Page 147 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Jackson’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to sit across from him and pretend everything is normal. First time I’ve seen him since you told me what he did to you, and I wanted to rip his throat out right there.”

I laid my hand over his. “I know. But if showing up buys us another week, you show up.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, then put the truck in drive. “Fine. I’ll go.”

The rage and protectiveness rolling off him pressed against my ribs. I squeezed his hand. We had just stood in front of the man who destroyed my world, and now we were driving across campus to look at an apartment like normal people. It felt surreal. Almost obscene.

Between traffic lights, he told me about his mother’s trust fund. It wasn’t pack money. It was hers alone, set up years ago and completely untouchable by Thomas. That was how he had afforded to rent the house with the guys, and how he could afford this.

The apartment was on the third floor of a converted building ten minutes from campus. It was empty. Bare floors, white walls, high ceilings, and big windows that let in a lot of light. A small balcony at the back overlooked the woods.

“It’s not huge,” Jackson said once the landlord stepped out. “But it’s ours. No roommates. No eyes on us.”

I walked slowly through the rooms. My cat liked it. Liked the idea of a den that belonged only to us. I stepped out onto the balcony, noting the sight lines out of habit, checking what could be seen from the ground and the tree line. I could feel Jackson watching me the entire time. He stayed a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, giving me space to take it in.

“Well?” he asked after a while.

I turned back. “It’s good. I like it.”

Relief crossed his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We signed the papers on the spot. Four days until we could move in.

As we headed back to the parking lot, Jackson's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and frowned.

“It's Agata,” he said. “The light fixture in her living room is flickering again. She wants me to take a look.”

I nodded. After what had just happened with Thomas, the idea of him going back into pack territory sat wrong, but Agata was different. She had always been kind to him.

“I'll drop you at home first,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Then I'll head to pack territory. I'll be back later tonight.”

Jackson didn’t get back until well after ten. I was sprawled on the couch with Artemis kneading my stomach like dough, purring loud. The girls were out.

I heard the front door open and close. A few seconds later he appeared in the living room doorway, looking exhausted.

He dropped onto the couch and pulled me against his chest without a word, burying his face in my hair for a second. Artemis grumbled at the disruption but relocated to the armrest.

“How bad?” I asked.

“Bad.” His voice was rough. “He had plenty to say about the mating. About the alliance. About me throwing everything away for a cat. I let him talk himself out, then told him straight. If anything happens to you, I’ll burn his world to the ground.”

“How did he take it?”

“He didn’t.” A short beat. “But he heard it. He’s not going to move yet. He needs me too much and he knows it. That doesn’t mean he’s giving up. He’s just waiting.”

I nodded. It bought us time.

"And Agata?" I asked.

“She heard about us,” he said. “Couldn’t wait to meet you. She said she’s been waiting for someone to finally drag me out of my own head.” He was quiet for a long moment. “There’s more.”

I waited.

“We got talking about how my father became alpha. Agata told me about his older brother, Christopher. He was strong, healthy. Then one morning he simply didn’t wake up. They said it was a brain aneurysm. His mate, Tessa, died a few days later when the bond broke, and they left behind their six-year-old son, Noah.”

Jackson’s hand tightened on my hip.