Page 23 of Running with the Alpha’s Son (The Alpha’s Son #3)

Omar leads us through the tent city, nodding and greeting rogues as he does. From the way that people smile when they see him, waving and winking, it’s clear he’s ingratiated himself within this community.

“You seem popular,” I say.

He shrugs. “It’s easy to get along when everyone is this friendly. Here we are.”

We arrive at an expansive shaded area. A tent ceiling is held aloft by thick wooden poles, and underneath are at least a hundred collapsible picnic tables. The place is already crowded by wolves eating and chatting with the others at their tables. My nostrils widen as a stupidly delicious scent wafts by.

“What is that smell?”

Omar grins. “Told you. Miss Sammy’s ribs are the best in the country.”

I glance at Jasper and his eyes are wide as well. “Smells good, huh?” I ask and nudge him gently.

He shakes his head a little and resets his face. “Not especially,” he says.

I turn to Omar, desperate not to have offended him. “Jasper…uh…doesn’t eat meat.”

“Don’t worry, Alpha Boy,” Omar says. “There’s plenty of veggie-loving wolves here too. You’ll be well fed.”

Jasper can’t even hide his shock at learning there are other vegetarian wolves, as much as he’d like to.

We wander through the tables, Omar slapping his pals on the back. At one table three men are sitting not touching their food while they glare at us. They don’t look as happy as everyone else that we’re here.

By the far end of the shade cloth, four tables have been set up and food laid out buffet style, with wolves dishing out all manner of delicious-smelling food to the patrons lining up with their dinner trays. Behind them in the sun sit three industrial-size barbecues that wouldn’t be out of place in some steampunk fantasy. We make our way to the end of the line and take our trays.

“Miss Sammy!” Omar says with an open-mouthed smile, throwing his hands wide and nearly taking Jasper out with his tray.

“Omar, baby,” Miss Sammy says from behind a mountain of glistening, succulent-looking ribs. “You better be hungry today.”

“Always,” he replies.

Miss Sammy has big, rosy cheeks, her curly red hair is held back by a bandana, and her apron is covered in barbecue sauce smudges.

“Who are your friends?” she says, pointing at Jasper and me with a pair of saucy tongs.

“This is Max. He’s the blood wolf and a super cool dude. And this is his mate, Jasper Apollo, he’s…” We stare at Omar, waiting to see how he plans to finish that thought. “He’s here too.”

Jasper rolls his eyes but Miss Sammy leans over the table, her belly nearly coming into contact with the pile of ribs, to squint at Jasper.

“You have her eyes,” Miss Sammy says.

Jasper pulls his head back like he’s smelled something rotten.

“You boys are a long way from home. You must be hungry. Load up, there’s plenty to go around.”

I let Miss Sammy stack way too many ribs on my plate then move down the buffet, doing as told and loading up corn, potato salad, sausages, a succulent-looking burger, some other salad with chickpeas and broccoli. Behind me Jasper is being much pickier but he accepts a large spoon of both salads, plus some grilled eggplant and halloumi and a seasoned mushroom head the size of my face. Both satisfied, we find an empty table and sit.

“Looks good,” I say, taking a whiff of the spicy, sweet scent of barbecue sauce and salivating up a storm.

Jasper doesn’t say anything. Omar joins us swiftly, dropping his tray on the table with a loud thunk.

“Tuck in, boys,” Omar says, already pulling pork from the bone with his teeth.

I sink my teeth into the steaming meat and the juices explode across my palate. I’ve never had ribs this meaty, this tender and delicious. “Oh my moon gods!” I mumble with a mouth full, knowing I must have sauce all over my face.

“I know, right?” Omar says, nodding. “And yours?” he asks Jasper.

With a knife and fork Jasper cuts a neat triangle of his mushroom, stares at it briefly as if it could be poisoned, then finally slips it between his lips. Instantly his eyes pop open and he chews with an amazed look on his face.

“Pretty good?” Omar is staring at Jasper with very high eyebrows.

