Rowan's words echoed in his mind "You know how to fight."
Iván stared down at his gloves as the older man, Fred, continued talking about tournaments and how he could make it as a boxer. But that wasn't what was eating at him.
How do I even know how to fight?
It wasn't training. No one had ever taught him. Yet, his body moved like it had done this a hundred times before. Not instinct… something deeper.
More like a memory.
Iván looked down at the moon pendant, the one that called him Azrael during the vampire incident. Could it be connected? Maybe it was time to ask his mother if she knew anyone named Azrael. Yeah… that might be the better option.
His eyes shifted to Scott, who stood frozen, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Iván could hear his heart pounding—fast and unsteady. Without a word, Scott tore off his gloves and stormed toward the men's showers, clearly rattled.
Iván's gaze dropped to the gloves Scott had left behind. His eyes narrowed.
holes.
Each one where Scott's claws had torn clean through the padding. The gloves weren't just worn—they were ruined.
He's losing control, Iván realized.
He glanced at Rowan, who caught the look immediately. Without a word, Rowan, clearly annoyed, headed after Scott, with Stiles following close behind.
Iván picked up the torn gloves and with a flick of his wrist, tossed them toward Rowan. He snatched them from the air just as he disappeared through the door.
Iván glanced back at Fred, who was still grinning like he'd just seen something exciting.
"Kid," the guy said, nodding toward the ring, "how about you try fighting someone your level, huh? Hey, Tommy!" he whistled.
A tall, shirtless guy stepped forward—pale skin, lean but muscular build, black hair and probably around six feet tall. Iván stood at maybe 5'8"—still growing, he reminded himself.
"Yeah?" Tommy said, raising an eyebrow. "What is it, Fred?"
Fred nodded toward the ring. "See that kid? Took out the other one like it was nothing. I want you to give him a few pointers… after you rough him up a little."
Tommy smirked and gave a casual nod. "Got it."
What kind of mess am I getting myself into? Iván thought, tension knotting in his chest. I don't want to hurt this guy… not if I can't hold back.
But then—he caught Tommy's eyes.
Gold.
Not hazel, not brown—gold. Bright and unnatural, like they didn't belong to a normal human. Iván's instincts flared, warning him to stay alert. But he shrugged it off, cracked his neck, and stepped forward.
Something tells me I don't need to worry about hurting this guy.
Tommy stepped into the ring and started wrapping up, sliding on a pair of gloves. He took one long sniff in Iván's direction, and his golden eyes narrowed—like an animal picking up a scent.
Then he raised his fists and settled into a stance..
Iván matched it, bringing up his guard. His stance wasn't perfect, but his instincts were sharp. The older man shouted, "Fight!"
They circled.
Both on their toes, bouncing slightly with each step. Tommy moved with a fluid rhythm, his torso swaying side to side, gloves twitching in small, calculated feints. He jabbed lightly at Iván's shoulder—not trying to hit, just testing, measuring his reach.
Iván didn't flinch. He watched. Waited. Because if Tommy thought this was going to be easy…
He was in for a surprise.
Meanwhile, in the locker room showers, Stiles and Rowan were struggling to shove Scott under the cold water.
Scott growled, his teeth bared, eyes glowing yellow. His breathing was heavy.
"This was a terrible idea, bringing werewolves to a boxing match!" Rowan shouted, water splashing around them.
Stiles, pushing Scott's shoulder with all his strength, shot him a look. "You think?! Of course it was a terrible idea!"
Scott let out a low snarl, but the cold water was finally starting to bring him down. His eyes slowly faded back to normal.
"Okay…" Stiles exhaled. "New rule—no sparring unless there's a bucket of ice water on standby."
Rowan nodded. "Agreed."
Back in the boxing ring, the fight had escalated—blows flying so fast and precise, the entire gym came to a standstill. Everyone stopped what they were doing, drawn to the match like it was a professional bout.
Iván moved with sharp focus, blocking every punch with ease. His eyes narrowed, his body reacting instinctively—like muscle memory he didn't know he had.
Then he struck back.
Controlled, clean punches hammered into Tommy's ribs. Each hit landed with force, knocking the wind out of him—or so it seemed. But something was off.
Tommy didn't even flinch. In fact… he didn't look like he was breathing at all.
Tommy glared at Iván, still feeling the sting from the last hit. The scent clinging to Iván was unmistakable—wolf. And his strength? That confirmed it. No one was holding back now. Tommy grinned, all restraint gone.
Then he charged.
No warm-up. No warning.
Tommy came in hard—shoulders tight, form precise. His fists blurred in a vicious combo, each punch landing with punishing weight. The body shots echoed like thunder, and the final hook nearly took Iván off his feet.
This wasn't a spar.
It was a statement.
Tommy was trying to break him.
Iván took a step back, eyes narrowing, instincts flaring. Then—he planted his feet.
He absorbed the blows like a wall, his body tensing with each hit… and then he let loose.
Exploding forward, Iván threw a furious combo—fluid, precise, and devastating. The first strike shattered Tommy's guard, the second drove deep into his chest, sending him crashing to his knees.
The gym fell silent. Tension hung in the air like a held breath.
But Iván wasn't done.
He stepped in, twisted his hips, and delivered a final, vicious blow—his fist crashing against Tommy's cheek with explosive force.
The crack echoed through the gym.
Tommy hit the mat—completely out cold.
Iván exhaled sharply, pulling off his gloves and letting them fall to the mat.
He breathed heavily, shoulders rising and falling as he struggled to steady himself, and his eyes glowed gold, with faint embers flickering in their depths—a hidden spark burning from within.
His eyes dropping to his fists—still buzzing with adrenaline—before he turned to the crowd, who erupted into cheers and applause.
Near the back, Derek stood with his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with his unreadable expression. quietly assessing.
Then Iván's gaze shifted to Fred, who was now clapping with a wide grin.