I wiped the blood off my nose, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The skin around my nostrils was already swelling, but nothing I couldn't fix. Treyvon, always playing nurse, wiped the sweat from my forehead, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Why do you even wanna fight if you're just gonna lose every time?" he asked, his voice heavy with annoyance.

I pushed his hand away, leaning closer to the mirror, studying my nose. Shit. It was broken. "Told you before, I just like the thrill of it. Ain't gotta fight to win."

Despite me brushing him off, Treyvon stayed close, still dabbing at my forehead with the edge of his shirt. "Crazy ass," he muttered, but I could hear the hint of a smile.

Fighting's always been my language, my outlet. When I was a kid, Mama and Dad tried to tame me, telling me I needed a healthier way to express myself. They tried sticking me in art classes—like sketching some trees would calm the storm inside me. It didn't. By the time I hit my teenage years, I found underground street fighting, a place where the rules didn't exist, and strength spoke louder than words. The first time I fought, I put some dude in the hospital.

That's when I realized humans break too easily. They ain't built for this, not like wolves. When I fight now, I've gotta hold back, use half my strength, maybe less. A single roundhouse kick could end them, and that ain't what I'm trying to do.

For wolves, it's different. Fighting isn't just about rage. It's about proving yourself, earning respect. Even when I lose, it doesn't take away from the pride I feel in standing my ground. So, as the blood drips down my face, my chest hums with satisfaction.

Treyvon left to get me some water, and I adjusted my nose, wincing as it cracked back into place. It'd heal fast enough. No need for it to heal crooked.

"You did good tonight," came a voice from the corner. Rebecca, the chick I'd just fought, leaned against the table, unwrapping the boxing tape from her knuckles. "Proud of you, kid."

I glanced at her through the mirror. "Yeah, thanks," I replied flatly. I could smell the smugness radiating off her, like she thought she was untouchable just 'cause she landed a couple of hits. She broke my nose, bruised my ribs. But none of that mattered.

"Really stood your ground," she continued. "Most would've tapped out."

I didn't respond, just watched her reflection as she shook out her damp, sandy hair. She looked cocky, her smile flashing despite losing a tooth in a past fight. I'd seen that same look too many times before. People thought they knew me, thought they understood what made me tick. They didn't.

"Yeah, most people," I muttered, half-listening.

"And you're nothin' like them," she pushed on. "I remember your first fight. You were good. Real good. Thought I'd see more of that, but you started losing. It's like you're not even trying anymore."

She had no clue. I wasn't losing because I couldn't fight. I was losing because I didn't need to win. There was no "old me" to get back to. I let her ramble on, faking interest until Treyvon finally came back with the water. I muttered some excuse about needing to leave, and we dipped.

***

Coach Corey, in his blinding yellow tracksuit, was already barking orders when we hit the gym. "Photography department's joining us today. They'll be taking pictures, so nothing fancy. Just work on form, hand-to-hand combat. Pair up with someone you're not friends with."

I glanced over at Treyvon, and he gave me a playful flick on the forehead before heading off toward Jax. My eyes scanned the room, landing on Maribel standing by herself. She was quiet, always kind of stayed on the edges, but she knew how to fight.

"Need a partner?" I asked, approaching her.

She nodded, her hands already clenched into fists. "Hand-to-hand combat?" she suggested.

"Yeah, let's go," I replied, tying my locs back as she fixed her braids.

We moved to a free mat. Maribel was small, but she was quick. Her movements were sharp, precise. She tried to land a punch on my side, but I dodged, and we circled each other. She was damn good, but I wasn't fully focused.

That scent hit me again. Strong, like the ocean on a hot day, mixed with something sweet. Jasmine.

The moment that scent filled my nose, I lost my footing. Maribel, quick as hell, kicked me in the back of the knee, sending me crashing to the mat. I cursed under my breath, but not at her. I was pissed at that scent, the distraction it caused.

Imani, who had been silent, suddenly surged forward in my mind, yanking me out of my thoughts. She's here! 

