Page 26 of Running with the Alpha’s Son (The Alpha’s Son #3)

“It’s mega hot,” I say, wiping my brow. “How much farther to this sacred rock formation?”

Omar shoots me a sideways grin. I’m basically a water fountain with the amount I’m dripping sweat—he, on the other hand, has worked up a thin sheen of moisture, which only accentuates his tanned features. He was obviously made for this type of climate. We’ve been hiking for nearly four hours at this point. The midday sun has come and gone and now we’re entering sweltering afternoon temperatures.

“Not far, cuz.”

I trudge on, my trainers getting covered in even more dust.

“This moonwalk,” I say. “Have you ever tried it?”

Omar squints into the distance. “Once.”

“And did it work?”

He walks a few paces without replying, then nods. “Yeh, it worked.”

“What was it like? What did you see?”

The muscles in his jaw are working overtime, like he’s grinding his teeth, hard.

“Not much.”

Either he’s disappointed with his time on the lunar plane or he seriously doesn’t want to talk about it.

We walk for another fifteen minutes or so in silence until I can’t bear it anymore.

“So, uh, it looks like you’ve found a really great home at the Sanc.”

“Definitely. The Sanc really saved my ass. I owe Yoki and Mal and everyone there a lot. You wouldn’t believe how hard it can be out there as a rogue. You’d think packs these days would be more progressive, more welcoming. But they’d sooner spit on you and turn you away than consider letting you hang for one night.” He glances at me quickly. “For the most part.”

“I’m glad you found somewhere,” I say earnestly.

We walk a little farther. Up ahead I can just about make out some rocks and I wonder if that’s where we’re heading.

“And uh…have you met any nice wolves since you got here?”

Omar eyes me sideways once more, only this time he’s smirking.

“You have?!”

He shakes his head and is he…blushing?

“Okay, spill. Who’s the lucky wolf?”

“Nah, cuz, it’s not like that. I haven’t…” He trails off, staring into the distance. “Let’s just say I’ve got my eye on someone but that whole situation has about as much chance as growing moss in the desert.”

“Come on, you’re, like, totally smoldering—any wolf would be lucky to have you.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Without warning he picks up his pace and we don’t talk about much else until we finally arrive at the rock circle. Unlike the circle at the Rocky Pack, this one is much bigger, the stones are large and smooth, rounded by millennia of abrasive dust and wind. They encircle a bowl-like crater in the desert, at the center of which Yoki is sitting next to a small fire, cross-legged in a meditative state, surrounded by all manner of trippy accoutrements—bronze bowls, large crystals, a set of bongo drums, a flute made from bamboo, and a metal platter strewn with what look like old wolves’ teeth.

We trudge slowly down the short incline until we’re standing on the flat circle in the center of the basin. Yoki doesn’t open their eyes, but their mouth tilts up in a corner.

“You’ve made it,” they say. “Ready to walk with the moon gods, Blood Wolf?”

“Here, drink this,” Yoki instructs, holding out a small stone cup.

They’re sitting in front of me, the fire crackling between us. Omar is to my right. Above the ridge of the basin, the sun is setting, the sky between the rocks is all pastel, burning orange and violet and pink. Behind me the deep navy of night is creeping in. Somewhere the moon is about to rise.

I reach out and take the cup. In it is some new herbal tea.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It will help you access the lunar plane. Drink.” Yoki nods and I glance at Omar for reassurance. He nods as well.

“Bottoms up,” I say, then pour the tincture down my throat. It’s sweeter than I imagined, almost like chamomile, but with the spice of cinnamon, and the herby-ness of nettles and basil. “Not bad. Does it come as a Frappuccino?”

“Now close your eyes,” Yoki says.

I take in our surroundings one more time: a thin ripple of clouds is hovering overhead, a sprinkle of stars are shining beyond, the sunset is warm but the desert cools as the light diminishes, the boulders rise around me like teeth and I’m in the jaws of some massive beast, about to be swallowed whole.

I know that sounds dramatic, but that tea must already be going to work because my head feels lighter and the sandy banks rising on all sides are quivering, like a gazillion snakes are slithering under the surface.

One more deep breath and then I do as I’m told.

“Concentrate,” Yoki says, exhaling as I close my eyes.

I breathe in through my nose and try to practice everything I’ve learned. I let my breath move slowly, filling my chest and expanding my stomach, although my lungs feel bottomless, like I could inhale forever and never stop, never stop needing more air. I try to tune my ears into the hum of nature—the wind, the dust, the faint chirp of crickets—and somehow everything is amplified. A mile away I can make out the scurrying feet of a desert mouse darting between yucca trees; under a rock another mile to the south a rattlesnake is contorting into a new twisted configuration. Somewhere a drop of water falls from the flower of a cactus and hits the earth, evaporating the second it touches the scorching soil.

