Page 18 of Running with the Alpha’s Son (The Alpha’s Son #3)

I let the beast inside me rise to the surface, my animal instincts kick in, and before I’ve even dropped my underwear on the ground, I’m shifting, morphing from teenage boy to wolf. In an instant my muscles have rearranged, my bones cracked and forged back into place, and I’ve bent forward to all fours. Letting my wolf out feels like breathing in after months of holding my breath. It feels like the release of a deep tissue massage. My body feels powerful, relaxed, lithe, and ready.

I shake my muzzle, letting go of the last shreds of human tension, and eye Jasper ahead of me. In wolf form the world takes on a multicolored hue, scents rise like clouds of phosphorescent light—and the strongest, most blindingly beautiful belongs to Jasper. He’s watching me carefully, eyeing me with a mix of pride and sly enjoyment, his citrusy, mint-fresh scent emanating off him in waves, drawing me in. I scratch at the dirt a little, testing the ground for grip and temperature, then make my way to Jasper.

Instinctively, I press my head against his flank, nestling into his neck to let him know I’m here, and he leans into my touch. We circle each other, snapping our jaws playfully, huffing barks of acknowledgment. Luckily, it seems being in my wolf form hasn’t sent me into a blood-wolf manic state. In fact, the world seems quieter—the presence of other wolves is still there, but it’s less cloudy, like a sound that had been distorted but is now clear, piercing with clarity, but not painful. It’s as if I could reach into the ether and pick out a single wolf as easily as picking a ripe cherry from a tree. It’s sort of wild, actually, how much calmer it is in my wolf form, as if I’m closer to the source, maybe. Or does that sound too intense, too woo-woo? Maybe the desert air is playing tricks on my mind.

But it’s easier to ignore the press of noise and, as Jasper lifts his muzzle toward the horizon, I do just that. He leaps into motion and in a second is off, running away from me. My feet know what they’re doing before I do, and without thinking I take off as well.

The muscles in my legs pump as I quickly catch up to Jasper, my wolf speed in full effect. The burn and stretch of using my wolf limbs feels so stupidly good. Breathing large gulps of air into my wolf lungs is like breathing clean air for the first time. I come level with Jasper, snapping at him as if to say, This all you got ? Wolves can’t really grin but I swear he does as he tilts his head, accepting my challenge, and accelerates.

Desert landscape swooshes past us as we dodge cacti and leap over rocks, flowing like water, finding the route of least resistance. Our claws dig into the sand, flinging it up in a yellow cloud. A quick glance behind and already the cabin is barely a speck in my rearview. We dart and race, constantly aware of our proximity. Jasper, his scent, his presence are connected to mine like radio waves. If he swerves right I can feel the distance between us increasing and if he twists left I know he’s getting closer without having to look.

Up ahead the level terrain begins to dip and undulate, and a large, smooth rock formation rises before us. Eager to explore, I pick up my pace, making Jasper push to keep up. We crest a small rise, coming to the base of the towering boulders, digging in to turn at speed and navigating to one side as we glide around them. Jasper darts in front of me, forcing me closer to the rocks, and then suddenly he leaps into the air, over my head, and lands on my other side, kicking up dust, before ducking into a passage. I hadn’t seen it before, but where two boulders meet is a narrow tunnel—a glorified crack, really, which Jasper slips through as though he’s done it a million times. Huffing to keep up, I skid to control myself and follow him into the cool, shady space.

We emerge on the other side of the rocks to a rolling vista dotted with more large rock sculptures, the desert rising and falling like waves, each punctuated with boulders and spurts of grass. Jasper ducks and weaves, dives from the peaks of hills, and I follow in his wake. It’s like his wolf is testing me, the canine version of playing hard to get, wanting to see if I’ll keep up. But I can do better than simply keep up.

Jasper nods toward a copse of yucca trees and makes for it. Knowing our goal means the race is on. I push harder, flinging my hind legs out behind me, digging deeper into the ground, and hoisting myself forward at ever-greater speeds. Jasper does the same. And soon we’re racing, jumping from boulder to boulder, skirting spiky plants and ragged rocks. We enter the copse of trees, winding through them, always keeping each other in our sights. Our paths diverge, leading us farther apart, and for a moment I feel like these trees, this obstacle course, represents everything we’ve been through, all the fights and bullshit, the dangers and threats, the emotional land mines. I keep one eye trained on Jasper and as we press on, our paths come together once more.

