Chapter 145
Ellie's POV
Some visiting lecturer's voice droned on about algorithm optimization theory—or maybe it was data structures? I honestly couldn't tell. The words might as well have been in a foreign language for all I absorbed. I couldn't even remember what the person looked like, whether it was a man or woman speaking. My mind simply refused to register anything beyond the drone of a voice at the front of the room.
He's out there. Watching. Waiting.
Thalia stirred restlessly beneath my skin, that sixth sense we shared prickling with constant awareness. Every shift in the air made my muscles tense. Every footstep in the hallway outside triggered an involuntary scan for that distinctive Alpha signature—that heavy, oppressive presence that had made my wolf recoil when Caleb "accidentally" bumped into us.
A gentle elbow connected with my ribs. Lily's concerned face swam into focus.
"Hey. You still with us?"
I blinked. Around us, students were packing up their laptops. The lecture had ended. An entire hour had passed in what felt like seconds, leaving absolutely nothing behind except pages of meaningless doodles.
"Yeah, sorry. Just... tired."
Lily and Megan cornered me the moment we hit the hallway, exchanging one of those silent roommate communication looks that meant they'd already discussed this beforehand.
"Okay, what's going on?" Lily asked directly, gesturing at my face. "You have dark circles under your eyes. You've been distracted for days. And honestly, you seem really stressed."
I forced what I hoped was a convincing smile. "Just adjusting to the new place, you know? Different sounds at night, still getting used to everything."
"Uh-huh." Megan crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. "And it has nothing to do with Jackson?"
My stomach clenched. "What? No, Jackson and I are fine—"
"Are you sure?" Megan pressed. "Because, like, I've read about this. Once guys get you to move in with them, sometimes they stop trying as hard. They figure you're already locked down, so why bother with the romance anymore?"
"That's not—" I started, but Lily interrupted.
"Wait, is that actually a thing?" She looked genuinely curious. "Do guys really change after you move in together?"
"It's totally a thing!" Megan insisted. "I mean, think about it—the chase is over, right? So they relax and show their true colors. Maybe Jackson's starting to take you for granted now that you're living together."
Despite the absurdity of the conversation—given that our actual problems involved werewolf politics and Alpha challenges, not typical relationship issues—I couldn't help but laugh.
"You shouldn't take relationship advice from Megan," I told Lily with a teasing smile. "She's literally the only one of us who's never actually been in a relationship."
"Hey!" Megan protested indignantly. "Just because I don't have practical experience doesn't mean I don't understand the theory! I've done extensive research!"
"Research," I repeated, fighting back a grin. "You mean those web novels you're always reading?"
"Those web novels are literature!" Megan declared dramatically. "And they're based on real psychological patterns! The tropes exist because they reflect actual human behavior!"
"Web novels," Lily said thoughtfully. "As your primary source for understanding men."
"Mock me all you want," Megan huffed, "but those stories wouldn't be popular if they didn't ring true! The patterns are there—guy pursues girl, girl gives in, guy stops trying. It's practically a law of nature!"
All three of us burst out laughing, and for a moment, the tension I'd been carrying all day loosened its grip. This—stupid debates about romance novel logic with my friends—this was the normal I desperately needed.
"For the record," Lily said as our laughter subsided, "I don't think Jackson's taking you for granted. He seems really attentive. Like, genuinely caring."
"Exactly," I agreed, grateful for the reality check. "We're fine. Really. I'm just tired from moving and the new semester. Nothing dramatic."
Megan still looked skeptical but let it drop as we headed toward our next class. As we walked, I felt some of the day's anxiety ease—at least temporarily.
---
By the time I made it back to the house that evening, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones. The security system chirped its familiar greeting as I unlocked the door, all of Miles's additions humming quietly in the background.
I dropped my bag and headed for the kitchen, thinking maybe I'd start dinner. But the house felt too quiet, too empty without Jackson's presence. I glanced at my phone—no messages yet about when he'd be home from training.
Don't think about what Miles is putting him through. Don't imagine him getting hurt. Don't—
The sound of a key in the lock made me turn.
Jackson stepped through the door, and my heart immediately sank. His training clothes were streaked with mud and sweat, a fresh bruise already darkening along his jaw. He moved with the careful stiffness of someone whose entire body hurt, slightly favoring his right leg.
"Hey," he managed, voice rough with exhaustion. "I'm home."
Werewolf healing wasn't infinite—I'd learned that the hard way over these past weeks of watching Jackson come home battered. Minor cuts and bruises would fade within hours, sure, but the kind of damage Miles was inflicting in these brutal training sessions required either actual medical intervention or days of recovery time that Jackson wasn't getting.
The bruise spreading across his jaw should have been gone by now if it was just from this morning, which meant he'd taken another hit this afternoon. And the limp suggested something worse than a simple muscle strain—possibly a partially torn ligament that his body was struggling to repair while being pushed through continuous training.
The realization made my chest tight with worry. He was pushing himself past what even werewolf physiology could reasonably handle.
I crossed to him immediately, wrapping my arms around him despite the mud and sweat. He made a soft sound—relief mixed with pain—and leaned into the embrace.
"Careful," he murmured, but his arms came around me anyway, holding me close. "I'm kind of a mess."
"I don't care." I held him tighter, feeling his heartbeat against my cheek, reassuring myself that he was here and whole despite the visible damage. "Are you okay? What did Miles—"
"I'm fine," Jackson interrupted gently, one hand coming up to stroke my hair. "Sore, but fine. And honestly?" His voice softened. "Having you here waiting for me, getting to hold you like this—it's like plugging in a dead battery. Instant recharge."
I pulled back just enough to look at his face, cataloging the injuries with a worried frown. "You need to shower and let me look at those cuts properly."
"Yes, ma'am." A small smile tugged at his lips despite the split in the lower one. "But can we just... stay like this for a minute first?"