“Good,” Yoki says. “Let your mind expand. Let the walls surrounding your consciousness disappear. Let your wolf-self wander and explore.”

As I’ve done in all our meditation sessions up until this point, I try to let my guard down, to access the part of me at the core that’s pure wolf, but everything is different this evening, each action or thought is bigger than normal, and I’m scared of what’s beyond those invisible walls.

To my right, Omar drags a mallet around the inside of a bowl, causing it to ring out like the extended ping of a bell. He does this again with a different bowl, one with a higher pitch. And again, until three chords are ringing in harmony.

Yoki hums, the sound coming out all nasal and reverberating in my ears.

The vibrations of Yoki’s voice and the metal bowls wash over me like waves, tingling my muscles, enlivening every inch of my skin. Omar or maybe Yoki, one of the two, picks up another instrument, this tube filled with dried beans that sounds like rain when it’s flipped. Almost, I feel as if I’m being rained on, the cool wetness of each drop refreshing and revitalizing me and my senses. Suddenly, the cry of a wolf pierces the melodic soundscape, and without thinking my eyes dart open. But when they do I find I’m no longer in the desert.

It’s raining lightly in the forest. I’m standing in a clearing and I lift my face and let the cooling water drip onto my skin. It’s night, the woods are dark and quiet, the only sound is the hoot of an owl somewhere in the branches arching overhead. Between trees the shadows are impossibly dark, I can’t see beyond a few feet.

I turn in circles.

“What the…? Where am I?”

The air is cool and pine scented. Above, the patch of visible sky is heavy with low-hanging clouds from which the rain continues to tumble. Then all of a sudden the bank of clouds rolls back to reveal the moon—full, of course, and brilliantly white. I stare at her and it feels as if she’s staring back.

Then that familiar howl, the one that’s been calling to me for months, the one that always seems to interrupt when I’m trying to mind-link with Jasper or access the greater wolf consciousness. It’s high and far away, but tears through the stillness like a razor blade.

A twig snaps nearby and I spin in the direction of the sound.

Nothing, but then movement, a pair of eyes glowing in the darkness. A wolf emerges from the tree line. My wolf.

His honey-colored fur looks extra golden in the moonlight, his eyes narrow and fierce, his shoulder blades roll with every step forward.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, extending a hand palm down, a gesture of friendship you might extend to a neighbor’s pet dog. “Did you hear that howl too?”

Have I done it? Managed to access the deepest, most animal part of myself? Is this clearing in the forest the depths of my soul?

My wolf and I stare at each other.

“Hey pal.” I know this wolf is me, that we’re the same, and also that my inner wolf is no domesticated puppy, but I can’t help myself. “Are you going to take me to the crying wolf like a good boy?”

My wolf snaps his jaws at me, a thick strand of saliva flinging from his glistening jowls. I retract my hand, just barely avoiding the loss of a finger, as it turns and bounds away into the trees.

“That was not cool. Hey! Wait! What do I do? Am I supposed to follow you?”

I’ve heard people talk about spirit guides when they embark on this sort of journey. Is that what my wolf is?

I look around for some sign or other of what I’m supposed to do on this new plane, but find nothing. Yoki couldn’t have given me some kind of instruction manual for once I got here?

So without any idea what else I’m supposed to do, I take off jogging after my wolf.

The forest floor is soft, mossy, littered with pine needles. The damp smell of petrichor and the tangy scent of sap fill my senses, so starkly different from the desert I’ve gotten used to. Somewhere nearby water is trickling, I must be running parallel to a river. I become aware of some other noises—yelps and howls, and then…laughter, people. There are people here.

A group runs by a few yards away, just visible between redwood trunks. I don’t recognize any of the faces but they’re smiling, waving each other on. I watch as they speed up and finally shift mid-step, their clothes ripping apart as they turn into wolves, landing gracefully on all fours and charging off into the forest.

Behind me a single set of running footsteps approaches. I turn just in time to see Jasper, in the workout gear he was wearing during capture the flag back at the Blue Moon Festival, as he runs past me.

“Hurry up, Bonehead,” he says without slowing down. “Don’t want to get left behind.”

“Jasper?” He doesn’t stop or turn around again. “Wait up!”

With no other option I speed up to try and catch Jasper. For some reason my superspeed isn’t kicking in and I lose him just as quickly as he appeared. There’s a break in the trees so I dart between two massive trunks and skid to a stop.

“Wait…what the…?”

I spin around again.

“This can’t be. Is this…the same clearing?”

If I’m not standing in the exact same clearing as before, then this one looks remarkably similar. Off to my right is a tree with a gnarly scratch mark on it, three ragged lines scraped across the bark where someone, some wolf has dragged their claws.

“Was that there before?”

I make a mental note to remember that tree.

