Chapter 128
Ellie's POV
Jackson ran a hand through his hair, and I could see the weight of this settling on his shoulders, the way his posture shifted from the relaxed, playful man who'd been cooking lunch to someone carrying an invisible burden. "He's been training with the European packs. Isabella warned me months ago that he was ambitious, that he saw me as potential competition for pack leadership."
My eyes widened. "And now he's coming here?"
"Apparently." He leaned back against the counter, and I could see the exhaustion in his eyes—not physical tiredness, but something deeper. The kind of weariness that came from constantly looking over your shoulder. "Isabella thinks he wants to confirm that I really don't have a wolf. That I'm not a threat to the succession."
"But you do have a wolf," I said quietly, my mind already racing through the implications. "You shifted to save me."
"Exactly." His dark eyes met mine, and I saw fear there—not for himself, but for what this meant for us. "Which means if Caleb finds out I can shift—that I've been hiding it all this time—everything changes. I won't just be a traumatized kid who lost his wolf. I'll be a legitimate threat who's been lying to everyone."
I crossed my arms, trying to think through the logic. "Why does he care if you don't want to be Alpha? You said you've made that clear."
"Because in pack politics, intentions don't matter as much as capability." Jackson sighed, and I could hear the frustration in his voice. "Even if I swear up and down that I don't want power, as long as I'm alive and potentially able to shift, I'm a wild card. An unknown factor that could disrupt their carefully laid plans."
"So what does he want to do? Test you somehow?"
"That's what Isabella implied." Jackson looked at me then—really looked at me—and I saw him taking in my expression, assessing whether I was panicking or thinking strategically. I straightened my spine, letting him see that I wasn't going to fall apart. "I told you before that I thought staying out of pack politics would keep me safe. But Isabella just confirmed what Miles has been saying all along: not fighting doesn't mean they don't see you as dangerous. It just means they're not sure what you're capable of."
I was quiet for a moment, turning it over in my mind. The pieces were falling into place—Jackson's reluctance to engage with pack hierarchy, his uncle's pressure for him to challenge for Alpha, and now this mysterious cousin flying in from Europe to "confirm" Jackson's weakness.
Threat, Thalia growled in my mind. European wolf comes to test our mate. We protect.
We will, I thought back. But we need to be smart about this.
"When does he arrive?" I asked.
"The day after tomorrow."
My stomach dropped. "The day after tomorrow? That's not much time."
"No," Jackson agreed, his voice heavy. "It's not."
He was quiet for a moment, his jaw working as if he were wrestling with something. Then he released my hands and took a step back, creating distance between us. "I should go," he said quietly. "Back to Miles's place. Deal with this before Caleb arrives."
"What?" I stared at him, confused. "You mean leave? Now?"
"Your parents invited me for Christmas dinner, but..." He ran a hand through his hair, not quite meeting my eyes. "It's not fair to bring this into your home. If Caleb tracks me here, if he sees me with your family—"
"Jackson—"
"He's dangerous, Ellie." His voice was rough now, edged with something that sounded like fear. "He was raised for pack politics, trained to be ruthless. If he thinks you're important to me—if he sees you as leverage—"
"I'm thinking," he said finally, "that I should never have involved you in any of this. That I should have stayed away from you from the moment I realized you were my mate. You'd be safer, happier—"
"No," I said sharply, cutting him off. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. Don't you dare stand there and try to decide what would make me happy without asking me."
He blinked, startled by the vehemence in my voice.
I stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You think I'd be happier without you? Really? You think I'd be better off never knowing what it feels like to have someone who actually sees me? Who makes me feel brave and strong and like I can face anything?"
"Ellie—"
"I spent years being Lucas's perfect ideal," I continued, the words pouring out before I could stop them. "Being what everyone else wanted me to be. And then you came along and you just... you let me be me. Messy, scared, sometimes selfish me. And you stayed. You chose me."
My voice cracked on the last word, and I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "So don't you dare try to 'protect' me by taking that away. Don't make choices for me based on what you think I need. I'm not fragile, Jackson. I'm your mate. And that means I get a say."
Jackson stared at me for a long moment, his eyes bright with emotion. Then he pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe.
"How did I get so lucky?" he murmured against my temple.
"You saved me from drowning," I reminded him, my voice muffled against his chest. "I'd say we're even."
His laugh was shaky but genuine. We stood like that for a while, just holding each other, letting the physical closeness settle some of the anxiety crackling between us.
Finally, I pulled back and glanced at the stove. "We should probably eat before everything gets completely cold."
Jackson managed a small smile. "Right. Lunch."
We reheated the vegetables and ate at the kitchen counter, sitting side by side. The food was good—Jackson really could cook—but neither of us had much appetite. The conversation was sparse, punctuated by long silences where we both seemed lost in our own thoughts.
After cleaning up, we migrated to the living room couch. I curled up against Jackson's side, his arm around my shoulders, while some mindless Christmas movie played on the TV. Neither of us was really watching it. His fingers traced absent patterns on my arm, and I could feel the tension in his body, the way his mind was clearly elsewhere.
Mate worries, Thalia observed quietly. Prepares for threat.
I tilted my head to look up at him. "Hey. Whatever happens the day after tomorrow, we'll handle it."
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I know."
A few minutes before three, Jackson glanced at his phone and then gently extracted himself from our position on the couch. "I should start some prep work for dinner," he said. "Make it easier for your parents when they get back."
I followed him into the kitchen and watched as he moved efficiently—washing vegetables, setting out ingredients, chopping onions with practiced precision. There was something calming about watching him work, the focused way he approached even simple tasks.
The Christmas tree lights blinked lazily in the corner, their cheerful glow at odds with my anxiety. Outside, the snow had started to fall—fat, lazy flakes catching the porch lights. It should have been peaceful. It should have been perfect.
Instead, I felt like I was waiting for a bomb to go off.