Wereball Serie - Along Came A Mate
Chapter 3

The clouds were pregnant with rain when I managed to reach the Anatomy building by barely avoiding the second shower of the day. As soon as I stepped into the safety of the building, the frantic beating of the heavy drops hitting the unfortunate students who unlike me were still outside.

Some descendants of the Moon Goddess who had chosen the medical profession were scattered around the corridors. A hum of voices, smells and chemicals flooded me as my feet led me to an oak door. If I were not a werewolf, with innate and not quite deserved ultra-strength, I would have had serious problems opening it as it was massive.

The classroom was already full of faces that focused briefly on me as I entered, and then went back to their business.

In that crowd I recognised Tiziano, engaged in a serious and profound conversation with another were-student. They looked like two politicians, intent on defining the future of the country.

“I repeat it!” The shrill, commanding voice of my friend and roommate reached my sensitive ears, stealing a smile from me. “Dark Diamond has no chance this season! Terminator or not in the team.”

After all, it was not such a serious debate.

“Dude, you haven’t seen how quick and mischievous he is! I’ve heard the guy cheats all the time during a game.” The other gossiper retorted. Yes, gossiper, because more than talking about the game, they seemed to focus on gossip around.

“And we have The Highlander! Have you forgotten perhaps? Our man doesn’t need to cheat, and everyone knows it!” The pride emanating from his sparkling eyes reflected on his posture.

Tiziano was, is, and always would be my brother’s number one fun club.

“That’s the point, man! Everyone knows how virtuous Lachlan is! Including Termination himself, which is sure to play even dirtier, you’ll see!”

The small earthquake caused by Tiziano’s fist on the desk was not a surprise. He once punched an enemy team fan for calling my twin a slowpoke. He literally ran to the other team’s benches to beat up the shocked werewolf, leaving behind a trail of fire.

Tiziano, who was generally peaceful, became all ‘mother bear’ every time someone touched one of his cubs. And Lachlan and I were part of his litter.

“It doesn’t matter! Lachlan is the best! End of story!”

The other werewolf rolled his eyes and shook his head at Tiziano’s stubbornness.

“Nothing beats class and innate talent! Not even cheating.” Tiziano added with an aggressive posture.

“Not if the cheater is The Termination himself! You’ve seen his talent and his massive muscles-”

“Let me explain something to your silly face.” Tiziano growled grabbing the werewolf by the collar of his t-shirt. “There are three types of were-players. The few honest ones like our Lachlan that win no matter what, because they are the princes of the field, regal and majestic, and above all. Then, the rest, the usual commoner were-player, brute and short-tempered. And then, at the bottom of all, there is the Terminator, the worst kind. The cheater, the cunning viper that will never be a-”

“Come on guys! It’s wereball! There are no rules, so cheating is allowed as long as you want!” My words came out of my mouth as I was placing my notebook on the desk, next to the human torso placed on my desk.

The ”how-can-you-betray-your-own-brother-like-this" expression on Tiziano’s face almost made me laugh.

But I did not bat an eye over his typical tantrum.

‘The Terminator’ was the werewolf most hated by mine and many other packs simply because he was the captain of the Dark Diamond wereball team. The poor fellow had done no harm to anyone off the field but being in that position had made him the villain of the situation.

Several people did not even know his real name, the one his own mother had given him at birth. That had happened to Lachlan too as my own father and cheeky mother had begun to call him Highlander as well.

The conversation about the wereball season continued with enthusiasm, perhaps too much, and with even a few slaps and growls. It was completely normal for me, growing up with testosterone-filled wolves, so I began to read ′Transient Ischemic Attack’s, ignoring the hustle and bustle from the circle of guys that had grown around Tiziano and the heated discussion about the season. The warfare continued until the beginning of the lesson, when the tutor entered with a pile of books.

I had to admit that this was not a lesson I enjoyed. Indeed, it was the one that most of all seemed to me a real lesson.

The best dream job was the one I would do for free and the best classes were the ones I went to without effort, without the stressful “I must go” feeling. When you were passionate about something and had professors and experts in the field who had dedicated their lives to the subject, you could never feel it as something that was forced on you, but you would be willing and happy to go.

This was usually how I felt about the majority of the lectures, but not for this particular class, where we had to dissect the internal organs of the human torso in front of us.

I squinted at the anatomy book in front of me and then at the surgical devices that cluttered my messy desk.

“I can do this.” I muttered as my eyes drifted from the knife on my trembling hand to the torso , placed in front of me, like an offering to the god of medicine and progress.

These torsos once belonged to people who had signed a contract before they died, stating that they wanted to donate their body, once they died, to science for study and experiments.

Never a fan of anatomical practice, unfortunately for me it was a mandatory subject. Especially when dealing with pieces of meat like those who were once real people who walked, breathed, and maybe loved.

“Need help?” A hoarse voice came from behind.

“She sure does!” Tiziano coughed from my side, averting his eyes ... As if I could not see the evil emanating from them.

Alex Petrarchi, a werewolf that belonged to my pack, was the tutor of this class. In his last year of medical school, Alex’s juicy brain had managed to secure him a spot as a tutor, winning among several other juicy brains.

Specialized in general surgery and one of the defenders of the pack’s wereball team, Alex had a humour considered nice by most, and had three quarters of the female population drooling behind his tail. I, of course, was in the remaining quarter, ignoring his impressive tail or package (to use Tiziano’s terminology), along with the few mated she-wolves, the lesbians, and the nuns.

“No thanks. I have got this,” my posture screamed the opposite, “The first incision is always the hardest.”

Unlike most of my medical friends, I always imagined a face and a story behind every piece of meat, organ, or specimen we were practicing with.

A deep chuckle and a muffled sound were not enough to distract me. My brain sizzled with concentration.

Soon a large gloved hand swallowed mine, directing the scalpel in the right way, demonstrating how to make a perfect incision over the left lung.

Other instructions and suggestions followed, although I strangely felt it was an intimate situation and that the guy was a little too close.

“Let me know if you need any more help, Miss”

Formality was a requirement within the school walls.

His yellowish eyes lingered longer than necessary before a small smile appeared and .... a blush?

“Thank you, Sir.” And I had to admit it was strange to talk to him like that, considering he was only a few years older than me and played wereball with my brother.

“Your welcome.”

As he left, the ‘personification of teasing’ next to me didn’t waste a second to comment: “Damn, I felt like I was watching a porn episode!”

I rolled my eyes and tried to focus on extracting the lung from the body in front of me.

“And I bet he prefers to be called “Professor” much more,” Tiziano’s snicker was interrupted by a muffled groan, “Your sharp elbows match your personality today!”

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