Jasper stares at his plate. “It’s fine, I guess,” he mumbles, but Omar and I can both tell that’s the best damn mushroom he’s ever eaten.

“So after lunch I thought I could show you around a little,” Omar says. “Then Max, I want to introduce you to Yoki.”

“Yoki?” I ask.

“Yoki is our spiritual leader, they’ll be the one working with you on the blood-wolf front. They’re amazing, they’ll be able to help you out, no trouble.”

“And what about Jasper, what will he do?”

Omar smiles mischievously at Jasper. “Earn his keep.”

Jasper and I stare questioningly at Omar.

“You’ll see,” he says, then goes back to his lunch.

“That’s the healer’s tent over there,” Omar says, pointing to a large tent with a thin plume of pale smoke rising from the center. “And over there is one of our communal vegetable gardens.” Between two rows of tents I spot an out-of-place patch of green dotted with bright colors—yellow corn and red bell peppers all growing in abundance.

“It must take a lot of work to cultivate all that produce,” I say.

“The biggest issue is sourcing enough water,” Omar explains. “But we all chip in with the garden work and there’s no shortage of sunlight.”

“And you grow everything you eat yourselves?”

“Pretty much.” Omar glances at me looking suitably smug.

“That’s so cool.” I nudge Jasper. “Isn’t that cool? Living completely off the land?”

Jasper grunts.

“We have a water reservoir just a short distance from here in the shadiest part of the valley,” Omar continues, turning right down a slightly narrower path. The tent walls on either side of us ripple in the warm breeze. “Down here is our meditation center where we go to hone our wolf senses.”

“Is that where Yoki is?” I ask, eager to meet the spiritual practitioner who might be able to help me.

Omar grins knowingly. “No. Yoki has their own space.”

We stop at an intersection with five paths leading off in different directions. Omar points down a trail to the left. “If you head this way you’ll find our library. We have an amazing collection of books. There’s volumes and volumes about the history of werewolf culture, a great section on horticulture and germination. But there’s also some wicked fiction, some romance, mystery, the classics. A big selection of young adult.”

“Awesome,” I say.

“That way”—Omar turns and points down another pathway—“leads you to the music tent. And down there”—he turns and points down yet another—“is our gym.”

“You have everything you could ever need,” I say.

Jasper remains stoically silent.

“Almost,” Omar replies. “Your mate doesn’t seem so impressed.”

“Jasper?” I say, hoping he’ll muster the strength to say something nice.

“It’s impressive,” he says finally, surveying the encampment with one eyebrow raised like he isn’t so sure. “Especially considering the lack of consistent leadership.”

Omar bristles a little at Jasper’s obviously underhanded compliment, but he shrugs it off. “That’s what’s so great about this place. Everyone has a voice. There isn’t one dictator controlling everything.”

Jasper locks eyes with Omar and steps toward him. “An alpha isn’t a dictator.”

“Fascism by any other name, right?” Omar says, not backing down—in fact, squaring his shoulders and stepping to face off with Jasper.

“What did you say?” Jasper growls.

“Heyheyhey,” I say, stepping between them, putting a hand on Jasper’s chest to ease him off. “Put the claws away. This is a peaceful place, right Omar?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “It is.” He steps back and turns away, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Jasper withdraws as well.

“From what I’ve heard,” Omar begins, and I pray he isn’t about to provoke Jasper further, “your mother was pretty instrumental in helping this place get off the ground.”

Jasper doesn’t say anything. He glares sideways at Omar, studying him to see if this is some kind of goading or if he’s sincere.

“People around here, they talk about her like she was some kind of saint.”

Still, Jasper doesn’t say anything.

“She must have believed the rogues needed a place like this, where they could be safe.”

“She…” Jasper falters. “She cared about all people. No matter who or— what they are.”

Omar rakes his eyes over Jasper’s face carefully. “Shame the acorn fell so far from the tree.”

Jasper lifts his head once more, his chin a proud blade slicing the air.

“Come on,” Omar says. “Tomas will be waiting.”