Bursting from the tree line, we arrive at a water hole, a small oasis surrounded on three sides by bulging and uneven rocks, a pebbly shore leading to the water. We’ve emerged from the copse at the same time, perfectly matched, and Jasper skids to a stop. I press the pads of my feet into the stony ground and slide to the water’s edge. My chest is heaving, sucking in great, panting breaths. Jasper is the same. I can’t imagine the effect of the hot desert sun on his pitch-black coat. I’m warm enough and my caramel-colored fur is pretty good at reflecting heat. He must be hot because before I realize it, Jasper has pounced on me, knocking me sideways, straight into the water. We tumble over each other as the cool water refreshes us, breaking apart when we come to a stop. I lift my dripping muzzle from the water and eye Jasper as he shakes out his fur. But I don’t let him regain his composure before tackling him back.

My paws wrap around his thick neck as my weight barrages into him and we fall sideways. We wrestle for a moment, splashing crystal clear water into the air. Jasper tackles me again and I go right back in for payback. We tussle and roll over each other until we’re both panting and need to catch our breath. We heave our heavy, soaked wolf bodies onto the shore and flop down next to each other.

The sun beats down hot on our backs, drying our fur as we lie in the pebbles. Jasper’s green eye surveys me for a moment, then he shuffles closer and licks the side of my face, like he’s wolf-kissing my cheek.

I really ought to let my wolf out more frequently. That felt so good. To use my body, to embrace my power and spend some of that pent-up wolf energy, has had the revitalizing effect of caffeine or a cold shower. My soul feels lighter, I’m physically tired but not exhausted, mentally I’m switched on. My skin tingles as blood pumps through my system.

Jasper flops back onto his front and I nestle into his neck once more to say thank you for bringing me here, for running with me, sharing this place and this moment. It’s all so perfect.

For a while we lie next to each other, letting our wolf selves enjoy the dry breeze and hot sun, and the proximity to our mate. Then a presence suddenly makes itself known. I lift my muzzle, propping a paw under me, ready to stand and pounce.

Jasper looks over his shoulder and I follow his eyeline. A large, dark-gray wolf appears at the top of a boulder, its shadow a dark blob stretching down the side of the rock and onto the water. Jasper sighs and lets his head fall back onto his outstretched paws, clearly unbothered—or maybe a little bothered, but not worried. I sniff the air and realize I know the scent of this wolf. It belongs to a member of our security detail. It’s been with us since we arrived, distant but recognizable.

We’re not in danger from this wolf, it’s here to check up on us. Still something about it being here has lifted the hazy spell of the morning. Our private oasis is no longer private.

I huff and gesture back the way we came. Jasper takes a second and then nods. He lifts his body up and shakes his muzzle. I stand too and we make our way back to the house.

“I’m starving!” I whine, arriving in the kitchen freshly showered and pulling on a tank top.

Jasper turns from where he’s slicing bread and eyes me up and down. “Is that my top?”

“Um, yeah. Is that okay? I can take it off.”

“Keep it,” he says, turning back around. “It looks good.”

Jasper makes us a pair of towering sandwiches—roasted chicken breast with lettuce, cheese, mayonnaise, and paprika—which we eat outside.

“That was fun,” I say, mouth full as usual. “I need to let my wolf out more often.”

“Same,” Jasper says with a nod.

Off in the distance I notice a dark spot moving about in the desert. It’s the security wolf who found us earlier.

“Shame about those guys,” I say. “Think my wolf was enjoying spending time with you…alone.”

“Mine too,” Jasper says, eyes on his half-eaten sandwich.

“Do they need to follow us everywhere?”

He places his sandwich back on the plate, toying with the crust between two fingers. “They have orders to keep eyes on us at all times, straight from my father.”

“Man.” I sigh and lean back in my chair. “So we can’t have any privacy?”

“Only when we’re inside. Out there”—he nods to the horizon—“they’ll be watching.”

I press my lips together while my leg bounces impatiently up and down. “Are they coming hiking with us too?”

“Yes. They’ll keep their distance though.”

