Logan's POV
I'm on fire today.
The crack of the bat meeting the ball is sharp, clean, and decisive.
I barely give myself time to think before I react. My body moves on instinct, my feet pounding against the dirt as I sprint toward the outfield. My eyes track the ball as it rockets through the air. It's fast, but I'm faster.
Fenrir is back, and it shows.
My reflexes are razor-sharp, my speed unmatched. Every ball that comes my way is caught, every pitch I swing at is a hit.
I leap, my body twisting mid-air, arm stretched— got it. The ball slaps into my glove with a satisfying thud.
My laughter is loud and happy as I land, my paws hitting the grass and dirt with yet another satisfying thud. My day has been full of satisfying thuds. Maybe I should record them all and put them in a playlist.
Maybe I'll remix them with all the frustrated groans coming from my salty teammates.
"Show-off," Sven spits the words like a curse.
I smirk, tossing the ball back to the pitcher. "You're welcome!"
He growls angrily. I can feel the eyes of my teammates on me—some impressed, some annoyed. Mostly annoyed.
"Fucking hell," Mateo mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. "That should've been a damn double."
Sven scoffs. "Dude just waltzes back in after missing practice and suddenly plays like a goddamn MVP."
Their irritation rolls off them in waves, but I don't let it get to me. They can be pissed all they want. I don't blame them. They worked their asses off while I was out, and now I'm here, stealing the spotlight.
But that's baseball. You perform, or you get left behind.
And I'm outperforming all of them. Maybe if they spent less time bitching and more time pitching, they'd be on my level.
"You're all mad because he's better than you," Elliot calls out lazily, flipping a ball in the air and catching it with one hand. His grin is sharp as he throws a casual look at Sven and Mateo. "Guy won us a game. You should get off his dick and try to get in a couple of runs."
Mateo's fangs glint in the sunlight, "Wanna repeat that, fleabag?"
Elliot opens his mouth to respond with what has to be a scathing insult, judging by the annoyed glint in his eye, but Clio shuts it down before it escalates. "Enough yapping. Focus, or I'll make you run laps until you puke."
Mateo curses underneath his breath, Sven stomps away, Elliot winks at me and I… could give less of a shit.
I tune them out, exhaling slowly as I shake out my arms. My mind is elsewhere. My entire body thrumming with the electricity of my partial shift. I'm so glad I have this back, so glad Fenrir wasn't lost to me forever. There's no point in speculating on what would've been if my condition ended up being permanent. So all I'm going to say is; damn, I missed this.
This is what it's supposed to feel like.
This is what I was missing.
Fenrir is practically purring in the back of my head, satisfied.
'You are performing well.'
'All thanks to you, buddy,' I tell him, unlatching the Velcro wrist straps on my glove.
I even missed him talking in my head like a second conscience. Even when he says stupid shit like; 'Mate will see how strong we are.'
I freeze.
Okay, it's not like I don't know what I said to Noah. I am going to win him back. And no, that plan did not involve almost fucking him in the restroom at Casey's.
'He was in heat,' Fenrir very helpfully points out. 'You've bred him in less respectful places.'
I resist the urge to groan, running my fingers through my hair. I honestly hadn't planned to corner Noah like that in the bathroom. But he was angry and horny and all I could think was 'Holy shit, he's so cute when he's mad.' That anger, that arousal; I wanted all of it. I wanted to feed him my knot and see the violence in his eyes, I wanted his claws on me.
We have 'bred' in less respectable places, we were young and had the hots for each other, we always had creative ways to fuck. So I know fully well how much Noah loves to leave marks.
Fenrir growls low in his throat and I swallow hard like that'll do anything to sate my growing arousal. Noah's not even here.
He'd excused himself at the start of training, leaving Clio— our new assistant coach— in charge. I know some of the guys have an issue with a woman training them and I feel it's stupid. She's still an Alpha. Either way, I should be relieved— no one distracts me more than Noah and I don't want to come off as incompetent. Again.
But some part of me wanted him watching. Wanted him to see what I could do now that I'm whole again.
'We must prove ourselves.' Fenrir's voice is steady, confident. 'If we bring mate a worthy kill, he will accept us again.'
Oh, here we go.
I don't even fight it this time. 'We're not bringing Noah a fucking kill.'
Fenrir huffs. 'A good hunt will show we are strong. Reliable. A worthy mate. The ox—'
'We're not dropping a dead ox at his feet like some caveman courtship ritual.'
'We've done it before.'
My stomach knots at the memory. Five years ago, a young, reckless Logan Whitaker had wanted to throw fists after watching some beta flirt with Noah at the Melee. It was one of those full moons, everyone was hanging in the field behind the Big House and some dude's visiting cousin hadn't received the memo that Noah was mated to the Alpha's son. I'd have knocked his teeth out if my father stopped me before I could 'embarrass the Pack name.'
"Instead of fighting like a lame dog caught in a bear trap, show them you are a capable Alpha worthy of your mate."
And Fenrir took that personally.
The biggest event of the Melee is 'The Great Hunt'. My dad likes to talk about how before the humans cut our tails with their damned treaty— his words not mine— our kind used to revel in the hunt and the wolves who caught the largest game were honoured. Now we just hunt the rabbits that populate the woods surrounding our land. There's deer too but they're a protected species now, at least until their population comes up.
