Marked By My Best Friend's Dad

Little Wolf

~Iris

The next morning hit me like a hangover I hadn’t earned from alcohol.

I woke up tangled in Alice’s sheets, her arm still slung over my waist, her breath warm against my shoulder.

For a second, everything felt almost normal.

I slipped out of bed before she stirred, grabbed my clothes, and headed for the shower. The hot water did nothing to wash away the ache between my legs or the memory of his hand on my throat.

By the time I was dressed, Alice was up, watching me with that soft, hopeful smile that twisted the knife deeper.

“You were restless all night,” she said, coming up behind me at the mirror, arms sliding around my waist. “Bad dreams?”

“Something like that,” I muttered, forcing a smile.

She kissed the side of my neck, right over the scarf I’d wrapped tight again and I tensed so hard she felt it.

“You okay?” she asked, pulling back, concern creeping into her voice.

“I’m fine. Just… nervous about classes.”

She let it go, but I saw the doubt flicker in her eyes.

The day dragged on. I kept my head down, avoided the admin building like it was on fire, and prayed Eunice would be too busy to notice me.

But the bond had other plans.

Mid afternoon, I was crossing the quad when it hit, a sudden, sharp tug low in my stomach, like an invisible leash yanking me toward something. My skin prickled. My heart slammed against my ribs.

He was here.

I didn’t need to look up to know. I felt him the way you feel a storm coming.

When I finally did look, there he was standing outside the main hall with a small group of guards and professors, tall and commanding in a dark coat, hair catching the wind. Students were giving him a wide berth, whispering, staring.

Duncan Blackwood didn’t visit the academy. Ever.

Except, apparently, when he was hunting.

Our eyes met across the quad.

Everything else faded, the chatter, the footsteps, the wind. It was just him, staring at me like I was the only thing in the world.

My knees went weak. Heat flooded me so fast I had to grip my bag strap to stay upright.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t move. He just held my gaze until I felt stripped bare.

Then he turned and walked into the building, like he knew I’d follow.

And God help me, part of me wanted to.

I turned the other way and practically ran.

I ran straight to the women’s basketball court, the one tucked behind the gym that was usually empty this time of day.

The doors banged shut behind me, echoing in the cavernous space. No one else was there, it was just me, the polished wood floor, the faint squeak of my sneakers, and the heavy thud of my heartbeat.

I wasn’t tall, not like Alice, who had those long legs and could reach the rim without jumping as high as I had to.

But I was quick, scrappy, and I had a deadly mid range shot. Height had never stopped me before.

We were evenly matched on the court, always had been. She’d tease me about it, call me her pocket rocket, and I’d shut her up by stealing the ball and sinking a three in her face.

I grabbed a ball from the rack, dribbled hard, once, twice, letting the rhythm ground me.

I drove to the free throw line, spun, and took the shot.

Swish.

Again. Dribble, crossover, pull up jumper.

Swish.

I kept going layups, fadeaways, threes from the corner until my lungs burned and sweat dripped down my back.

Every jump, every pivot, every release was me trying to outrun him. Trying to forget the way his hand had felt on my throat, the way his voice had promised to hunt me.

But the mark throbbed with every heartbeat, like it was laughing at me.

I stopped under the basket, chest heaving, ball tucked against my hip.

I wasn’t running from Eunice anymore.

I wasn’t even really running from Alice.

I was running from the fact that no matter how many shots I sank, no matter how hard I played, I already knew who was going to win this game.

And it wasn’t me.

A slow clap echoed from the doorway.

I froze mid dribble, the ball rolling lazily to a stop at my feet.

I turned.

Alpha Duncan stood there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, that infuriating half smile on his lips.

The gym lights caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the silver in his hair, making him look even more unfairly perfect.

“You’re still running from me, little wolf?” he asked, voice low and amused as he pushed off the door and walked toward me, each step deliberate.

The way he said little wolf grated on me like I was some fragile thing he could toy with.

I straightened, wiping sweat from my brow, trying to ignore how my pulse spiked the closer he got.

“What have you done to me with this bite?” I demanded, anger flaring hot enough to cover the fear, and the traitorous heat pooling low in my belly.

He stopped just a few feet away, close enough that I could smell pine and smoke and him. His eyes dropped to my neck, to the scarf I’d knotted tight again, and that smile deepened.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice smooth as sin. “Within a week, it’ll lose its hold on you.”

He stared at me like he could already see me walking away, free of him, and it didn’t bother him one bit.

I hated how that stung.

“You’re lying,” I shot back, stepping forward even though every instinct screamed to back away. “I feel it all the time. It’s getting worse, not better.”

His gaze darkened, the amusement fading into something hungrier.

“Maybe,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, fingers lingering near the edge of the scarf. “Or maybe you’re just starting to feel what’s always been there.”

I slapped his hand away, heart hammering.

“Stay away from me.”

He didn’t move back. He just looked down at me, eyes burning.

“Tell me to leave, little wolf,” he said softly. “Say it like you mean it.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because I didn’t mean it.

And we both knew it.

“I want to see you at the same venue tonight. 8 p.m.,” he said, voice dropping low enough that it vibrated through the empty gym. “I came all the way to this school just to tell you that. And little wolf… you won’t like what I’ll do if you refuse.”

He pulled back just enough to let that sink in, then flashed a slow, wicked smile.

“Nice flair, by the way,” he added, eyes raking over me like he was already picturing it. “The way you drive that ball… it’d be amazing to watch you drive this body over my cock.”

Heat flooded my face, and lower before I could stop it.

“In your dreams!” I snapped, clutching the basketball like a shield.

He laughed, deep and rough, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings.

“Said by the girl who touched herself just looking at my abs,” he murmured, stepping close again, voice velvet and cruel. “Well… I guess you’ll have to come tonight if you really want to stop whatever this bite is doing to you.”

He turned and walked out, that laugh still echoing long after the doors swung shut behind him.

I stood there, chest heaving, the ball forgotten at my feet.

Did he just threaten me?

Son of a b***h.

My neck burned hotter than ever, like the mark itself was agreeing with him.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the ball at the backboard until it shattered.

Instead, I just sank to the floor, knees weak, and stared at the clock on the wall.

7 hours and 45 minutes until 8 p.m.

And I already knew deep down in the place I hated most, I was going to be there.