Again footsteps and then Jasper appears once more. He comes running right at me and I can barely brace myself before he slams into me and I go flying backward, hitting the soft earth with a thud.

“Ow, hey, watch it!”

When I look back up at Jasper he’s no longer wearing his workout clothes. He’s in a crisp white tee, a black blazer, fitted black pants, and combat boots.

“Watch where you’re going, Bonehead,” he says, his face screwed up in disdain.

“You ran into me!” I call back.

“You should be more careful.”

Wait… this feels oddly familiar.

“Here.” He extends a hand to help me up and the second I take it sparks ignite in my fingertips, fizzing up my arm and into my chest.

“Jasper?” I lean forward, trying to get a better look at his face, but he stares back like I’m a stranger. “What’s going on?”

His expression twists like he’s gone from staring at a stranger to his worst enemy.

“I don’t know who you are, okay Bonehead? But stay away from me.”

And with that he’s off again, running out of the clearing.

I follow once more.

Back in the forest the rippling river runs at my side again. I run and run but can’t catch Jasper, until once again I emerge into a clearing.

To my right is a tree with scratch marks.

“It is the same!”

A growl breaks the otherwise quiet night and all I can do is watch as a large and fearsome wolf leaps from the shadows into the moonlight. His midnight fur is sleek and shiny, blacker than black. His green eyes are vibrant and glow emerald. Jasper’s wolf lands and digs its claws into the soil, skidding to a stop.

“Jasp?” I ask tentatively.

His lips curl, he huffs and backs away, growling the whole time. A warning.

Stay back.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s me. It’s…Max. Your mate.”

He snaps his jaws, twisting his muzzle.

I risk a step forward, lifting a hand like I’m going to cradle his face. What do I need all these fingers for anyway?

“Jasper.” I stare into his brilliant eyes. “Do you recognize me?”

Then to my surprise he whimpers and backs away.

“It’s okay—”

Before I can reach out and touch his fur, Jasper turns and leaps again, penetrating the tree line and almost instantly vanishing, his fur and the shadows as dark as each other.

“What do I do now?” I ask no one in particular, maybe hoping my wolf is going to reappear and tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do. “If I chase after him I’ll just end up back here again.”

A weight slams into my back, knocking me forward. I hit the earth with an “Oomf!” and before I can gather my wits, whoever knocked me down flips me over onto my back and presses my shoulders into the earth. A stone digs into my ribs as I stare up at Jasper, his hair hanging over his eyes, his lips parted just enough to show his teeth, and his freckles…I’m always surprised by his freckles.

He presses his lips to mine, kissing me intensely with passion but also anger. This kiss tastes sour.

When he pulls back he eyes me darkly. “There,” he says. “Is that what you wanted?”

The ground falls away from beneath me and somehow, even though I was pressed to the earth, I’m suddenly tumbling through the air, like I’ve fallen from a great height. Jasper doesn’t come with me. He and the trees stay where they are, growing smaller every second I plummet away.

Mountains sprout below me, growing sideways as I flail my arms and legs through the air. Snow-covered peaks surround me, pointing to the now dusky sky, a reddish hue tinting the smattering of clouds. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out as the ground comes rushing toward me.

My fall is cushioned by a thick layer of snow. I hit the powder hard, but sink into it, and arrive back on land uninjured. Standing as icy wind whips at my face, I look around to catch my bearings.

It’s snowing something ridiculous but through the blizzard I can make out the lights of a chalet at the top of the tallest mountain. It will be a long climb but at least if I head up there I can get out of this storm.

I begin my ascent, struggling to make much headway in the crazy deep snow. With each step forward I feel like I’m sinking back another three. Scrambling, I manage to claw my way to a level plateau and stop when I notice something, a word, scrawled in the snow in what looks like blood—the word TRAITOR .

It’s the same handwriting as whoever graffitied my parents’ garage door. But how did they get out here and where did they get enough blood to write the letters so big?

Somewhere behind me, in the depths of the valley below, comes the cry of the howling wolf. I turn and without thinking, I follow the sound.

The descent is easier, or at least faster, than climbing in the opposite direction. I manage to make my way with seeming ease and in no time I’m wandering along a stony path with more mountains rising on either side of me. A familiar-looking shelter comes into view—Agatha’s cottage. When I reach the door I bang on it, hoping to find the wolf who’s been calling to me, or Agatha or anyone who can let me in from the cold.

The door swings open and Omar steps into the doorway. Behind him it’s daytime, and where the inside of the shack should be, the desert stretches out toward a hazy horizon.

“Hey cuz, thought you’d never make it.”

“Omar, what is this? Are you—are you really here?”

“Here enough. Quick, this way. It’s about to start.”

“What’s about to start?”