"Are you okay, Dominic?" Maribel asked, offering me a hand.

"Yeah, I'm good." I waved her off, my nose wrinkling at the intensity of Jasmine's scent. It was everywhere.

Just then, the source of the smell approached. Jasmine, with her friend, camera in hand, circled around us. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and I felt my skin burn under her gaze.

Maribel was polite, excited even, but I could barely focus. My head was pounding, Imani was yapping about mates, and I was ready to explode from the tension building inside me.

We continued sparring, but my mind was far from the fight. I could feel Jasmine's eyes on me, her presence crawling under my skin. Every time I moved, her scent filled the air, making it impossible to think straight.

Maribel had me pinned, and I struggled to break free. I twisted out of her grip, landing a soft hit to her stomach, and she backed off, holding her side.

"Shit, you good?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Yeah, just need to grab some ice from the nurse," she said, rubbing her stomach. I didn't think I hit her that hard. 

Before I could offer to help, Jasmine stepped forward. "I can go with her" she said, her voice softer than I expected. Maribel agreed, letting her lead the way.

As Jasmine brushed past me, her arm grazed mine, sending a jolt through my body. I jumped back, like her touch had burned me. She glanced at me, confused, and I shot her a look, daring her to say something.

But she didn't. She just kept walking, leaving me standing there, heart pounding, fists clenched, and my wolf grinning like we were about to claim her right then and there. 

Even though I didn't take Maribel to the nurse's center, I came to check on her. She hadn't been back in a while, and I wasn't about to sit around wondering if I'd messed her up for real. The nurse's center was packed—students going in and out, looking half-dead or pretending to be. I made my way to the front desk, tapping my fingers impatiently until the lady behind the counter glanced up.

"Is Maribel still here?" I asked.

"Curtain four," she said, pointing down the hall.

I nodded and headed in that direction. The pale blue curtain was closed, but I could hear faint laughter behind it. Jasmine was still with her. Her scent—light and floral—hit me before I even touched the curtain. Instinctively, my hand brushed my arm where her skin had grazed mine earlier. I hated how my body reacted to just that brief touch, how it lingered like a brand on my skin.

"Can I come in?" My voice came out rougher than I meant it to, but whatever.

There was a pause, then Maribel answered. "Yeah, come in, Dominic."

I pushed the curtain aside. Maribel was lying on the bed, an ice pack pressed against her stomach, while Jasmine sat stiffly beside her, like she was afraid to breathe wrong.

"How you feelin'?" I asked, leaning against the wall.

Maribel shifted slightly, wincing. "Okay, just a little sore and bruised."

"I'm really sorry," I said, keeping my voice low. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard—"

"It's fine," she cut me off with a laugh that quickly turned into a groan. "Ouch. Someone's gonna get hurt doing this kind of stuff, you know? Lucky you didn't rearrange my insides."

She laughed again but stopped when the pain hit. Jasmine sat there, stiff and silent, her eyes locked on the floor. Her whole posture screamed discomfort, like she didn't want to be there anymore.

Look at you scaring our mate! Imani's voice echoed in my head, smug and taunting.

Chill out with that shit. I shot back, clenching my jaw.

Mate! Mate! Mate! Mate!—

I blocked her before she could make me snap. I'd pay for that later, but I wasn't in the mood for her relentless teasing.

"Excuse me," Jasmine said suddenly, her voice soft but firm as she stood up, stepping past me like I was nothing but an obstacle in her way. I moved aside, watching as she practically fled the room, bumping into a health center worker on her way out.

I felt it again—the pull. It was like a force yanking me toward her, something deeper than instinct, something that physically hurt to resist. My chest tightened, like part of me was being ripped away. I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms to ground myself, to stop myself from chasing after her like some lovesick idiot.

"Oh, she forgot her camera," Maribel said, holding up a black Nikon, her voice casual like she hadn't just handed me my next problem. "Can you give this back to her?"

Hell no.

But I couldn't exactly say that out loud.

"Uh, yeah. Sure."