Chapter 141
Jackson's POV
The abandoned industrial zone on Cedar View's eastern outskirts looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie—rusted metal frames, cracked concrete, and the skeletal remains of warehouses that hadn't seen workers in decades. Perfect for what Miles had in mind.
I pulled my Jeep alongside his black pickup at 4:47 AM, the sky still dark except for a bruised purple line along the horizon. My breath fogged in the frigid air as I stepped out, every muscle already tense with anticipation and dread.
Miles emerged from the shadows between two buildings, dressed in dark tactical gear that made him look less like my uncle and more like someone preparing for war. Which, I supposed, he was.
"You're late," he said flatly.
"Traffic," I muttered, though we both knew that was bullshit at this hour.
His eyes—the same shade of amber-gold as my mother's—assessed me with uncomfortable intensity. "Second thoughts?"
Yes. A thousand of them.
But I thought of Ellie trapped under ice, of Caleb's predatory smile in those grainy surveillance photos Miles had sent, of my father's empty grave and unanswered questions.
"No second thoughts."
Miles's expression didn't soften, but something flickered in his gaze that might have been approval. "Good. Because what we're about to do will be the hardest thing you've ever experienced. Alpha training isn't about learning to fight—though we'll do plenty of that. It's about learning to dominate. To make other wolves submit through sheer force of will."
He gestured toward the largest warehouse. "For the next six weeks, you'll meet me here every morning at four. We'll train until six—that gives you time to shower and pretend you went for a normal morning run before your roommates wake up. The work will be brutal. You'll push your body past what you think are its limits. You'll learn to shift between forms in seconds, not minutes. And most importantly—" His voice dropped, taking on an edge that made my wolf stir uneasily. "—you'll learn to project Alpha dominance even in human form."
"Caleb can do all that already," I said quietly. It wasn't a question.
"Caleb spent five years training with the Romanian packs. They don't fuck around with theory and philosophy—they throw young Alphas into combat scenarios and let them figure it out or die trying." Miles started walking toward the warehouse, and I fell into step beside him. "He's been in actual territory disputes. He's killed challengers. He learned Alpha dominance by having it beaten into him by wolves twice his size."
The warehouse interior was surprisingly well-equipped—fighting mats, weight equipment, even what looked like specialized restraints built into the walls. Miles must have been preparing this space for weeks.
"You, on the other hand," he continued, "have been playing human. Going to classes. Joining a dance club. Dating." He turned to face me, and his expression was hard. "I'm not judging—your mother wanted you to have choices. But choices come with consequences. Right now, you're soft. Untested. Caleb will smell that weakness the moment he's in the same room with you."
My wolf growled low in my chest, and I felt my canines start to extend. "I'm not weak—"
"Prove it." Miles's eyes flashed gold, and suddenly the air was thick with Alpha presence—not quite a challenge, but a test. The pressure made my knees want to buckle.
I fought it, drawing on every ounce of stubbornness I possessed. My own eyes must have shifted because I saw Miles's pupils dilate in response. For thirty seconds, we stood locked in a silent battle of wills, the warehouse thrumming with predator energy.
Finally, Miles broke eye contact and laughed—a short, sharp bark of sound. "Not bad. You've got your mother's core strength. Elena was always stubborn as hell."
My chest tightened at the mention of her. Miles rarely talked about my mother—his sister—and when he did, there was always this edge of old pain in his voice.
"She came from Alpha bloodline too," he continued, his tone softening slightly. "The Wilson pack, up in the Pacific Northwest. Strong wolves, old families. But they faced exposure about fifteen years ago—some hiker with a camera got footage during a full moon run. The pack had to scatter fast. Complete dispersal protocol."
I'd heard fragments of this story before, but never the full details.
"They abandoned everything," Miles said quietly. "Phones, computers, any device that could leave a digital trail. The whole pack just... vanished into different territories." His jaw tightened. "I was doing an exchange visit with a pack in Alaska when it happened. By the time I got word and made it back to Washington, they were gone. No forwarding information, no way to track them. That was the protocol—cut all ties, even with family outside the pack."
"You tried to find them," I said. It wasn't a question.
"For years." He looked away, and for a moment he seemed older, worn. "Tracked every lead, called in every favor. Your mother was my only sibling. But the Wilsons were thorough—they'd trained for this scenario. When a pack goes dark, they stay dark."
"How did you find out she'd died?"
"The bond." He touched his chest. "Sibling bonds aren't as strong as mates, but they're there. One day I felt it just... snap. Knew she was gone." His voice went rough. "Took me another six months to track you down through human channels. By then, you'd been in foster care for weeks."
I'd been seven when Miles appeared and took custody. I barely remembered my mother's face by then, just fragments—her laugh, the way she used to sing while cooking, the gold of her eyes when she tucked me in at night.