He nods at the nighttime sky behind me, and I peer through the continuing blizzard, so cold and inhospitable compared to the warmth and light of the desert. From behind the ridge of a mountain the blood moon rises, crimson red and so large it covers almost a third of the sky.

“Am I going to change?” I ask, half to Omar and half to myself, fearful of the last time I saw a blood moon, afraid my teeth are about to become fangs and my fingers claws.

“Change?” Omar says. “Change is inevitable.”

He slips a solid hand into mine as a wind vortex spirals through the valley picking up snow and rocks in a tornado that’s hurtling toward us, then he pulls me through the door.

Together we run through the desert, the sun hot on my back. Rocks whiz by, after a while replaced with tents until we’ve somehow arrived in the depths of the Sanc. We slow as we approach Yoki’s tent, only something tells me to stop. The shelter is giving off a weird vibe. Dark smoke wisps from the entryway. Omar’s hand slips from mine and he looks back in confusion.

“Come on,” he says. “It’s just through here.”

“What’s through there?”

He smiles. “The answer to your question. Come on.”

With a gesture for me to follow he slips through the entrance. I take a step forward, then I hear a voice nearby.

“Psst, Max.” Off to my right Jasper is leaning from the flap of a different yurt. “This way.”

“Jasper, what’s going on?”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. This way.”

He takes my hands and tries to pull me inside but I resist.

“Jasp, something’s not right. I’m supposed to be finding a wolf or…no, wait…I’m supposed to be figuring out how to use my blood-wolf abilities, or…how to mind-link with you. But I keep getting lost. I need help.”

He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “I’m here now.”

“Thanks, I feel like I’ve been running all over the place.”

“What do you want?” he asks, like that’s an easy question.

I lean back so I can look up at him. “I want this.” I touch his face and kiss him once, quickly. “And I want things to be—different. I want to make things better.”

He smiles and brushes the hair from my face.

“Come with me.”

We slip through the entrance and I stumble as I emerge at the edge of the packhouse’s balcony. Somehow it’s night again and we’re a hundred stories in the air, at the very top of a Manhattan skyscraper. I clutch the metal handrail atop the balustrade, all that’s keeping me from a steep drop to the sidewalk below. Wind blows and messes my hair. Behind me the tent is gone and all that’s left is an empty patio, the building is dark, no lights are on inside. Jasper is watching me.

“Why did you bring me here? What is this?”

Jasper steps forward to my side and stares out across New York.

“This is what we can build together.”

I turn to look out across the city.

Fires…everywhere. The city is ablaze. Smoke rises in all directions, from too many buildings to count. Lights are out across whole blocks. The acrid stench of ash and destruction catches in my nostrils. Below, fire engines and ambulances whir by, sirens wailing. Desperate cries ring out into the night.

“This is…the city—it’s destroyed. What happened?”

“War. The pack and the rogues tore the city apart.”

I stare at the side of Jasper’s face. He isn’t blinking, he doesn’t even seem concerned, when the world is on fire.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we try to help?”

He turns to me with a sickening grin on his face. “Help? But Max, this is what you wanted.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I never wanted this. I never…”

“Where are you going?” he asks, a hand raised, as I back away. “You can’t run from me. I’m your mate.”

“You’re not him. You can’t be.”

His grin stretches wider, his fangs on show.

“We’re meant to be together,” he says, and as he does fireworks shoot up right in front of the building, too close, too bright, and too loud.

“Stop this!” I shout, unsure if I’m talking about the fireworks or the weird look on Jasper’s face.

“You can’t escape fate, Max!”

“I won’t let this happen. I can’t!”

All of a sudden Jasper’s expression changes, his eyes shoot open, and his hands clutch at his stomach. There under his touch a bloom of red blossoms, spreading and staining his pristine white button-down. I glance from the wound to his face and back again. His mouth falls open in pain and a trickle of blood runs from the corner of his mouth.

“How could you do this to me, Max?” He sounds like himself again, only weaker, panicked, like he knows the wound is fatal. “How could you?”

He holds out his bloodstained hands so I can see the red liquid marking his skin.

“No, Jasper, I didn’t, I—”

“You’ll pay for this.” In an instant his expression has shifted again. Now he appears cold, deadly, his fangs grow and his claws extend. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done to me.”

“NO!”

I turn and run back toward the building. The balcony feels like it must extend for miles as I run and run, heading for the glass doors of the packhouse but never reaching them. Then suddenly the doors are somehow right in front of me, my reflection visible in the dark, silver surface of the glass. Only it isn’t my reflection. It’s me in my wolf form, hurtling toward the doors from the other side. As me and my wolf draw nearer, its form growing larger with each step, it leaps toward me.

From the opposite side of the glass I leap as well and at the same time my wolf self and I collide. I cross my arms over my face to shield them as the glass shatters, shards sent flying every which way.