Chapter 9 Animalistic

Chapter 9 Animalistic
Ginger's POV:

The only sounds I hear are a slight whoosh and a crack before Jayden's mouth—and body—is ripped from mine.

“What the hell?!”

My eyes snap open—just in time to witness Grayson's fist reconnect with Jayden's face for what has to be the second time today.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

Grayson has Jayden in his grip, holding him up against the stairways like a common ragdoll while he punches him square in the face, over and over again.

His nose is bleeding, head jerking to the side with the force of every hit, yet he doesn't fight back.

More like he's unable to. Grayson's reflexes are really fast. Even for an athlete. Neither of us had seen him coming.

“Grayson!” I rush towards him, wincing at each sickening crunch. “Hey, stop!”

But he just keeps going, like a man possessed. My fingers wrap around his torso, a sob rising in my throat. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the pure hatred fueling every hit. This is more than just surface-level anger. No, this is something worse. Something darker.

And that terrifies me.

I bury my face in his back. Desperate. Pleading. “Grayson, please stop.”

He jerks back against me. “Stay out of this.”

“But you’ll kill him at this rate.”

“I’ll be doing the world a favor.”

A chill runs through me. I can't believe he just said that. Suddenly it's like he's a whole different person. A violent, narcissistic one.

Grayson lands another devastating blow, and Jayden groans, his left eye swelling shut. It would be amazing how he hasn't passed out by now if he wasn't getting so brutally beaten up.

“Stop it.” I plant myself in front of him, but he just tries to reach past me. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Nothing. Get the hell out of my face!”

Something about the way he says it freezes me on the spot.

It doesn't read like a statement. More like a roar.

An almost… Animalistic roar.

Grayson must see the shock on my face because his eyes widen and he steps back with a curse.

That gives me enough time to check if Jayden's still breathing.

“Are you okay?” I ask. He visibly winces the second my hands touch him. His split lip in an even worse condition.

He tries to speak but only coughs up some blood before managing a nod. Tears brim in my eyes. I blink them back.

The last thing I wanted was to get him involved in my mess. Yet look what happened.

Grayson is pacing, barefoot, his steps growing increasingly annoying.

I glare at him. “What, you won't get your fix till you've completed the job?”

“Ginger—”

“Leave.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I can't deal with you right now, ‘brother’. Jayden's badly hurt, school's out, and someone needs to get him to the hospital. I have a feeling that's not going to be you.”

My words don't have the desired effect. Rather, it only makes him madder.

“So is that it?” he says. “I make one mistake and you're all but ready to get finger-fucked by the enemy?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“‘Course not. Because that isn't what I just saw.”

I don't say anything. Just stare at him wishing he'll evaporate.

It really isn't. Yes, I admit I had an ugly breakdown after practically storming out on everyone. But the intention wasn't exactly to go cozying up to my intellectual arch nemesis. Jayden just… found me at a bad time.

“Did you know I looked for you?” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes wild and accusatory. “That I spent the last hour just.. hating myself for not telling you sooner?”

I stay quiet, because, what can I say? He should have told me. We were together the better part of last night, comfy beneath the covers. I would have listened if only he said something. Yet, he chose not to.

Not when his ‘fiancée’ walked into class, claiming the seat next to me like it was her birthright. Or when the little minx tripped me at lunch. His stupid ego was also perfectly fine watching me stand up to our Alpha for all the wrong reasons, conveniently letting me embarrass myself before everyone.

No, he doesn't deserve a reply from me.

Matter of fact, he doesn't even deserve my time.

Yet here I stand; with my pride in the dumps and my heart bleeding out my chest, trying to pull the clearly unattainable boy I want from the depths of his own brand of chaos.

“Calm down.”

“Don't fucking tell me to calm down!” Grayson explodes, his eyes flashing gold.

I gasp. And then—for the first time since this whole debacle began—I look at him. Really look at him. My heart sinks to my guts.

No.

His hair, now wet and sticking to his face, has grown at least an inch longer over the past ten minutes, his height nearly doubled. Veins extend down his hands and up the exposed skin of his neck, giving him the physical outlook of a gym rat on steroids. The pieces all come together. His increased rage, extra strength, heightened reflexes and even his unusual possessiveness.

All signs of an emerging Alpha.

Grayson’s ferocious growl cuts through my spine, bouncing across the walls. The echoing feedback makes goosebumps rise on my skin. I couldn't be more grateful for the arena's reinforced walls and the relief that comes with knowing there's no one here to hear him.

Except from Jayden that is. But I'll cross that bridge when the time comes.

I step forward, arms raised. He scrambles back.

“No! Stay away. I don't want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn't.”

Grayson watches me, shoulders heaving, breathing hard. And then his knees give out.

I see him drop to the floor, unable to get back up. His muscles twist. Bones breaking and recalibrating. The fabric of his jersey rips, chest guard snapping in two. Then he screams, loud and agonizing, the sound squeezing at my heart.

“What's going on?” His voice trembles with panic. “What's happening to me? Why… Why am I so angry all of a sudden?”

I move closer, hoping to offer some comfort. “Probably because you're going through your first shift.”

His eyes widen.

“What? That can't be possible,” he says. “Moonball isn't happening for another month.”

Before I can respond, the door slams open and Katelyn ambles her way through the tunnel doors, phone in hand, steps uneven.

“Blackwood, I swear if I have to call one more time—” she's halfway through saying when her eyes land on him.

“Grayson?”

Something akin to shock crosses her face. The phone in her grip falls, same time with the crutches. My jaw drops.

All this time… it was just an act?

I watch as she walks—on her own two feet—through the barricades and into the rink, approaching Grayson. Her fingers smooth over his scalp and he leans against her, breathing laboured, skin red and moist with sweat.

“He's burning up,” she notes, hardly sparing me a glance. She touches his face, his neck. “What's wrong with him?”

“He's shifting,” I say, “for the very first time.”

“Here? That's not good.”

There's something vulnerable about their position. Intimate even. Kind of like how I was with him last night. I try to avert my gaze, but Katelyn beats me to the punch.

“We need to get him somewhere safe,” she says. “It’s dangerous keeping him here.”

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock.”

“So, why are you just standing there?” she snaps. “Come on, help me lift him up.”

“I’m sorry Katy, but you're on your own for this one.”

Her eyes shoot lasers.

Okay. “Look, it's clear by now we don't like each other and we'll never be friends, but my stepbrother's turning into something that's ‘not human’, and believe it or not you're my best bet at getting him out of here. So why don’t we keep our differences aside for the time being?”

“Why? What would you be doing?”

“I've got a black-eyed soccer captain who—mind you, will likely have questions about what happened here today—to tend to. And unless you're volunteering to get him to a hospital, I'll be on my way now.”

I pivot towards the bleachers, fully convinced I can hear Katelyn cursing at me.

I don't get far though, because the snapping of bones has me turning back

...Just in time to watch Katelyn herself shift.