Chapter 4 #2
"The bond," he choked out. "Being near you... and not claiming you... it hurts. It feels like my blood is boiling. My wolf wants to tear through my skin to get to you."
He released my wrist and stumbled back, bracing himself against the heavy timber mantelpiece. He hung his head, breathing hard.
"I am dangerous to you, Eloise. More dangerous than Rurik. Because I want to ruin you, and every cell in my body is telling me I have the right to do it."
I watched him. The monster. The protector. The boy in pain.
I should have been terrified. He was telling me explicitly that he wanted to ravage me.
But looking at him—seeing the way he physically fought his own nature just to keep me safe—something inside me softened. The armor I wore, the perfectionism, the cold distance... it cracked.
"Sit down," I said.
He looked up, wary. "What?"
"Sit down, Jack," I ordered, pointing to the dusty leather armchair by the fire. "You look like you’re going to pass out."
"I don't pass out," he muttered, but he slumped into the chair anyway, his long legs sprawling out toward the hearth.
I looked around the room. "Is there water? Food?"
"Kitchen," he gestured vaguely to the shadows. "Pump works manually if the pipes aren't frozen."
I walked into the kitchen. It was freezing, but I found a jug of water and some protein bars on the counter—presumably left by the team for emergencies. I grabbed them and walked back.
I handed him the water. He drank it in one long swallow, his throat working.
"Here," I said, ripping open a protein bar. "Eat."
He looked at the bar, then at me. "You’re feeding the animals. Dangerous precedent."
"I’m feeding my bodyguard," I corrected. "I need you functional if the bad wolves come back."
He took a bite, chewing slowly. The tremors in his hands began to subside as the sugar and water hit his system. Or maybe just sitting down helped.
I pulled a wooden stool closer to the fire, sitting a few feet away from him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, far enough to give him space.
"So," I said, wrapping my coat tighter around myself. "This is it? We just... live here? For how long?"
Jack swallowed. "Until the Challenge."
"The Challenge?"
"Rurik won't stop until he’s challenged," Jack explained, staring into the flames. "He thinks our pack is weak because our Alpha is... old. He thinks he can take our territory. Taking you was a power move to force us to hand over land."
"So how do we stop him?"
"We don't," Jack said darkly. "I do. I have to challenge him. Single combat. Winner takes the territory. Loser leaves or dies."
My stomach dropped. "You have to fight him? To the death?"
"It usually doesn't get to death," Jack said, though he didn't sound convincing. "Usually just... maiming."
"And when does this Challenge happen?"
"Soon. A week maybe. Once the formal challenge is issued."
"And until then?"
"Until then," Jack looked at me, "you stay here. With me. Where I can see you. Where I can smell you."
"And what about my life?" I asked, feeling the panic rising again. "My classes? Skating? My father?"
"Your father has been told you’re on a mental health retreat," Jack said. "Silas hacked your email. Sent a very convincing note to the Dean and your professors."
"He hacked my email?" I gaped.
"He’s a Comp-Sci major," Jack shrugged. "He’s thorough."
I put my head in my hands. "My father is going to kill me. If the wolves don't, he will. I’m supposed to be practicing. I have scouts coming next week."
"Eloise," Jack’s voice was softer now.
I looked up.
He was leaning forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees. The firelight caught the amber flecks in his eyes.
"You’re safe," he said. "I know it’s a mess. I know I ruined your plan. But you are safe. I swear it on my life."
There was a solemnity in his tone that silenced my panic. It was the way he said it. Not like a promise, but like a fact. A law of physics. Gravity exists. Jack protects Eloise.
"Okay," I whispered. "I believe you."
Jack held my gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out.
I didn't flinch this time.
He took my hand. His skin was rough, calloused from the hockey stick, scarred from fights. My hand looked tiny and pale in his.
He turned my hand over, palm up. He traced the lines of my palm with his thumb. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight up my arm, settling heavy and hot in my lower belly.
"You have calluses," he murmured, feeling the rough skin at the base of my fingers.
"From the laces," I said breathlessly. "Tying my skates."
"Hard worker," he noted, his thumb circling the sensitive skin of my wrist.
"Perfectionist," I corrected.
"Same thing."
He looked at my hand, then up at my face. The hunger was still there, lurking behind his eyes, but it was tempered now with something else. Curiosity. Respect.
"We need ground rules," I said, my voice barely a whisper. The air between us was getting too thin again.
"Rules," he agreed, his thumb not stopping its hypnotic rhythm against my pulse. "Go ahead."
"One," I said, trying to think clearly. "You don't bite me."
His lips quirked. "Hard rule. But okay. No biting. Unless you ask."
I blushed furiously. "Two. I’m not a damsel. If we’re stuck here, I help. Cooking, cleaning, watching the perimeter. I don't sit around and wait to be saved."
He nodded slowly. "Accepted. You have sharp eyes. You can take first watch."
"Three," I swallowed hard. "We sleep separately."
Jack’s hand stilled on my wrist. He looked at the single massive bed visible through the open door of the loft above us. Then he looked at the narrow, lumpy couch in the living room.
"There’s only one bed with blankets," he said. "It’s ten below zero, Eloise. If you sleep on the couch, you’ll freeze."
"I have a coat."
"You have a fashion statement made of wool," he scoffed. "It won't stop hypothermia."
He squeezed my hand gently, then let go. The loss of warmth was instant.
"You take the bed," he said, standing up. "I’ll take the floor by the fire. My blood runs hot. I don't need blankets."
"Jack, you’re injured. You need a bed."
"I need you safe," he corrected. "And if I sleep in that bed with you, smelling you all night..." He shook his head, a dark look crossing his face. "Rule number three is for your protection, not mine. Because my control is hanging by a thread, Mouse. Don't tempt it."
He turned and walked toward the kitchen. "I’m going to check the locks. Go upstairs. Try to sleep."
I watched him go. The monster who slept on the floor to keep me safe.
I climbed the ladder to the loft, my legs feeling like jelly. I crawled into the massive bed, pulling the heavy quilts up to my chin. It smelled like him. Cedar and musk.
I thought I would be terrified. I thought I would be up all night plotting my escape.
But as I listened to the sound of Jack moving downstairs—the heavy thud of his boots, the scrape of a chair being wedged under the doorknob—I realized something terrifying.
I felt safer in this frozen cabin with a werewolf than I had ever felt in my father’s house.
And that scared me more than anything else.
"Goodnight, Jack," I whispered to the darkness.
From the floor below, a low, rumbled voice drifted up through the floorboards.
"Goodnight, Mouse."