Jasper hangs back a little but follows Omar and me as we make our way down one of the five paths until we emerge at what appears to be a construction site. Bare wooden poles are being dug into the ground, crossbeams nailed into them, and the tent roof, which is only halfway erected, is being strung up between them.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“It will be a school,” Omar says, “when it’s finished. We sort of outgrew the last one.” He gestures to a wide patch of dirt off to the side where fifty or sixty kids of all ages are sitting in groups listening to a handful of teachers. “Our numbers have been swelling lately. Tension in the packs is forcing more and more people to go rogue, and well, a lot of them end up here. Since the weather is nice we’re holding classes outside until the new school tent can be completed.”

“How long will it take?”

“Should have only been a couple of weeks,” Omar says. “But with more and more wolves flocking to us, the council decided to divert some of our wolfpower to the security teams, to ensure the new arrivals don’t attract any unwanted attention from the packs.”

“Why? What would the packs do if they found out about this place?”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”

I turn to Jasper, who has just caught up, but before I can say anything Tomas approaches us, pulling off a pair of gloves and lifting a pair of protective glasses onto the top of his head.

“Ah, there you are,” Tomas says. “Just in time. We can use all the help we can get.”

Jasper leans into me and whispers. “What is he talking about?”

Omar answers for me. “We thought while Max was learning from Yoki, that you, Jasper, could help out with our wolfpower-shortage problem and lend a hand to our builders.”

“I—excuse me?” Jasper asks, so low even I can hardly make him out.

“Yeah, you know, put those alpha muscles to some use,” Omar teases. “Since Tomas here is in charge of the project and knows a lot about your mother, we thought it was a great win-win.”

“We’ll be glad of the assistance,” Tomas says. “This school is exactly the type of project your mother would have shepherded when she was still with us.”

“You want me to help build a school?” Jasper asks, still incredulous.

At that moment a handful of kids come running by, screaming and laughing and almost knocking Jasper right off his feet. Jasper watches them like bugs he’d rather squish.

“Jasper is actually great with kids,” I say, catching the concerned expression on Tomas’s face. “He and his little sister get on like nobody’s business.”

“Max,” Jasper says through gritted teeth.

“What? It’s true!”

“Of course, if hard labor isn’t your thing we’re also short of a teacher or two. You could help out with the children’s lessons?”

Jasper looks over at the mass of kids, their hands shooting eagerly into the air to answer a question, shouting for attention, getting into scuffles, pulling hair, picking noses. Eventually he sighs.

“Pass me a hammer.”

“Wonderful,” Tomas says, gesturing for Jasper to follow. “Let’s get you all set up.”

“See ya,” Omar says in the most patronizing tone. “I’ll take care of Max.”

Jasper is hesitant to move.

“I’ll see you later,” I say, rubbing his shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

Eventually, he follows Tomas toward the half-built school tent, but not without looking back, all worried and uncomfortable, to give me a reluctant wave.

“He’ll fit right in with the other builders,” Omar says. “They hate unnecessary conversation.”

I roll my eyes but smile a little. It’s sort of fun the way he makes Jasper squirm. I just hope Jasper can learn a little bit about his mom while also hammering away.

“Okay,” Omar continues. “You ready to meet Yoki?”

“Is this it?” I ask.

Omar has taken me to the very edge of the settlement. All the other tents sit behind us, and in front is a lopsided shelter that looks about ready to topple over. The fabric walls are aged and dusty and look as though they’re almost wearing through in places. Some weed or shrublike bush grows around the base of the poles and climbs up one side of the structure. The doorway is a tattered flap, being frisked about by the breeze. It looks small and dirty, but at the same time homely. It’s like the desert equivalent of a witch’s cottage you’d find in the woods in some fairy tale. Beyond Yoki’s tent the desert seems to stretch on forever.

“This is it,” Omar says and moves to the shelter, lifting aside the flapping door and entering without announcing himself.

Tremulously, I follow.

