn’t already have a fight coming on Saturday.
Now I had… this.
A problem I couldn’t name.
Couldn’t scent.
Couldn’t predict.
A problem wrapped neatly in a glowing black envelope.
And deep down, I knew, this was only the beginning.
- Writer
