Chapter 153
Ellie's POV
Caleb glanced back over his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Or Jackson will find you eventually. Assuming he's not too busy with his 'family business training.'" The air quotes were audible in his mocking tone.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the trees with the kind of silence that only came from supernatural grace.
I hung there for another thirty seconds, listening. Making absolutely sure he was really gone. That this wasn't some trick to get me to reveal myself.
Finally—finally—I let Thalia out.
Just a little. Just enough.
My fingers elongated, nails sharpening into claws. I reached up, grabbed the rope above my ankle, and sliced through it with one clean swipe. The world righted itself as I fell, but I was ready. I twisted mid-air, landed in a perfect crouch that would've made my gymnastics coach proud.
For about two seconds, I stayed in that position, breathing hard, feeling Thalia's satisfaction at being free, even briefly.
Then I forced her back. Watched my fingers return to normal. Checked my clothes for any obvious tears or claw marks. Found none. Good.
I grabbed my backpack from where it had fallen, slung it over my shoulder, and started walking. Not running. Walking. Like nothing had happened. Like I was just a normal college student heading home after a long day.
But inside? Inside, my mind was racing.
Caleb had shown his hand. He thought I was nobody. A random werewolf girlfriend who Jackson was probably going to dump soon anyway. Not worth killing. Not worth threatening. Just worth... mocking. Scaring a little. Reminding that he could get to me anytime he wanted.
He's a child, I realized. A dangerous, powerful, Alpha-blooded child who thinks this is all a game.
Which made him either less threatening than we'd thought... or way more unpredictable.
I needed to tell Jackson. Now.
The safe house was quiet when I let myself in. I dropped my backpack by the door, toed off my shoes, and immediately smelled it.
Blood. Sweat. And that particular sharp scent that came from healing werewolf injuries.
"Jackson?"
"Down here."
I found him in the basement training room, sitting on the bench press, shirtless, his torso covered in bruises that were already fading from purple-black to yellow-green. His knuckles were split. There was a cut above his left eyebrow that looked like it had been stitched and was now dissolving the stitches as it healed.
"Jesus," I breathed.
"Miles is getting serious about the timeline." He looked up, and his eyes—still slightly gold-tinged from whatever exercise had just ended—focused on me with laser intensity. "Are you okay? You're late. I was about to come looking—"
"Caleb set a trap for me."
The words tumbled out. Everything else I'd planned to say—asking about his injuries, insisting we call this training off—vanished in the face of what had just happened.
Jackson was on his feet instantly. His hands were on my shoulders, my face, checking for injuries with the kind of frantic care that made my heart twist.
"Where? When? Did he hurt you? Did he—"
"I'm fine." I caught his hands, held them still. "Jackson, I'm fine. But you need to hear this."
So I told him. Everything. The trap, Caleb's appearance, his mocking tone, his weird little speech about Jackson "playing Alpha" and me being a distraction.
And most importantly: "He thinks we're not mates."
Jackson went very still.
"He... what?"
"He literally said, 'Since you and Jackson aren't fated mates, I don't have much to worry about.'" I watched his face. "He bought the fake breakup. He thinks I'm just some random she-wolf you're dating. That we're falling apart. That I'm nobody."
For a long moment, Jackson said nothing. Then, very slowly, he started to laugh.
Not a happy laugh. A disbelieving, almost hysterical laugh.
"He's that arrogant," Jackson said finally. "He saw some gossip, watched us avoid each other in public a few times, and decided you're not a threat. That we're not a threat."
"Is that..." I hesitated. "Is that good or bad?"
"Both." He pulled me against his chest, careful of his bruises. I felt his heartbeat against my ear, too fast, still elevated from training. "If he thinks you're unimportant, he won't target you directly. But..."
"But?"
"But an Alpha who underestimates his opponents is dangerous in a different way." His voice went quiet. "He's not taking this seriously. He's playing games. Testing. Toying. And when people like that finally realize they've miscalculated..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "So what do we do?"
"We let him think he's right." Jackson's jaw tightened. "We keep playing the part. Struggling couple. Relationship falling apart."
"And in reality?"
"In reality?" His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "In reality, we keep preparing. Keep training. Keep getting stronger."
"We'll be ready," I finished.
He kissed me then. Soft. Sweet. A promise wrapped in tenderness.
"He set a snare trap," Jackson murmured against my lips. "Like you're some kind of rabbit. Like you're prey."
"I know."
"If he knew what you really are..." A low growl rumbled in his chest. "If he knew what we really are together..."
"He'll find out," I said. "Eventually. But not today. Today, we let him think he's winning."
Jackson's arms tightened around me. "I hate that he touched you. Even indirectly. I hate that he thinks he can—"
"He can't." I kissed him again. "He can't touch me. He can't touch us. All he can do is play his little games and think he's clever."
"Miles thinks I'll be ready. That I'll be able to..." He swallowed. "To face Caleb. To beat him."
I looked at the bruises covering his torso. The split knuckles. The exhaustion in his eyes.
"Do you think you'll be ready?"
Jackson was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I have to be. Because the alternative—letting him hurt you, hurt us, take what my father built—that's not an option."
"Then we trust the plan." I took his hand. "We trust each other. And we let Caleb think he's so much smarter than everyone else."
"Until he's not."
"Until he's not," I agreed.
We stood there in the basement training room, surrounded by equipment designed to make Jackson strong enough to fight an Alpha heir. Above us, the house was silent. Safe. Our little bubble against the world.
Let him think I'm nobody, I thought, remembering Caleb's dismissive wave, his bored expression. Let him think Jackson's just playing pretend.
We'll show him exactly how wrong he is.