Chapter 007: Marked At Tryouts

Axel.

Stepping onto the pitch, I’m struck by how massive it is. Hayley wasn’t exaggerating: it’s way bigger than the one back at my old school in Ashbrae. I glance around and most of the team is lounging on the benches, deep in conversation, some laughing. A few others are casually tossing a football back and forth.

I turn to the stands. They’re mostly empty, except for a small crowd of students on the east side who are probably here out of boredom, curious to watch the new guys prove themselves.

Perfect. Just what I need—an audience.

My eyes are still glued to the small group of students when I spot Hayley sitting next to Corey. They’re both focused on their phones until Corey looks up and sees me. She waves, then nudges Hayley, who lifts her head and beams at me with a smile so warm, it settles something uneasy in me.

I smile back and give a quick wave, and right then, my thoughts drift to that evening at her house.

The kiss.

It’s been stuck in my head ever since. I rake a hand through my hair, turning away from the group in the stands. Kissing Hayley felt… right. And somehow, completely wrong. I’ve always cared about her for years, but more like a sibling than anything else.

Until, well, the kiss.

And now, everything feels blurred. But worse than the kiss itself were the feelings it stirred up.

I shouldn’t feel that way. Not towards Hayley.

Coach Phillips blows his whistle from the center of the field, snapping me back to the moment. He’s flanked by nine other boys as he waves me over and I jog up to join them.

“Now listen up, boys,” he says, his voice loud and sharp. “I want to see your A-game out there, alright? The Greystone Silverbacks aren’t a bunch of pussies. If you want a spot on this team, I need fire, grit, and heart. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” we shout in unison.

“Good. You’ll be split into two teams of five. First to score five touchdowns wins this round. Let’s go!”

I head over to join my team at one end of the pitch. Most of them look tense, their eyes darting around nervously. One in particular, a short-statured boy with freckles on both sides of his cheeks, is fumbling with his helmet strap.

“Here, let me help,” I say, fastening it for him. As I fit his gear properly, I give his shoulder pad a light pat and he flinches a little.

“You good?” I ask.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses under the helmet.

“I’m Axel,” I say, holding out a hand.

He doesn’t take it. “Harold.”

“Don’t worry, Harold. We’ve got this,” I tell him with a wink. And for just a second, he lets out the smallest smile.

Coach blows his whistle. “Ready?” Both teams nod. “And… go!”

Immediately, the game springs to life. As the ball bounces between players and bodies collide in heaps, one thing becomes clear—every boy on the field is a newbie at football. As boys stumble over themselves in a bid to grab, hold or pass the ball, it starts to look less like a tryout and more like a circus.

A player on the opposing side flings the ball to his teammate, but he’s too slow. I snatch it clean and weave my way past two defenders without breaking stride. Another dives for my legs and misses, crashing to the ground with a grunt.

There's just one man left now and he's in front of me.

Through his helmet, I catch the flicker of panic in his eyes. I feint left, then cut hard to the right. As he lunges the wrong way, I fly past him, dropping the ball clean into the end zone.

“That’s more like it, son!” Coach yells, blasting his whistle again.

The ball comes to me once more and I tear through the line like a storm, scoring again. Then again. And again.

Three. Four. I know it's just tryouts, but I’m on fire at this point as it’s almost too easy for me.

I’m way faster and stronger than any of the other boys on the field. As I charge forward for the fifth time, the opposing team finally braces. They form a wall, rooting themselves firmly on the line, ready to stop me.

Still, I know I could bulldoze straight through without breaking a sweat. But then I spot Harold running beside me, trying to keep up.

So I draw the defenders in, make it look like I’m going for it, but at the last second, I toss the ball his way. Harold fumbles, almost losing it, but he manages to hold on and cross the line for the final touchdown.

The field erupts in cheers as Coach’s whistle signals the end.

From the stands, one clap rises above the rest. When I turn in that direction, I find Hayley on her feet, smiling wide, clapping just for me. A warm flutter stirs in my chest and I give her a small wave.

Then I see him.

Shane, seated on the bench with his eyes locked on me. His gaze shifts to Hayley, noticing the way she watches me. He turns back and leans in to whisper something to Coach Phillips, his eyes never leaving mine.

I try to focus, straining my hearing on what is been said, but I’m too far away to get anything.

Coach blows his whistle again, calling us in.

“Good work, boys. I loved that energy,” he says. “Now we’re mixing things up.” He signals to a few of the starters. “I’m pulling three from each side and reshuffling the teams. We’ll play a few more minutes, then call it.”

Three boys from the other team step off the field and Shane and his crew take their place. A cold knot forms in my stomach as I watch Shane strap his gear.

He’s here for me. I know it.

The whistle blows, and I sprint toward the edge of the play, putting as much distance as I can between myself and Shane’s trio. A teammate launches the ball towards me and when I catch it, I tear down the field with nothing but open space ahead of me.

But just then, like a freight train, someone slams into me. Hard.

I hit the ground with a thud, the air knocked from my lungs as I clutch my ribs. Coach’s whistle shrieks for a timeout.

Through blurred vision, I blink up and I see him.

Shane is towering above me, pulling off his helmet as he crouches low with his gaze fixed on me.

“Show me your real eyes,” he says in a low voice meant for me alone.

I've had enough of it. I'm about to cuss at him but I stop dead when I see it.

His eyes—they’re glowing a deep crimson red.

A rush of fear ripples through me, like ice in my veins.

Shane tilts his head, eerily calm. “You can’t do it, can you?”

Coach Phillips blows the whistle. “O’Connor, back on. New kid, sit the rest of this one out.”

Shane stands upright and makes a show of helping me, offering a hand. As he helps me up, he leans in close.

“I’ll find you tonight, Axel,” he whispers. “And there’ll be no escaping then.”

He lets go without another word and jogs back onto the field.

Harold, now sitting on the bench, rushes over and throws my arm around his shoulder, helping me down the tunnel and toward the locker room. My body is in severe pain, but it’s nothing compared to the chaos swirling in my head.

Shane is a werewolf. Just like me.

But it’s not the truth of what he is that rattles me most.

It’s what he said: Finding me tonight.

Because tonight, there’ll be a full moon.