Chapter 6
Eloise
The ice was the only thing that made sense.
Physics. Momentum. Friction. Gravity. These were constants. They were reliable. If I entered a spin with enough torque and pulled my arms in tight enough, I would accelerate. If I landed on my outside edge with my knee bent, I would stay upright.
There was no ambiguity in figure skating. There was only Success or Failure. Gold or Last Place.
There was no "Grey Area" where a terrifyingly beautiful man pinned you against a log cabin wall, bit your neck, told you he wanted to breed you, and then ran out into the snow to howl at the moon.
Thwack.
I landed the triple lutz, but it was messy. I scraped the ice, sending a spray of powder into the air.
"Sloppy," I hissed to myself, the word echoing in the empty arena.
It was 5:15 AM. We had been back on campus for twelve hours.
The return had been abrupt. Silas had radioed the cabin at dawn—apparently, the "threat assessment" had shifted. Rurik’s pack had gone to ground, spooked by Jack’s challenge, and my father had threatened to call the FBI if I wasn't returned to my dorm by morning.
So, Jack had driven me back. The drive had been silent. Not the angry silence of the drive up, but a heavy, saturated silence. The kind where the air is so thick with unsaid things it feels like breathing syrup.
He had walked me to my dorm door. He hadn't kissed me. He hadn't touched me. He had just looked at me with those dark, exhausted eyes and said, "I’ll be watching."
And now, I was trying to skate the memory of his hands out of my system.
I skated a lap, my breath puffing in white clouds before me. My body ached. Not from the skating, but from the phantom sensation of his grip on my waist. My skin felt... tight. Prickly.
And my neck.
I reached up, my gloved fingers brushing the high collar of my turtleneck practice shirt. Beneath the fabric, right over my pulse point, was a bruise. A mark.
It wasn't black and blue. It was a mottled purple, the shape of his teeth faintly visible if you looked close enough.
I had spent twenty minutes in the bathroom mirror this morning staring at it. I should have been horrified. I was Eloise Vance. I was pristine. I didn't have hickeys. I definitely didn't have bite marks from the captain of the hockey team.
But looking at it hadn't made me horrified. It had made my knees weak. It made me feel... claimed.
Stop it, I commanded myself, digging my toe pick into the ice to come to a violent stop. You are losing your mind. He is a predator. You are a student. This is temporary.
"You’re engaging your glutes wrong."
The voice came from the penalty box shadows. Low. Gravelly. Familiar.
I didn't jump. My body knew he was there before my ears did. The hair on the back of my arms had been standing up for ten minutes.
I turned slowly.
Jack was sitting in the darkness, just like he had been that first night.
But he looked different now. He wasn't wearing his gear.
He was in jeans and a black hoodie, his legs spread wide, elbows on his knees.
He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the stubble on his jaw was thicker.
"I thought we agreed you wouldn't stalk me," I said, skating over to the boards. I kept a safe distance. Five feet. The "Blast Radius."
"I said I wouldn't kidnap you again," Jack corrected, his eyes tracking me as I moved. "I never said I wouldn't watch. I have to watch, Eloise. That was the deal. You’re back on campus, which means you’re back in the open."
"I’m the only one here," I pointed out, gesturing to the empty seats.
"You’re never the only one here," he murmured, glancing up at the rafters. "But it’s clear for now."
I gripped the edge of the boards. "Did you sleep?"
He looked back at me. His gaze dropped to my neck. He stared at the high collar of my shirt. He knew what was under there. He put it there.
A muscle feathered in his jaw.
"No," he said simply. "Wolves don't sleep much when they’re agitated."
"And why are you agitated, Jack?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. I was poking the bear. I knew it. But I couldn't help it. The connection between us was a live wire; I wanted to see sparks.
He stood up. He walked to the glass, pressing his palm against it. His hand was massive.
"Because," he rasped, his voice vibrating through the plexiglass, "I can smell you from here. And I’m remembering what you tasted like."
My breath hitched. My thighs clenched involuntarily.
"Jack," I warned, looking around nervously. "The janitor comes in at 6:00."
"Let him come," Jack growled softly. "Let him see."
"See what?"
"That you’re mine."
The possession in his voice was terrifying. It wasn't romantic. It was absolute. It was the way a dragon looked at gold.
"I’m not yours," I lied, pushing off the boards and skating backward, away from him. "I belong to me. And right now, I have to go to class. Real life, Jack. Remember that? The one where we aren't running from supernatural mobsters?"
He watched me retreat, his expression unreadable.
"Go to class," he said, turning away. "Silas will be shadowing you until noon. I’ll take the afternoon shift."
