Destined for the Alpha

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

The woods are silent except for the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as I walk alongside Jackson. The moon filters through the canopy in silvery threads, casting his features in a haunting light that accentuates the strength in his jaw and the intensity of his gaze.

"Most people are afraid to be out here at night," he says, breaking the stillness of our surroundings. His voice is deep but surprisingly gentle. "But you're not most people, Grace."

I glance up at him, my pulse quickening. "I've always felt more at home in the woods than anywhere else," I confess.

"Ah," he nods with a knowing smile. "A true child of nature. Is that why your pack sees you differently?"

His question catches me off guard. It's not often someone understands the undercurrents of isolation within the tight-knit fabric of a werewolf pack, especially when they're an outsider—a rival alpha no less. But Jackson isn't just anyone; he's observant, perceptive.

"Partly," I admit, feeling the weight of my inability to shift—a secret shame that marks me as weak in the eyes of my pack. "They don't expect much from me."

Jackson stops walking, turning to face me. The moonlight dances in his ice-blue eyes, locking me in place. "And what do you expect from yourself?" he asks seriously.

"More," I answer without hesitation. "So much more."

He studies me for a moment, and something unspoken passes between us, a shared understanding. "Good," he says softly. "You should never settle for how others see you."

As we resume our walk, silence wraps around us again, but it's different now—comfortable, charged with the potential of newfound camaraderie. I sneak a glance at him, this enigmatic alpha who doesn't treat me like I'm fragile glass.

"Tell me something about you that no one else knows," I say, my curiosity piqued by the layers I sense beneath his composed exterior.

"Something personal?" he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile.

"Only if you want to share," I reply, my heart pounding in my chest.

He looks away for a moment, contemplating the darkened thicket that surrounds us. "I love to paint," he reveals, his voice barely above a whisper. "Landscapes, mostly. It helps me connect with my human side."

"Painting?" I repeat, surprised. "I wouldn't have pegged you for an artist."

"Few would," he agrees, his smile growing wider. "It's my escape, a way to express things I can't put into words."

I nod, understanding the need for an outlet, especially when you're leading a pack. "That's incredible," I say sincerely.

"Your turn," he challenges. "Something personal."

I bite my lip, thinking. "I write poetry," I confess, feeling my cheeks grow warm. "It's cheesy, I know."

"Poetry isn't cheesy," he counters immediately. "It's brave. Putting your emotions into words, laying them bare for the world to see—that takes courage."

His words envelop me like a warm blanket, and suddenly, there's a pull in my chest, a gravitational force drawing me toward him. It's powerful, undeniable. The sensation is frightening but exhilarating, and I wonder if he feels it too.

"Jackson," I begin, my voice barely a murmur, "why are you being so nice to me? We're supposed to be rivals."

"Maybe," he concedes, stepping closer, "but that doesn't mean we can't understand each other. Sometimes connections transcend boundaries."

His closeness sends shivers down my spine, and I'm acutely aware of his every breath. In this secluded space, shielded by the night and the trees, I feel seen for the first time—not as the weak link of my pack but as someone worth knowing. And the person seeing me is none other than Jackson, the alpha who should be my adversary but instead feels like...something else entirely.

The wind shifts subtly, carrying the distant sound of my name through the dense foliage. "Grace!" The voices are tinged with urgency, jarring me back to reality.

"Did you hear that?" I ask, my heart sinking.

Jackson's ears twitch, and his gaze sharpens as he nods. "Your pack," he states, a hint of regret lacing his voice. "They're looking for you."

Panic flares within me, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to bolt immediately. If they find me here, with him, there will be consequences—harsh ones. I know I should feel afraid of Jackson, the alpha of our rivals, but instead, it's the thought of returning to my own pack that fills me with dread.

"Go," Jackson urges gently, stepping back. "Before they find us together."

I hesitate, torn between the safety of familiarity and the thrilling unknown represented by the man before me. My pulse races, reminding me of the pull I feel towards him—a force that defies explanation and threatens to unravel everything I've ever known.

"Grace!" The call is closer now, more insistent.

"Thank you, for...for understanding," I whisper, my words barely audible over the pounding in my chest. "I don't know what this is, what we're doing, but—"

"Shh," he interrupts, his index finger lightly pressing against my lips. "You don't have to explain. Just stay safe, okay?"

I nod, my breath catching at the touch of his skin on mine. It's a fleeting contact, but it burns like a brand, imprinting this moment deep within me.

"Jackson," I breathe out, my resolve wobbling. "What happens next time we meet? Are we enemies then?"

He considers this for a heartbeat, his eyes searching mine. "We are what we choose to be, Grace. But for now, go to your pack. They need you."

And just like that, the spell is broken. I turn and sprint through the underbrush, the calls of my pack growing louder as I push myself faster, desperate to put distance between Jackson and me. But no matter how far I run, I can't escape the truth that echoes in his parting words—we choose who we are. And right now, I choose to keep him secret, a hidden chapter in the story of a she-wolf who can't shift, who's always felt inadequate, yet somehow found a connection with the one person she's supposed to despise.

"Grace!" Lucas' voice cuts through the night, a beacon that guides me back to the world I must inhabit. As I emerge from the trees into the flickering torchlight, I'm met with a mix of relief and reproach.

"Where were you?" Lucas demands, his brow furrowed in concern. His dark eyes scan my face for answers I know I cannot give.

"I lost track of time," I lie smoothly, avoiding his gaze. "Just needed some space, that's all."

Lucas doesn't look convinced, but he lets it slide, much to my silent gratitude. With an arm around my shoulders, he leads me back to the others, his presence a comforting weight. Yet even as I lean into his strength, I can't help but mourn the loss of the freedom I tasted with Jackson—a freedom that now seems as distant as the stars above.