Chapter 50
David's POV
My hands gripped the steering wheel of my Ford pickup as I merged onto I-80, the familiar hum of the engine a comforting backdrop to my racing thoughts. The campus of Cedar View University slowly receded in my rearview mirror, but my mind remained fixed on that moment by the lake—Jackson Wilson's handshake, that unmistakable pulse of recognition.
A werewolf. Jackson is one of us.
I'd felt it the instant our palms connected. Not the obvious kind of recognition that came with pack members—this was subtler, carefully concealed beneath layers of practiced control. But I knew what to look for: the slightly elevated body temperature (just a degree or two above human normal), the faint scent of pine and wild places that no cologne could completely mask, and most tellingly, that fraction-of-a-second flash of gold in Jackson's pupils when our eyes met.
The boy was good. Very good. If I hadn't been specifically attuned to such signs, I might have missed it entirely.
I glanced at my phone sitting in the cup holder, tempted to call Elena immediately. But no—this conversation needed to happen in person, where I could see her reactions, where we could discuss the implications without the risk of being overheard.
The forty-minute drive to Mapleton passed in a blur of analysis and speculation. Jackson's comportment, his protective stance toward Ellie, the way he'd so smoothly created an excuse for them to spend time together—all of it took on new meaning now. This wasn't just a college senior showing interest in a talented freshman. This was one werewolf drawn to another, perhaps even recognizing what I'd long suspected about Ellie: that she would grow into one of the most remarkable of our kind.
As I pulled into our driveway, I saw Elena waiting by the front window, her silhouette backlit by the warm glow of our living room. She must have been watching for my return. My heart swelled with affection—after twenty-five years of marriage, she still waited up for me like this.
The front door opened before I could reach for the handle. Elena stood there, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern, a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands.
"Well?" She stepped aside to let me enter, her eyes searching my face. "How was the trip? Did you meet this young man who's been looking after our daughter?"
I hung my jacket on the hook, taking a moment to organize my thoughts. "I did."
"And?" Elena set her tea down on the coffee table, giving me her full attention. "Don't leave me in suspense, David. What's he like?"
Instead of answering directly, I pulled out my phone and navigated to my photo gallery. I'd managed to capture a candid shot of Jackson and Ellie sitting at the lakeside café, sunlight streaming through the trees overhead. Ellie was mid-laugh, her eyes bright with genuine happiness, while Jackson's expression held that particular kind of focused attention that spoke of real interest.
Elena took the phone, studying the image carefully. A soft smile curved her lips. "He's handsome. And the way he's looking at her..." She zoomed in slightly. "That's not casual interest."
"No, it's not." I settled onto the couch beside her. "He's polite but not overly eager. Well-spoken. Pre-med, apparently, and heads the Dance Society. The kind of young man who's going places."
"He sounds wonderful." Elena's finger traced over Ellie's smiling face on the screen, her voice wistful. "I just wish..." She trailed off, but I knew what she'd been about to say.
"You wish he was one of us."
Elena nodded, handing the phone back. "Is that terrible? I know we've always said Ellie should choose her own path, find her own happiness. But you know how difficult it is, David. Finding someone who can accept what we are, who can share that life..." She sighed. "When she and Lucas were close, at least I didn't have to worry about that."
"About Jackson being one of us," I said carefully, watching Elena's face, "I have a different perspective on that."
Elena's head snapped up, her eyes widening. "What do you mean?"
I took a deep breath. "I'm not entirely certain Jackson is fully human. In fact, I'm almost positive he isn't."
"What?" Elena shot to her feet, her tea forgotten. "David, what are you saying?"
I described it all then—the handshake by the lake, the subtle but unmistakable warmth of Jackson's palm, the way the young man's pupils had briefly flashed gold in the afternoon sunlight. Most importantly, I explained the sensation I'd felt, that distinctive pulse of connection that only occurred between our kind.
"It was subtle," I emphasized, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. "More subtle than anything I've experienced before. But it was real, Elena. That boy is a werewolf. A pureblooded one, from the strength of the resonance."
Elena sank back onto the couch, one hand pressed to her chest. "This is... David, are you absolutely certain?"
"As certain as I can be without seeing him transform." I reached over to take her hand. "And there's something else. He knows what he is. He's not some newly-turned werewolf stumbling through his first changes. Jackson Wilson is fully aware of his nature, and he's worked very hard to conceal it."
"But why?" Elena's brow furrowed. "Our kind don't usually hide from each other. Especially not when we encounter one of our own. It's..." She searched for words. "It's almost instinctive to acknowledge the connection."
"That's what worries me." I stood, walking to the window to look out at our quiet street. Maple trees lined the sidewalk, their leaves turning gold and red in the autumn air. Everything looked so normal, so peaceful. "A young werewolf who's gone to such lengths to hide his nature—that speaks to either serious danger or significant family complications. Maybe both."
"Do you think he's running from something? Or someone?"
"I don't know." I turned back to face my wife. "But whatever his reasons, they're important enough that he's mastered control to a degree I've rarely seen. Think about it, Elena. Our Ellie has spent weeks working with him, practicing dance routines that require close physical contact, and she hasn't sensed anything unusual."
"Ellie's still young," Elena protested. "She doesn't have your experience."
"True. But she's also highly intuitive, especially about pack dynamics. She should have felt something." I returned to the couch, settling beside my wife. "My theory is that Jackson is using some kind of scent suppressant, or he's had specialized training in concealment. Either way, it's sophisticated."
Elena was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. Then: "What are we going to do? Should we tell Ellie?"