If there's anything I missed about home while I was gone, aside from Noah and my family, it's the hunt. Despite our 'tails being cut' and our interactions with other packs being monitored, we keep the tradition alive. Now it's customary for the pack Alpha to tie a gold ribbon around the neck of an ox and send it into the woods. The one who catches the ribbon will be 'honoured' by the pack. To be 'honoured' more or less just means everyone's gonna toss you around then send you home with more food and drink than you'll know what to do with so catching the Ox never interested me or Fenrir. We were more interested in dragging our mate into the woods and fucking under the moonlight.
But, that night, I was jealous and Fenrir took my fathers words as a challenge. He caught the ox and placed it before Finnian in front of the entire pack. The elders beamed. The Alphas nodded in approval. The omegas giggled and winked at us for weeks. I received so many pats on the back that I was surprised I still had lungs after that.
It was… a lot.
I didn't care for the attention— there's only so much secluded sex that can be had with all eyes on you— but Fenrir? Oh, he fucking loved it.
Now, here we were, five years later, and I can already tell he's scheming.
'We must catch another.'
I rub the back of my neck, glancing toward the dugout like Noah might suddenly appear. 'Even if we did—which we won't—Noah's not the type to care about shit like that. I doubt it'll be enough to earn his forgiveness.'
'Mate will see our strength. He will soften.'
I shake my head. 'You think winning a couple of games and chasing a fucking ox is enough to fix what we broke?'
Fenrir is silent for a moment. Then, 'No. But it is a start.'
I exhale. Now I'm not looking forward to the full moon. This is gonna be a long Melee.
"Whitaker!" Clio calls.
"Yes ma'am?"
"Batting practice."
Sven sneers at me, "Talking to yourself, man?"
I toss my glove and pick up my bat. "Just chatting with my wolf. You should try it some time seeing as your reaction time is slow."
His sneer turns into a snarl. I really couldn't care less about him and his snark.
I force myself to focus. The pitcher winds up, hurls the ball toward me— I swing, connect, and send it flying over the fence.
Again. And again. And again.
By the time training ends, my muscles are sore, my clothes cling to my skin, and my heart's still pounding from the rush of it all. I may have over exerted my injured shoulder again but it'll be fine. I hope.
I needed that.
But I'm not the only one riding the post-practice high.
Elliot has been hovering, sneaking touches all practice— a hand brushing my lower back as he passes, a playful tug at my sleeve, a cocky smirk thrown my way whenever I catch him looking.
It's easy to brush it off as banter.
Until I step out of the showers and see him—
Naked.
The steam is still thick in the air, curling around his lean, toned frame as he drags a towel down his chest. Droplets of water trail along the cut of his abs, sliding lower, lower—
Fuck.
I jerk my gaze away, rubbing the back of my neck. "Didn't realize you were still in here."
Elliot chuckles, slow and deliberate. "Practice just ended. Where else will I be?"
I clear my throat. "Well. Yes. Okay."
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Elliot laughs again. The bathroom is empty although I can hear some noise coming from the locker room. I took a long bath and now we're alone.
"Didn't realize you were so shy, Lightning."
I don't look up. I know his smirk is sharp, amused and dangerous. "Well, don't wanna make you uncomfortable or anything."
"That's not possible, Alpha," His footsteps sound too loud against the tiled floor as he walks towards me. "What does a beta gotta do to get some attention around here?"
I glance at him. "Attention?"
Elliot is in front of me now. "I've been very obviously flirting with you."
His fingers brush my arm, just barely. I tense.
Fenrir growls, a warning rumbling through my ribs. 'Step back. He is not our mate.'
I ignore him.
"Can't say I noticed," I tell Elliot.
The corner of his mouth curves upward. "Really, Whitaker?" He traces a finger down my sternum and my breath hitches. "I find that hard to believe."
Shit.
I haven't thought about Elliot since that night in the stadium and, with everything that happened after, it just… slipped my mind. But now my body is reminding me in the most embarrassing way that it's been too long since I've been physical with someone.
The club was a bust. That fucking vampire almost cost me everything but Elliot?
He's safe. He's hot. And Noah is seeing someone else.
I love him but getting him back is a tricky game and no one said anything about taking a detour as you play…
I tilt my head, letting my own smirk form. "Maybe you should be more obvious."
Elliot's eyes flicker down to my mouth, then back up. His voice drops, low and teasing. "So you have noticed."
I don't stop him when he steps into my space.
His hand skims my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my lips. He leans in, his breath warm against mine—
The door swings open.
Noah.
We jump apart like we've been burned.
Noah freezes. His hazel eyes flick between us. He takes in the scene— Elliot, still dripping wet, still way too close—and for a second, just a second, I see something flash across his face.
Annoyance? Anger? Jealousy?
Then he bites his lip. Smothers whatever he's feeling.
His voice is even when he speaks. "Alfred wants to see you."
That's all. No snide remarks. No scolding. No accusations.
Just detached professionalism.
It shouldn't sting, but it does.
I nod, grabbing my towel. "Got it."
Noah lingers for half a second longer. Then he turns on his heel and leaves.