Wolf Prints

Sparring Like An Alpha

Chapter 11 - Sparring Like An Alpha

"You look terrible."

I held back a growl and glowered at Blake, who had found me all but comatose on the large blue mat in the gymnasium about ten minutes before class started.

"Thanks. That was the look I was going for this morning. But then you don't look too great yourself, there, pup." I muttered back, wondering why he had decided to grace me with his presence. I stretched out on the cool, firm ground and closed my eyes, trying to catch a bit of sleep that had evaded me all night long, fingers molding to the mat. I wanted to glower in peace, darn it! Couldn't he see that?

My ears perked as two humans walked casually by, headed to the nearby bleachers. The girl was giggling at something the boy said, and though their scents were mingled enough for me to identify them as a couple, I did not miss the smell of worry the girl radiated, or the third scent of young female that clung to the boy like a second skin.

It disgusted me.

I took a moment to wonder how much simpler my life might have been had I been born a human. I might have spent my spare time laughing at my boyfriend's lame jokes and wondering if he was cheating on me, too, but I wasn't. No, I was worried that the new French teacher might try to kill me in class today.

Not that even that was really bothering me.

Werewolves aren't human. Though we put on a good show, we have one fatal flaw.

We don't have emotions.

Not really. Not in the way humans do. They are fickle creatures, I've learned. Loving and leaving on a whim. Enjoying something in the moment with little regard for the future. Most wear emotions on their sleeves like it's the latest trend.

We do not. Really, we're about as opposite from humans as we could get in that respect.

Mates. What romanticist thought that up? Two souls made for each other? Love at first sight? None of it existed. Werewolves simply don't love easily. Not the way humans do. Our emotions are muted. Dull until we find something we want to protect; that we find worthy of protecting. And when we love, it really is until death do us part.

Werewolves never fall in love twice as a general rule. We can only truly love one person in our lifetime, and once we pick someone we continue to love them no matter what. I guess you could call them a mate if you wanted to. It's actually very romantic when you think about it.

Likewise, our other emotions were either dulled or magnified. We're never just sad, we're heartbroken. Never just a bit angry, but furious. Never happy, instead ecstatic. Never scared, but petrified. There are no in-betweens for us.

So when I say I was in a bad mood, it was an understatement.

"Go die." I snapped when Blake plopped down beside me and started playing with a lock of my hair.

He laughed. Something he'd been doing a lot of this morning. I didn't know why. He looked almost as bad as I did. His hair was mussed and he had dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he made it look devil-may-care intentional. I just looked like death warmed over.

"What's the matter, cupcake?" He asked, tugging playfully on my hair.

"Call me that again and I'll throw you through a window."

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that." He said, grabbing hold of my shoulder to roll me over onto my stomach.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, but was entirely too tired to shove him off when he straddled my legs and started rubbing my shoulders with the palm of his hands. Besides, it felt so good it almost lulled me to sleep within seconds. His hands were magical and I desperately needed sleep...