I roll my eyes. “I guess that’s fine. It’s just…I really enjoyed spending time out there with you. And…the whole point of coming out here was to get away from all the extra wolf noise.”

“Is it bad?” he asks, taking his sandwich back up.

“It’s not bad. It’s definitely better. I’d…I’d just like to know how good it could be if they were elsewhere.”

Jasper glances at me with narrow, contemplative eyes, then chomps down the last couple bites of his lunch. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really?”

“There aren’t any packs for miles, I don’t think one hike could hurt.”

“That would be amazing.”

After lunch Jasper goes to speak with his security team while I sit under the veranda with my sketchbook and try to capture the landscape as best I can. I want to remember this view for its rugged wildness, the contrast between smooth stone, ragged rock, and spiky plants.

When Jasper comes back he’s wearing black swim shorts and has a towel draped over his shoulder. He’s carrying what looks like an oversized cell phone, which he places on the table.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Satellite phone,” Jasper says. “I convinced the guards to let us camp without supervision as long as we take this with us.”

I sit up and lean over the armrest, beyond excited. “You mean…?”

“Privacy,” Jasper says.

“When can we go?”

“Tomorrow if you like? We’ll need to pop into town for some supplies this afternoon but I’m game.”

“Yes! Great. Let’s do it.”

After our brief morning run, all I want is to explore this stupidly beautiful piece of land with my mate, without the buzzing presence of other wolves in my head distracting me. I want the calm and quiet, and I want to use this as an opportunity to get to know Jasper better.

“I’m going for a swim,” Jasper says. “Be ready to head off in about an hour?”

“Perfect.”

Jasper heads to the pool, drops his towel on the tiled edge, and dives into the clear water. I quickly add a few lines to my drawing, wanting to include Jasper. He swims a few lengths of the pool, gliding like a pro freestyler, before stopping in the middle and bobbing up and down with his hair slicked back, watching me.

“What?” I ask.

“The water’s really nice,” he replies, treading water and grinning.

“Aaaaaand…?”

“Why don’t you join me?”

I roll my eyes and huff jokingly, but I can’t resist his smile. I slap my sketchbook on the table—I’ll have to finish my drawing later—pull off Jasper’s tank, and run to the pool. I dive in, making sure to splash water in his face.

The drive to town takes roughly an hour. Desert stretches out on either side of us as we drive, like that’s all there is in the world. For a moment I stare out the window and wonder what it would be like if Jasper and I were the only people left—like some apocalyptic event wiped everyone out and we were trekking across this barren wasteland on a mission to find a shred of hope that all was not lost. Would we make a good team? Or would we bicker and get sick of each other? Not that we’ve been bickering, or disagreeing or arguing at all since New Year’s. So maybe we would make a good team then? Maybe our postapocalyptic mission isn’t doomed. Maybe our relationship has legs.

Dusty road turns to tarmac the same time we enter the town. None of the buildings are over a story tall, making them blend in with the expansive desert plain the town sits in the center of. We pass a souvenir shop that could be straight off the set of an old Western, the curving sign and old-log-cabin aesthetic lending it something of a theme park vibe. The main drag of the town follows suit. Old-school buildings line the wide street, and I keep expecting to see cowboys chewing tobacco or tying up their horses outside.

Jasper pulls into a small parking lot belonging to a three-store strip mall. First we visit a grocer and stock up on camping supplies. Jasper pulls fresh produce, cans, and bottled water off the shelves and into the trolley while I take responsibility for adding marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. Next we pop into a camping store where Jasper talks to the sales assistant and we leave with a new tent, sleeping bags, large water canisters, and a battery-powered lantern. We drop all of that off at the car then head over to the Joshua Tree Visitor Center, its metal and concrete exterior standing out amongst the old-timey vibes, where we grab a map and speak to a lady who gives us advice about which trails to take, the prime times of day to head off, strategies so we don’t disturb the natural habitat, and safety tips such as what to do in an emergency or if one of us is bitten by a rattlesnake—all of which goes over my head and which I pray Jasper was paying closer attention to.

Finally we head back to the car, but when I stop to open my door, Jasper continues on.

“There’s one more place we need to visit,” he says.

Okay, mysterious. What else could we need?

