Page 92 of Baseball and Shifters

I try to scream, to shift. To do anything.

But I can’t.

And then everything goes black.

The last thing I hear is my captor's dark chuckle, low and filled with malice.

Derrick

Iwake up with a weird buzz under my skin. It’s not the typical game day hum, it’s more of an annoying itch. My dragon is restless, prowling just beneath my skin. The world feels sharp. Loud. Too bright.

The guys are already up and in the shared area of the dorm. Bas looks slightly dishevelled and he’s pacing the length of the living room. His dark hair sticks up at odd angles, like he rolled straight out of bed and forgot how to function. His jaw is tight, and there’s a twitch in his fingers every time he brushes them through his hair. He’s not usually jittery before a game, but today he keeps rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off tension from an unknown source.

“Anyone else feel weird this morning?” Lucas stands in the kitchen in joggers and a faded team hoodie, shaking his protein drink like it owes him money. “Like the air’s too tight?”

“Yeah,” Liam answers with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Didn’t sleep for shit last night.”

None of us did.

I check my phone, looking for a text that isn’t there. No “Good Morning!” text. Not even a selfie or a sleepy fox emoji. My stomach twists.

She probably just slept in. Stayed up too late having pillow fights or whatever it is girls do during girls night. I pretend not to be worried about her.

Bas glances over. “She text you yet?”

“Not yet,” I say, pocketing my phone. “I texted her first thing but she probably just isn’t awake yet. Or she’s just getting ready for the game.”

Liam’s eyes flick to me, but he doesn’t call me on the lie.

I reach for the bond again, barely brushing the edge of it. It’s too quiet. Like shouting into a tunnel and getting no echo. No sparkle of amusement. No flutter of love. Just... silence. And my dragon does not like silence.

“Alright,” I say, clapping my hands once. “Let’s get our heads in the game.”

We move through the motions, grabbing our gear and our game bags before heading for the field. The whole walk over my eyes scan my surroundings searching every face hoping to see hers. But we still haven’t seen or heard from her when we walk into the locker room. Warm-up comes and goes, still no Rachel. Then just before the game’s set to begin, my dad pops up just over the fence from our dugout, his emerald and navy windbreaker flaps in the breeze as he scans the field with laser focus.

“Hey, son,” he says, flashing a quick grin. “You seen Rachel?”

The question guts me.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

His expression darkens as his eyes scanning the crowd.

“Have any of the girls shown up yet?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.

“Not yet,” he answers, making me feel a small bit better.

“She was supposed to come with them,” I reply.

I search our bond for answers but all I can feel from her is a soft gentle hum, almost like she’s asleep.

Dad must see something in my eyes because he mutters a curse under his breath and pulls out his phone. “Alright, I’ll check in with Helene and see if she’s heard anything. If she hasn’t, I’ll go looking for them.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns and moves quickly, disappearing into the crowd.

My gut twists again.

“She’s fine,” Liam says from behind me. “Just with the girls and running late.”

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