"I don't need a babysitter!"
"You need a bodyguard," he corrected over his shoulder. "And you got the best one. Try not to miss me too much, Mouse."
He disappeared into the tunnel.
I stood in the center of the rink, alone, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I missed him already. And that was the scariest part of all.
The campus of Ironwood University was a gothic masterpiece of grey stone, gargoyles, and snow. Usually, I walked through it with my head high, focused on my destination, invisible in my perfection.
Today, I felt like I was walking around with a neon sign flashing over my head: I HAVE A SECRET.
I pulled my scarf tighter, burying my chin in the wool.
Everywhere I looked, I saw them. The Sentinels.
I had never noticed it before, but the hockey team was everywhere. And they were watching me.
I walked into the Student Union to grab a bagel, and I saw Miller—the freshman Jack had almost maimed—sitting by the door. He wasn't eating. He was just... sitting. When I walked in, he nodded at me. A sharp, respectful nod. He tracked the people walking behind me.
I walked to my Anatomy lecture. Two guys in varsity jackets were leaning against the wall outside the lecture hall. They straightened up when I approached.
"Morning, Miss Vance," one of them mumbled, opening the door for me.
"Um. Morning," I stammered, clutching my books.
I sat in my usual seat in the second row. I opened my notebook. I tried to focus on the diagram of the brachial plexus projected on the screen.
C5, C6, C7, C8, T1...
My pen hovered over the paper.
I wasn't thinking about nerves. I was thinking about the way Jack’s eyes had glowed. I was thinking about the heat of his skin.
"Is this seat taken?"
I looked up.
It was Jack.
He didn't wait for an answer. He dropped his heavy canvas bag on the floor and squeezed his massive frame into the tiny lecture hall desk next to me. The desk creaked in protest. His knees bumped mine.
The contact sent a jolt of electricity up my leg that nearly made me drop my pen.
"What are you doing?" I hissed, looking around. The lecture hall was full. People were staring. Jack Sterling didn't sit in the front row. Jack Sterling sat in the back and slept, or he didn't show up at all.
"Learning about the upper limb," he whispered back, pulling a crumpled notebook out of his bag. He opened it to a blank page. He didn't have a pen.
"You’re not in this class," I whispered furiously. "You’re a Business major."
"I’m auditing," he smirked. "Broadening my horizons."
"You’re insane. Everyone is staring."
"Let them stare."
He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of my chair. It wasn't touching me, but it was claiming the space. It was a territorial box. She is in my perimeter.
Professor Halloway started the lecture. I tried to take notes. I really did.
But Jack was... distracting.
He smelled like soap and cedar. He was radiating heat like a furnace. Every time he shifted, his thigh brushed mine.
And he was doing it on purpose.
About twenty minutes in, my phone buzzed on the desk. A text.
Dean Vance (Father): Office. Now.
My stomach dropped. The cold dread that lived permanently in the pit of my gut whenever my father summoned me expanded, freezing out the heat Jack was generating.
My hand shook as I reached for the phone.
Jack’s hand shot out, covering mine. His palm was warm, rough, and grounding.
"What is it?" he whispered, his playful demeanor vanishing instantly. He saw the tremor.
I slid the phone toward him so he could read the screen.
He read it. His jaw tightened.
"I’ll walk you," he said.
"You can't," I whispered, pulling my hand back. "He hates you. If he sees you with me, especially after... after the weekend... he’ll make it worse."
"I’m not letting you go in there alone, Eloise."
"You have to," I said, pleading with my eyes. "Please, Jack. I can handle him. I’ve handled him my whole life. If you come, it becomes a fight. I need it to be a conversation."
Jack stared at me. He looked at the fear in my eyes. He hated it. I could see the wolf fighting to get out, fighting to go rip the throat out of whatever was scaring his mate.
But he nodded.
"I’ll be outside," he said. "Right outside the door. If you scream... if he touches you... I’m coming in. And I don't care if he’s the Dean or the Pope."
"Okay," I breathed.
I packed my bag. I stood up, disrupting the lecture.
"Miss Vance?" Professor Halloway asked, pausing mid-sentence.
"Family emergency," I mumbled, keeping my head down.
I walked out of the hall. I could feel Jack’s eyes on my back every step of the way. Burning. Protecting.
The Administration Building was the heart of Ironwood. Marble floors, vaulted ceilings, portraits of dead men in robes lining the walls. It was quiet. Oppressive.
I walked past the secretary, who gave me a sympathetic look. Everyone knew. Everyone knew Dean Vance demanded perfection.