A block or two down the road we turn into a U-shaped bank of quaint-looking shops. Unlike some of the other buildings, these aren’t made to look like relics of the Wild West, or like modern concrete slabs like the visitor center. These look more like cabins, with wooden posts holding up the porch-roofs, wind chimes and stained glass hanging from strings. One of them is a gallery showcasing paintings and ceramics by local artists, the other sells jewelry and homewares, again made by locals, and the final shop is hard to describe. I guess I’d call it the one-stop shop for yoga-practicing hippies. I stop in shock when that’s the store Jasper heads to, pressing through the door and leaving me in the literal dust with my mouth hanging open.

A moment later I follow Jasper inside and find him talking to a frail-looking old man at the counter. His ponytail is gray, thin strands of hair pulled back from the sides but not the top of his balding head. His wrists are so slim it’s a wonder they haven’t snapped right in two, his shoulders are curved forward, and he’s about a foot shorter than Jasper. But he has kind eyes, big bushy brows, and a gentle smile. He and Jasper communicate quietly, their voices lowered as if in respect to some unseen spirits. Finally, the man nods and disappears through a beaded curtain into the back room.

“He’ll just be a minute,” Jasper says.

“What do we need from here?” I ask, looking around, somewhat bewildered.

The shelves are stocked with all manner of crystals. Dream catchers and wind chimes hang from the ceiling. An antique shelving unit to one side is laden with candles, soaps, and incense in a vast array of scents. Pillows and rugs in bright colors with intricate designs sit in wicker baskets in the corners.

“You’ll see,” Jasper says with a wink.

While we wait for the man I wander through the store, trailing my fingers over a series of small figurines made from all sorts of materials: stone, smooth and cool, crystal, glistening and unforgiving, driftwood, clay, and finally glass. I stop and survey the glass objects. These look a little like the one in Jasper’s house, the one his mother owned.

With a trickle of cascading beads the man arrives back on the shop floor with a small burlap bag. He hands it to Jasper with a courteous nod and Jasper offers his credit card. The man moves behind his antique, glass-topped counter and puts the payment through his system. I move to join Jasper, and as the man returns with Jasper’s card our eyes meet.

For a moment he freezes, the credit card held in front of him like he’s about to slip it into an ATM. His nostrils flare ever so slightly and his eyes crinkle in the corners.

A waft of something breaking through the overwhelming stink of incense fogging up the shop and I smile nervously.

“There you go,” he says to Jasper, turning his attention from me to him and handing him the bag. “You should have everything you need.”

“Thank you,” Jasper says.

“May the spirits guide your hand.”

No idea what that’s supposed to mean, but there’s something off-putting about this guy. He seems nice, but he’s giving off this strange energy—like he’s an alien in disguise or like he knows more than he’s letting on.

Jasper turns to leave but I don’t join him. I’m too busy watching the man, who shoots me one more furtive glance then shuffles back behind the counter, to his stool and the book on astrophysics I assume he was reading before we interrupted.

“You coming?” Jasper asks, and I shake myself back into the room.

“Yeah, uh, coming. Thanks,” I say to the man, who looks up from his reading, one eyebrow cocked.

Outside it hits me, the scent I couldn’t quite make out because of the incense.

“Jasp,” I say, taking his arm to stop him. “I think that guy was a wolf.”

Jasper glances back at the shop, squinting in thought. “Nah, that’s not possible. The nearest pack is over a hundred miles away.”

“What if he isn’t part of a pack?”

Jasper lifts his nose like he’s trying to scent the dude out.

“He didn’t smell like a wolf to me.”

“He could have been hiding behind all that stinky incense—using it as a decoy.”

Jasper purses his lips. “Maybe. But I didn’t sense his energy the way I usually would. You’re connected to non-Elite Pack wolves better than I am. Did you feel any wolf energy?”

I pause. Is it possible I’ve gotten so used to keeping my barriers up I missed the shop guy’s energy? Or am I imagining things? Because Jasper’s right: there was no werewolf energy coming from that guy.

“Max, are you okay?”

“Weird,” I say. “My nose must have been tricking me.”

“Come on,” Jasper says, turning to leave once more. “It’ll be getting dark by the time we get back.”

“Okay.”

He heads off to the car, but I linger for a moment longer, staring back at the crystal shop, wondering if I missed something.

There aren’t supposed to be wolves around here, just like Jasper said.

But what if he’s wrong?