The entrance is so low I have to duck but inside things open up in a weird Doctor Who –type way. The tent is long and narrow, with two large sheets of fabric pulled back at the far end to reveal the view—or more like the walls have been peeled away so that the inside and the outside are one and the same. The floor is dusty but covered in rugs that seem to move under my feet. Ferns and succulents grow in pots and in baskets hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Antique-looking cabinets and stools are dotted around the perimeter of the room, along with old wooden shelves housing jars of powders, herbs, and strangely colored liquids. In the middle of the room, floor cushions surround a circular table with rocks and—are those…? Yep, bones in a pile in the center.

“Yoki?” Omar calls out to the seemingly absent guru.

He turns and gestures for me to come farther in. It’s cool and dry in the tent, and a pleasant, faintly floral aroma fills the air. I join Omar by the central table.

“Right on time,” Yoki—or who I assume is Yoki—says as they appear at the opening on the far end, draped in flowing white fabrics, their silver hair long and held back from their face with a braided leather headband.

They’re younger than I imagined. For some reason I was picturing some hunched-over nanna type. But Yoki can’t be much older than Omar. Their skin is flawless, russet but freckled slightly. Their eyes are startling gray.

Omar heads to greet Yoki, taking their hands in his and bowing his head. “Lunar greetings.”

“Moon gods’ blessings,” Yoki says in return, their voice smooth and dulcet, as though they possess wisdom well beyond their years.

Omar and Yoki nod to each other before Yoki looks up at me and smiles. My breath catches in my throat. Who is this strange ethereal person? Where did they come from? I’ve never met anyone like them before.

“And moon gods’ blessings to you, Blood Wolf,” they say, only their lips didn’t seem to move, or did they?

“And, uh, the same to you,” I stammer, more aware of how un-ethereal I am than ever.

“Come, sit,” they say, for sure with their mouth this time, and gesture to the cushions. “Tea?”

“Um, sure. Tea would be great.”

“Omar, would you mind?”

“Certainly.” Omar bows not unlike a butler and then moves over to an electric stove I hadn’t noticed before where a steel kettle is already heating.

For some reason I assumed Omar would leave me here and head off to help, I dunno, patrol the borders or build something like Jasper is doing, but instead he goes about making tea as if he lives here as well.

When I sit and turn to Yoki, I find them watching me with an amused expression and a gentle smile. “Omar has become an attentive acolyte these past months,” they say, answering the questions I had only thought.

“Oh.” I didn’t realize Omar was so interested in the spiritual realm.

“After spending all that time with Agatha up north,” he says, carrying a tray of cups and a teapot to the circle, “I started to see the benefits of communicating with the spirits. Yoki has been training me since I arrived at the Sanc.”

He places the tray by our feet and pours tea into three ceramic cups before passing one to Yoki, then one to me.

“So you’ll be staying?” I ask.

“If you don’t mind,” he answers.

My cheeks are warm and I don’t think it’s from the hot tea. “I—I don’t mind.”

“Omar will be a steadying presence as we explore the great consciousness,” Yoki says, blowing gently then sipping their tea. They have this melodic way of speaking and this slight grin that makes them seem amused by everything, as if the ways of us earth dwellers are adorably novel to them.

For a moment we sip our tea quietly. Yoki and Omar seem content to sit in silence, but my mind is racing and I want to know what’s going to happen next.

“So uh, I was sort of hoping you might be able to help me figure out this whole blood-wolf thing…Omar says you’re amazing at all this wolf-energy spiritual stuff, and I really need some help to quiet down the noise in my head. You wouldn’t believe the headaches I’ve been having. It’s been majorly bad, like uberpainful, and I’ve been a mess, a complete zonker!”

Yoki waits patiently while I ramble, then finally looks up, smiles generously at me, and laughs ever so quietly.

“The lupine chorus is not a noise to silence but a blessing to embrace,” they say. “Like a river, you cannot fight it. You must let the current direct you and enjoy the flow.”

Are they going to speak in riddles the whole time?

“Uh, yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I know it’s not noise to block out, at least that’s what Omar told me. It’s just—”

Yoki raises a delicate hand to stop me from blathering any further.

