Chapter 142
Jackson's POV
"I've waited years for you to be ready for this," Miles said, meeting my eyes again. "After Elena died, I thought—hoped—you'd awaken and we could make Lennox pay for what he took from us. When you turned fifteen and nothing happened..." His jaw tightened. "I was disappointed. Thought maybe the Wilson bloodline had skipped you."
I already knew this. We'd had this conversation before, multiple times over the years. The weight of his expectations, his barely concealed frustration when I showed no signs of shifting, the way he'd pulled back when I chose pre-med over pack politics.
"But you're here now," Miles continued, his tone shifting back to business. "So we work with what we've got. Strip down to shorts. We're starting with the basics."
The "basics" turned out to be two hours of the most grueling physical training I'd ever experienced. Miles pushed me through shifting drills—human to wolf and back again, faster and faster until my bones ached from the constant transformation. Then combat practice, where he demonstrated precisely how inadequate my self-taught fighting skills were.
"You telegraph every move," he said after throwing me for the fifth time. I hit the mat hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. "An Alpha needs to be unpredictable. Caleb won't give you time to think—he'll exploit every hesitation."
By the time six AM rolled around, I was covered in bruises, bleeding from a split lip, and so exhausted I could barely stand. Miles tossed me a water bottle.
"Tomorrow, we add endurance running in wolf form. You need to be able to maintain transformation for hours without fatigue." He paused. "And Jackson? This is just the warmup."
I nodded, too tired to speak.
"One more thing." Miles's voice softened slightly. "I know what I'm asking of you. To take this path means giving up the normal life you've been building. Your studies will suffer. Your friendships will strain. That girl of yours—Ellie—she'll see changes in you that might scare her."
Ellie.
Just thinking her name made some of the exhaustion fade. "I'm not doing this to maintain a normal life," I said hoarsely. "I'm doing this to protect that life. To protect her."
Miles studied me for a long moment. "Your father said something similar about your mother once. He told Lennox that he'd burn the whole pack structure to the ground if it meant keeping her safe." His expression grew distant. "I think that's part of why Lennox feared him. True Alpha strength isn't just about dominance—it's about knowing what you'd sacrifice everything for."
He headed toward the exit, then paused. "Get cleaned up. Maintain your cover. And Jackson? When Caleb finally makes his move, remember—he'll come at you through the people you care about. That's what cowards do when they know they can't win a fair fight."
---
The hot water in the Athletic Center showers did nothing to ease the deep ache in my muscles, but at least it washed away the blood and sweat. I examined my reflection in the steamed mirror—split lip already healing, bruises fading to yellow. One advantage of werewolf metabolism.
My phone buzzed with a text from Ryan:
R: Dude, where are you? Jake made pancakes and they're actually edible!
I stared at the message, guilt twisting in my gut. Ryan and Jake—my roommates, my friends—had no idea what was really happening. To them, I was just Jackson, the pre-med student who helped choreograph their dance club performances and occasionally joined their FIFA tournaments.
How much longer could I maintain that fiction?
J: Morning run went long. Save me some?
R: Already on it.
Back at the dorm, Ryan and Jake were indeed demolishing a stack of pancakes. Jake waved a fork at me enthusiastically.
"Dude! I successfully didn't burn anything! This is a momentous occasion!"
"Truly historic," I agreed, grabbing a plate. My stomach rumbled—apparently getting your ass kicked for two hours burns a lot of calories.
"So," Ryan said with studied casualness, "you've been doing these 'morning runs' a lot lately. Everything okay?"
I kept my expression neutral. "Yeah, just trying to stay in shape. You know how it is."
"Uh-huh." Ryan exchanged a look with Jake. "And the mysterious family business you keep mentioning?"
"Still mysterious. Still business." I forced a laugh. "Nothing exciting, I promise. Just boring paperwork stuff for my uncle's company."
Which wasn't entirely a lie—Miles did run a mid-sized logistics company he'd built from scratch over the past decade. Werewolves adapting to human business models? Not surprising at all when you think about it. We've got human-level intelligence combined with apex predator instincts—the patience to wait for the right opportunity, the drive to dominate our territory, the physical stamina to work longer hours than any human competitor.
Honestly? Some of those Fortune 500 CEOs you read about in Forbes? The ones with the "inexplicable" success stories and uncanny business instincts? Yeah. Wouldn't shock me if a few of them had gold eyes under the right moon.
But I couldn't exactly tell Ryan and Jake that.
Jake, bless him, was easier to distract. "Speaking of exciting—Brianna and I actually hung out one-on-one yesterday! Like, just the two of us, no group safety net!"
"That's great, man," I said, genuinely happy for him. Jake had been oblivious to Brianna Ford's increasingly obvious hints, and it had taken Ryan practically spelling it out for him to realize she was interested.
"Right? Although honestly, Ryan basically had to drag me into asking her." Jake ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "Apparently she'd been 'sending signals' for weeks and I just... completely missed them."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Dude was hopeless. She literally asked him to 'help her practice a duet' and he brought sheet music."
"It was a reasonable assumption!" Jake protested, then turned to me hopefully. "But now I don't know what to do next. Like, do I ask her out again? Wait for her to suggest something? I'm good at hockey and calculus, not... whatever this is."
I'm good at lying to my friends while training to fight my cousin for control of a werewolf pack. That's what I'm good at.
"Just be yourself," I said instead. "She already likes you—she wouldn't have agreed otherwise. Maybe text her something casual, see if she wants to grab dinner?"
Ryan snorted. "Rich, coming from Mr. 'I'll Just Be Friends With Ellie For An Entire Semester And Never Actually Tell Her How I Feel.'"
"That was different—"
"Fine, whatever." Ryan leaned back, studying me with uncomfortable perception. "But what's that bruise on your arm? And don't tell me you got that from running."
I looked down and realized my shirt sleeve had ridden up, revealing a particularly nasty bruise Miles's elbow had left on my forearm.
"Rugby," I said quickly. "Joined a pickup league. Should've mentioned it."
"Rugby." Ryan's tone made it clear he didn't believe me. "At four AM."
"International players," I improvised. "Time zone differences."
Jake frowned. "Jackson, if something's wrong—"
"Nothing's wrong." The words came out sharper than intended. I softened my voice. "I appreciate the concern, guys. Really. But I'm fine. Just... adjusting to some family stuff. It'll settle down soon."
Ryan held my gaze for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But you know we're here, right? Whatever it is."
"I know."
And I hate that I can't tell you the truth.