Page 196 of Wicked Savage Wolves
"Thanks, Mom."
She beams. "Let's get you settled. I only have an hour before I need to get on the road, but that’s plenty of time for us to turn this room into your home for the next four years."
I groan. Four years. She really expects me to be a sorority girl for all four years of college?
Her eyes soften. "I know being a Kappa Eagle might not seem exciting to you right now, but honey, you’re going to love it. You’re going to meet new people and make friends you never would have had the chance to meet had you stayed in the Compound. Try to be open-minded."
I sigh. "I'll try."
"Now, let's get this room situated."
84
Desmond
Rafael takes off down the field and I lunge for the fifty-pound silver sphere hurtling my way before I slingshot it in his direction, the cool metal burns my hands as soon as I make contact with it, but I’m quick to release it, not holding it for a second longer than I have to.
The ball whistles through the air, heading straight for Rafael. He jumps up into the air to catch it and it collides with his chest. He lets out a whoop of laughter as his feet touch back on the ground, followed by a string of curses as he races up the field, but is forced to drop the ball when he’s less than ten yards away.
“Dammit.” I kick the turf and tear off my helmet, frustration coursing through me. Infernum is set to showcase not only every faction's strengths, but also their weaknesses, and silver is a big fat weakness of ours. The balls are selected at random. Up to three are on the field at any given time, and the silver ones are making it damn near impossible for us to win a game lately.
Rafael jerks to a stop before lunging forward to salvage the pass. He manages to retrieve the ball with both hands, tucking it against his chest before running again and crossing past the goal line, but it costs him.
As soon as he’s clear, he drops the ball, his wolf snarling in pain as his skin visibly trembles with his urge to shift, something we’re not allowed to do on the field.
“Not bad, man.” I call out to him.
“That was shit and you know it.”
I offer a noncommittal shrug. “Progress at least. You held it longer than you did in last week's game.”
“True enough,” he sighs.
Rafael plays wolfback so he’s expected to score more than anyone else, which is why building up a silver tolerance is crucial. Coach called me in for an emergency meeting, worried about my ability to throw the damn things, though that doesn’t seem to be our main issue. I dropped Jordy off on the way, but Rafael decided to tag along. Good thing too, because he needs the practice as much as I do.
“You could always sit this next one out,” I offer, but he shakes his head.
“You know I can’t.” Our second string wolfback—Deacon Hunt—is a freshman and a Fae. The guy can throw, but he’s from one of the high courts and isn’t used to being punched in the face. Something that happens regularly on the field in Infernum. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t care. The point of bringing him on board is to train with him, get him where he needs to be, so that by the time I graduate next year, he’s ready. He’s got potential and he needs the field time if he’s going to grow, but next week Rafael’s pops—my Alpha—is coming, and we need to make him proud.
If word gets out that we’re struggling to hold the fucking ball for a few seconds, our strength and dominance will come into question. It’s just a game, but at the same time, it isn’t. As the Pack Hunter there are certain expectations that’ve been thrust upon me, and as the Alpha Heir, there are a shit ton more that’ve been heaped on Rafe.
Neither of us will be the reason our team loses. Not when we’re playing Moonbound U, a mostly vampire led team. And no way is either of us going to let a fucking Fae lead our team to glory.
“Let’s go again,” I tell Rafael and he nods, getting into position. But before he starts, a voice from the sidelines draws our attention.
“Pierce!” Coach yells. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I grind my teeth together and wait as he stalks across the field like a bull. Barely six feet and thick around the middle, it’s been a hot minute since the man was in his prime, but he still has no problem going toe to toe with any one of us. Damn Druid. When he’s within earshot without me needing to yell, I tell him, “Practicing, Coach.”
“Practicing what, exactly? I gave you explicit orders—”
“We need to build up a tolerance,” I tell him. “We won’t win if we wince every time we touch the damn ball.”
His brows pull together and I know he wants to fight me on it, but he wants a win against Moonbound U as badly as we do.
“Silver burns are no joke, son. If you don’t take care of your hands, you’ll permanently scar. You need to shift between plays. Let your wolf have a chance to heal you between injuries so you don’t create any permanent damage.”
I grunt. “Can’t do that during a game,” I remind him.