“You have no need to be nervous,” they say. “I know why you have come.”

Unless Mal and the council sent a quick email or text, I don’t know how Yoki could know exactly why I’ve come, but I guess that’s just how in tune they are.

“So you can help me?” I ask.

Again they smile and laugh into their teacup. “You do not need my help. But I am happy to serve as your guide through the lunar planes.”

I take a breath and let my shoulders relax. “Phew, okay. Great. A guide. That would be—that’s perfect.”

Yoki places their cup down on the tray gently, then presses their palms together lightly. “You are unsure. Afraid that your path is not your own. Afraid to be lost among the multitude of voices that sing within the lupine chorus. But you need not be afraid. The path you tread can only be forged by the wolf within.”

Oy, again with the riddles.

“I would like, if I may, to begin with a ritual.” Yoki doesn’t move but Omar stands all of a sudden, as if he knows what they need without them asking.

“What sort of ritual?”

“It is one of calming and cleansing. It will help you to focus and open your mind.”

“Okay,” I say, as Omar moves to the wonky shelves, picks up a basket, places a wooden bowl in it, and begins picking bottles from the shelf.

Yoki moves onto their knees by the table and gestures at a spot on the floor. “I would ask you to lie flat on your back.”

Trying to be as not-awkward as possible, I maneuver myself onto the spot on the rugs Yoki suggested and lie back with a cushion under my head. Omar comes to kneel nearby and I shoot him a questioning glance. He nods subtly to reassure me and places the tray on the table. Immediately Yoki takes out the bowl, mixes some fragrant herbs with what appear to be spices, dried leaves, and seeds. They take up a blunt stirrer and mix the contents of the bowl, crushing them together before finally lighting the contents on fire. The bowl erupts with a purple flame that immediately goes out but leaves behind a bowl of smoking herbs and spices. Why do I feel like I’m about to experience the wildest contact high since that time a guy lit up on the L train?

“Close your eyes,” Yoki says, gently wafting the scented smoke from the bowl in my direction. I do as I’m told. “Inhale deeply. Let the smoke envelope you. Feel your rib cage expand as you breathe, feel your stomach muscles widening. Once you have taken in as much air as you can, hold that breath.”

My body expands as I breathe in, the smoke fills my nostrils, sweet and tangy and purely natural. As I hold my breath, it’s hard to explain, but it’s almost like I can feel the smoke moving through my cells, seeping into my veins and filling my body. My skin tingles, my fingers twitch, my muscles relax, and my limbs become heavy.

“Now release that breath and let the walls that protect your mind fall.”

I’m scared that this is going to hurt, scared that by letting in all the noise I’m going to be overwhelmed, damaged somehow, and yes…lost, like Yoki said. But I’m here to try and figure this out and I won’t be able to do that if I don’t give this a go, if I don’t put my trust in Yoki and Omar. As I let go of the breath I’ve been holding, I picture the walls around my mind falling outward.

Immediately my consciousness expands. I’m floating at the center of an infinitesimal void: weightless, buoyant, vibrating, eternal.

“Good,” Yoki says, as if they’re with me, as if they can feel the same thing I’m feeling. “You have left the physical world. And now you exist on the lunar plane. Just like the moon you are a reflection of the light that surrounds you. The noise you fear is not sound but light. Embrace light, search for it, and let it shine upon you.”

As they say this a speck of something glitters far, far off in the distance, then like the sun rising over the horizon, it grows, ethereal beams of yellow and gold spike out in all directions as the light grows bigger and hotter. For a moment I’m afraid, scared that it will burn or blind, but then like a wave the light passes over me. I inhale sharply as I embrace the warmth and the light.

It’s not unpleasant, but it’s intense, my muscles seize and my, my—everything disappears, evaporating and becoming nothing but light.

My eyes shoot open and I sit upright. The tent feels darker than before, the smells more intense and unpleasantly pungent. Everything is swirling around me, but even though I very well may topple over…I smile.

“What did you glimpse, Blood Wolf?”

“I saw it,” I say, breathless. “I saw us.”