Chapter 11
Eloise
The morning light filtering through the blinds of Jack’s room wasn't harsh. It was grey, soft, and diffuse, the kind of heavy winter light that made the world feel like it was still asleep.
I wasn't asleep. I was floating.
I lay tangled in the industrial-grey sheets, my body humming with a strange, vibrant energy that I had never felt before.
It was a physical sensation, like a low-voltage current running just beneath my skin.
My muscles ached—a deep, satisfying soreness in my thighs and core that reminded me, with every micro-movement, of exactly what had happened in this bed a few hours ago.
I turned my head.
Jack was asleep.
Seeing the Monster of Ironwood asleep was a revelation.
the tension that usually bracketed his mouth was gone.
His lashes were long, dark, and absurdly pretty against his cheekbones.
The scar on his neck was visible, a jagged white line against the tan skin, pulsing gently with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
He looked younger. He looked... human.
But I knew he wasn't.
I shifted, trying to slide out from under the massive arm draped possessively over my waist.
His arm tightened instantly. He didn't open his eyes.
"No," he rumbled, his voice a sleep-rough baritone that vibrated through my chest. "Stay."
"Jack," I whispered, reaching out to trace the line of his bicep. "It’s Tuesday. I have an 8:00 AM lab. You have practice."
"Skip it," he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow near my shoulder. He inhaled deeply. "You smell like me. I like it."
"I smell like cedar and sex," I corrected, a blush heating my cheeks. "And if I walk into Professor Miller’s lab smelling like this, I’m going to get expelled for indecency."
Jack finally opened one eye. The gold was gone, replaced by a warm, muddy brown that melted my insides.
"Worth it," he grinned.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. I felt giddy. Drunk on dopamine.
"I have to go," I insisted, pushing his arm away with significant effort. It was like moving a tree branch. "If Cami wakes up and realizes I didn't come home, she’s going to call the National Guard."
Jack groaned and rolled onto his back, scrubbing a hand over his face. The sheet slipped down to his hips, revealing the expanse of his chest, the scars, and the fresh marks I had left on his shoulders.
I stared. I couldn't help it.
"Take a picture, Mouse," he teased, catching my stare. "It lasts longer."
"I don't need a picture," I said, my voice dropping. "I have the memory."
His grin faded, replaced by a look of intense heat. He reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me down for a searing, messy kiss.
"We have to be careful," he whispered against my lips, the playfulness vanishing. "Nobody can know, Eloise. Not yet. The Pack... Rurik... your dad. If they find out I claimed you..."
"I know," I said, the reality of our situation crashing down on the morning bliss. "Secret. I’m good at secrets. I’ve been hiding my entire personality from my father for twenty-one years."
"This is different," he warned, his thumb brushing my cheek. "You’re lying to everyone now. Your roommate. Your coach. Can you handle that?"
I looked at him. I looked at the man who had made me feel more alive in one night than I had felt in a lifetime of perfect pirouettes.
"I can handle anything," I promised. "As long as I get to come back here."
He kissed me again, hard and desperate. "You always come back here. This is home base."
Getting out of the Hive was a military operation.
Jack checked the hallway. Clear.
I dressed in my clothes from the night before—the jeans, the black turtleneck. I held my shoes in my hand.
He walked me to the back door, the servants' entrance we used for escapes.
"Text me when you’re safe," he ordered, leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and magnificent.
"I’m just walking across the quad, Jack. Not crossing a war zone."
"With Rurik out there? It’s the same thing."
He kissed my forehead. "Go. Before Silas wakes up and smells you."
I slipped out into the cold morning air.
I walked fast, keeping my head down, clutching my coat tight. But inside? Inside, I was strutting.
I felt... powerful. I felt like I had a secret weapon tucked in my back pocket. The world looked the same—grey snow, gothic buildings, tired students trudging to class—but I was different. I wasn't just Eloise Vance, the Dean’s daughter. I was the girl who had tamed the wolf.
The deception began immediately.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Cami was sitting on her bed when I walked into our dorm room, a half-eaten bagel in one hand and her phone in the other. She looked like a disappointed mother.
"Library," I lied smoothly. "I fell asleep in the stacks. You know how the heating vents hum in the south wing? It’s like white noise."
Cami narrowed her eyes. "You fell asleep. In the library. On a wooden chair?"
"I was studying for the Kinesiology midterm," I said, kicking off my boots and turning toward my closet so she couldn't see my face. "I lost track of time."
"Uh-huh," Cami said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "And did the 'library' happen to give you beard burn on your neck?"
