Chapter 48
Jackson's POV
I sat in the Dance Society office, surrounded by printouts and mood boards for the Martinez real estate project.
The door burst open, and Tyler practically tumbled in, his trademark mischievous grin already in place. "Boss, I just saw something interesting on campus."
I looked up, mildly curious. "Oh?"
He pulled out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then turned the screen toward me. It was a photo, taken from a distance—the observation deck at Blue Water Lake's north shore. Two figures sat side by side on the bench: Ellie and an older man, maybe in his mid-forties. They were talking, relaxed, the man's posture radiating that particular kind of confidence that came with success and maturity.
"That guy?" Tyler's voice dropped conspiratorially. "Total executive type. Look at that tailored jacket, those shoes. That's money, Jackson. Real money." He paused for effect. "Looks like your dream girl has a type, and it's not 'college student.'"
Something cold twisted in my chest. I kept my expression neutral, but my hand tightened almost imperceptibly on the edge of the desk. The rational part of my brain screamed that this could be anyone—a professor, a family friend, literally anyone—but the irrational part was already spiraling.
"Where'd you take this?" My voice came out more clipped than I'd intended.
"North shore observation deck. About ten minutes ago." Tyler leaned against the doorframe, watching me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.
I stood up, grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair. The movement was faster than I'd intended, more urgent. The Martinez project papers scattered slightly from the breeze.
"Wait, boss!" Tyler called after me, but I could hear the satisfaction in his tone. "What about the Martinez project? I've got the proposal all ready to review!"
"I'll..." I paused at the door, trying to collect myself, trying to sound rational. "I'll bring the performer back with me. We can discuss it together."
I didn't wait to see Tyler's reaction. I was already moving.
My pace quickened as I crossed campus toward Blue Water Lake. Students moved around me in their usual patterns—groups heading to late breakfast, couples strolling hand-in-hand, athletes jogging past—but I barely registered them.
This is stupid, the rational part of my brain insisted. You don't even know who that man is. Could be a family member. Could be—
But the other part of me, the part I usually kept locked down tight, wouldn't listen to reason. That part just knew I needed to see for myself. Needed to know if Tyler's insinuation had any merit, or if I was about to make a complete fool of myself.
I reached the north shore and forced myself to slow down, to appear casual. Just a student taking a walk. Nothing unusual about that.
The observation deck came into view, and there they were—still sitting on the bench, facing the lake. Now that I was closer, I could see them more clearly. The man was indeed older, well-dressed in that understated way that suggested real wealth rather than trying to impress. Flannel shirt, but premium quality. Hiking boots that probably cost more than most students' monthly rent.
And then I got within sensing range, and everything changed.
The awareness hit me like a physical sensation—the unmistakable presence of one of our kind. My own wolf instincts, usually sealed tight under layers of control, suddenly sharpened. This man wasn't just human. He was a werewolf. Like me. Like Ellie.
My breath caught. The signature was strong, stable, mature—the kind that came with age and complete mastery. An alpha, or someone very close to it. And there, beneath it, the same subtle notes I'd learned to recognize in Ellie's presence. Same pack. Same bloodline.
Her father, I realized with a jolt of relief so intense it nearly made me stumble. He has to be her father.
The similarity in their profiles became obvious now that I was looking for it—the same elegant bone structure, the same way they held themselves. And the easy familiarity of their body language, the way she leaned slightly toward him as she spoke, the protective angle of his shoulders.
My heart rate began to normalize. The cold knot in my chest loosened. I took a breath, let it out slowly, and felt almost light-headed with relief.
Then the full implications hit me. Ellie's father. Here. A werewolf with clear alpha presence, probably checking out his daughter's campus, making sure she was safe. And I was about to walk up and... what? Introduce myself? Explain why I'd rushed across campus like a jealous boyfriend?
Smooth, Jackson. Real smooth.
But I'd come this far. And backing away now would be worse than pushing forward. I arranged my features into what I hoped was a politely curious expression and walked toward them as if I'd just happened to be passing by.
Ellie noticed me first. Her head turned, those amber eyes widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, our gazes held, and I saw confusion there—and maybe a hint of pleasure?
"Ellie," I said, and my voice came out slightly breathless. I cleared my throat. "What a coincidence running into you here."
"Jackson." A faint flush colored her cheeks. She gestured to the man beside her. "Um, this is my father. Dad, this is Jackson Wilson—Dance Society president, pre-med major."
I watched her father's expression shift—subtle, but I caught it. That assessing look, the one I'd seen before in others of our kind when evaluating a potential threat or ally. His eyes sharpened, taking in everything about me in a single sweep.
I extended my hand. "Mr. Green. Pleasure to meet you."