Chapter 8 Paired With the Problem
Fuck my life.
The wolf from the forest stood three feet away from me in a crowded gym like the universe had decided to play a joke I was not ready for.
I set the dumbbell back on the rack harder than I meant to. The clang turned a few heads. I didn’t look at them. I didn’t look at him. I finished my sets early and walked out without a backward glance.
The corridor air was cooler. I stood there for a moment and breathed.
Jackson Black was the son of my final target, a complication I could not afford. I had come back here for one reason only. One promise I had made a long time ago to people who deserved better than what they got.
I was not going to let one six-foot-five distraction derail ten years of planning.
I changed quickly in the locker room and stepped outside. The day's heat had started to fade. I crossed the path toward home, pulled out my phone, and opened the app for the cameras I had planted in Richard's house a few days earlier.
I scrolled back to two nights ago as I walked. Richard sprawled across his couch in nothing but underwear, beer in hand, attention glued to the football game. One hand scratched lazily at his chest, stomach spilling over the waistband.
My grip tightened around the phone. The comfortable, oblivious rhythm of a man who had never once considered that anything he had done might come back to him.
The disgust that moved through me was cold and familiar.
He better enjoy it while he could. Soon I would be the one standing over him. And he would learn what real horror felt like.
I checked the rest of the clips for visitors or new details, then slipped the phone back into my pocket. My thoughts settled into the sharp clarity I trusted.
Whatever was happening with Jackson Black didn’t change the plan.
Saturday morning practice brought both teams to the track. The air was cool, the sky still pale. I stayed at the outer edge of the group, well clear of the cluster around the starting line where Coach Miller and the men's coach, Reid, stood with their clipboards.
And I was aware of exactly where Jackson was without looking. My cat had located him the moment we arrived and kept updating me. Somewhere to my left and slightly behind. Moving now. Stopping. Talking to Jason.
I worked through a shoulder stretch, eyes fixed on the far end of the track.
A guy from the men’s mid-distance squad peeled away from his teammates and walked toward me. Human.
“Hey,” he said, stopping a little too close. “You’re the transfer, right?”
I nodded once.
“I’m Drew. I heard you ran a crazy good time last week.”
“I could do better,” I said.
He grinned. "Confidence. I like that."
My cat rolled her eyes. I felt Jackson’s gaze settle on my back. I didn’t turn.
“If you ever want someone to run with, I’m around.”
Before I could respond, Cassidy slid in beside me.
“We’re warming up,” she told him.
Drew hesitated, then nodded and headed back to his teammates, still glancing over his shoulder once before he rejoined the group.
The female wolves watched from their cluster, glares sharp and coordinated. My cat flicked her tail, unbothered.
Coach Miller raised his voice. “We’re doing mixed pacing drills today. Fifteen minutes per station. You stay with your partner the entire time.”
Names were called. People moved to find their partners.
Then I heard it.
“Harper James and Jackson Black.”
My cat purred, practically preening at the thought of being that close to him.
I exhaled once, adjusted my grip on my water bottle, and turned.
Jackson was already looking at me with something close to satisfaction in his expression, the look of a man whose morning had gone exactly as he intended.
I said nothing.
He smiled.
Naomi reacted instantly. “Coach Miller, she’s not a good match for him. I should be paired with Jackson. We always pace well. We have history with these drills.”
Coach Miller looked up. “Harper’s times are closer to Jackson’s than yours are. You’re better matched with Jason.”
“Coach Reid—”
“Move on, Naomi,” Reid said, without inflection.
Naomi stomped over to Jason.
Cassidy caught my eye from across the group and mouthed omg while wiggling her eyebrows. I pretended not to see it.
Jackson and I moved to our first station, a steady-pace three-kilometer run. I stopped near the marker cone and stretched. He warmed up beside me.
We started on Coach Miller’s signal. I kept half a step of distance between us. He closed it without effort. Our strides matched despite my best attempts to keep them different.
For a while, neither of us spoke. Just the rhythm of our feet on the track and the steady pull of our breathing.
Then, “You like it in Ridgeview so far?”
“It’s fine.”
“Transferring teams isn’t easy.”
“I manage.”
He glanced sideways. “Why Ridgeview? Most people don’t switch schools senior year.”
“They needed a runner. I needed a school.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You really don’t like questions, do you?”
“No.”
“Noted.” Another few strides. “You run in the woods often?”
My foot caught the uneven edge. Jackson reacted instantly, his hand closing around my arm, steadying me. Heat shot through me where he touched me.
I pulled away and found my stride. “I don’t run in the woods.”
He studied me. “Lots of open trails around here. Good for clearing your head.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
He was quiet for a few strides. “I know it was you. Small. Fast.” A pause. “Not scared of me at all.”
My cat purred.
I kept my gaze forward. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I.”
I said nothing and kept running.
We finished the stations as the morning thinned out. The group reassembled near the starting line. I stepped slightly ahead as we walked back. He kept pace without effort. He waited until we were close enough to the group, then spoke quietly, just for me.
“I don’t know what it is about you, Harper. Or what got my wolf so interested. But I’m going to find out.”
I didn’t answer. I kept walking, adjusting the zip of my jacket, and joined the edge of the group without looking back.
I was in trouble.
On Monday morning, after practice, I slipped into Environmental Science with damp hair and coffee in hand. I had left it loose today, straight black hair falling to my waist.
The Environmental Science lecture hall was large, tiered rows curving up from the podium. I took my usual seat halfway up on the left. Good angle on the board, easy exit, no one close enough to force conversation. I dropped into the chair, pulled out my phone, and scrolled while I drank my coffee.
The door opened again. Jackson stepped inside and paused. His gaze swept the room once, then locked on me. Something tightened between us.
He started up the stairs and took the seat directly behind me. Close enough that his scent hit immediately. Pine, warmth, wolf.
My cat purred.
Across the hall wolves whispered.
“What is he doing here?”
“Did he switch courses?”
I pressed my pen harder than necessary and wrote the date at the top of my notebook.
The professor arrived and the lecture began.
I tried to focus. But his presence pressed against me anyway, constant and impossible to ignore.
Every shift in his seat, every quiet movement behind me, registered whether I wanted it to or not.
I told myself it was nothing. A general-ed class. A bad coincidence.
Behavioral Analysis was a different story.
I had barely settled into my usual spot when the door opened. My cat’s sudden alertness told me who it was before I looked.
Jackson scanned the room, then headed straight for my row. Every seat near me was taken. He stopped beside the guy on my left.
“I need that seat.”
The guy hesitated half a second, then gathered his things and moved without argument. Jackson sat down like the space had always belonged to him.
I stared at the side of his face, annoyed, impressed, and mostly annoyed that I was impressed.
He turned slightly, catching it. A faint, knowing look crossed his expression.
“What are the chances? You’re in this one too.”
“Not low enough,” I muttered.
That earned a quiet huff of laughter.
Halfway through the lecture, the professor paused. “Someone give me an example of a situational trigger that escalates a neutral subject into a reactive state.”
Jackson answered without hesitation. “A sudden violation of personal space. The nervous system treats it as a threat. You get a spike in vigilance, a shift in posture, defensive response before the mind even catches up.”
The professor nodded with clear approval.
Jackson glanced at me, looking for my reaction.
I rolled my eyes and looked back at my notebook. My cat kept nudging for attention like a traitor. I ignored her for the rest of the lecture.