I froze. My hand flew to my throat.
I spun around to the mirror. There, right above the collar of my turtleneck, was a patch of red, irritated skin. Not a hickey—Jack had been careful about visible marks—but the distinct abrasion of stubble.
"It’s... a rash," I stammered. "Wool allergy. This scarf is cheap."
Cami took a bite of her bagel, chewing slowly. "Right. A wool allergy that looks exactly like five o'clock shadow. Eloise, if you’re banging someone, just tell me. I don't care. I just need to know if I need to buy earplugs."
"I am not banging anyone," I said, grabbing my shower caddy. "I’m going to shower. I smell like old books."
I fled to the bathroom.
I turned on the shower, stripped off my clothes, and looked at myself in the full-length mirror.
I didn't look like me.
My lips were swollen. My hair was a disaster. There were bruises on my hips—faint, fingerprint-shaped shadows where Jack had held me. And between my legs... I was tender. Swollen.
I touched the mirror, tracing my own reflection.
Liar, the mirror whispered.
Happiest liar on earth, I whispered back.
The next three days were a blur of adrenaline and subterfuge.
My life became a series of compartmentalized boxes.
Box 1: The Student.
I went to class. I took notes. I nodded when professors spoke. But I found myself drifting. Instead of focusing on the Krebs cycle, I was replaying the sound of Jack’s groan when I touched him. Instead of memorizing muscle groups, I was visualizing the topography of his back.
Box 2: The Skater.
This was the biggest surprise.
"Vance!" Coach Sasha barked across the ice on Wednesday afternoon. "What have you been eating? Gunpowder?"
I stood at center ice, breathing hard. I had just run through my short program. Clean. Flawless. My jumps were higher. My landings were softer.
"I... I don't know," I panted.
"You’re attacking the ice," Sasha said, skating over, her arms crossed. She was a tiny Russian woman who had never smiled in the four years I’d known her. She was smiling now. "Usually, you skate like you are apologizing for being there. Today? You skate like you own the rink."
"Just focused, Coach."
"Keep doing whatever you are doing," she commanded. "Nationals is in three weeks. If you skate like this, the Gold is yours."
I skated a lap to cool down. I knew why I was skating better.
Fear.
I used to skate with the fear of falling. The fear of my father’s disappointment. Now? The fear was gone. Because no matter what happened on the ice, I knew that afterwards, I was going to sneak into the back of a pickup truck and be held by a man who thought I was perfect even when I was a mess.
It was liberating.
Box 3: The Lover.
This was the dangerous box.
We couldn't be seen together. Jack was paranoid about Rurik. My father was paranoid about Jack.
So we lived in the shadows.
We met in the stacks of the library, in the blind spot of the security cameras, for five minutes of frantic, hushed conversation and hand-holding.
We texted constantly.
Wolf: I can see you.
Me: Where?
Wolf: Cafeteria. Third table from the left. You’re wearing the blue sweater. It makes your eyes look dangerous.
Me: Stop staring. Miller is looking at you.
Wolf: Let him look. I’m thinking about your legs.
Me: Jack! I’m eating yogurt.
Wolf: I’d rather be eating...
I choked on my yogurt. Cami slapped me on the back.
"You okay?"
"Fine," I wheezed, hiding the phone under the table. "Wrong pipe."
But the hardest part was the nights.
We couldn't sleep together every night. It was too risky. But the nights we were apart were agony. I lay in my dorm bed, staring at the ceiling, my body aching for the weight of him.
And on Thursday night, the ache became too much.
It was 11:00 PM. The rink was closed.
I had a key. One of the perks of being the Dean’s daughter and the star skater was unrestricted ice time.
I told Cami I needed to work on my edges.
I walked across the dark campus, my skate bag over my shoulder. The wind was biting, but I barely felt it. I was burning with anticipation.
I unlocked the side door of the arena and slipped inside.
The rink at night was a ghostly place. The overhead lights were off, leaving only the safety lights that cast long, eerie shadows across the ice. The hum of the cooling compressors was a steady, rhythmic heartbeat.
I walked to the locker room—the figure skating locker room, not the hockey one. It smelled of hairspray and Tiger Balm, a sharp contrast to the sweat-and-testosterone scent of the Hive.
I didn't turn on the main lights. I liked the dark.
I sat on the bench and started unlacing my boots.
Click.
The door to the locker room opened.
I didn't flinch. I knew who it was. I had texted him the code.
"You’re late," I whispered to the shadows.