Page 6 of Running with the Alpha’s Son (The Alpha’s Son #3)

As the weeks pass by my headache remains—a constant reminder that somewhere out there is a wolf in pain. But how am I supposed to help them if I can’t focus in on their life force without my head feeling like it’s being torn in two, like there’s a drill whirring away at my gray matter?

If only I had a better grasp of my blood-wolf abilities, if only I understood my connection to wolfkind better, how it works, what I’m capable of, maybe I could sort out where this distressed cry is coming from. But right now it’s taking all of my energy just to keep the wall of sound at bay. Each night I arrive home from school exhausted and ready for a nap.

Jasper put a pin in our mind-link practice until we can be sure it won’t send me into an agony spiral. We return to texts and FaceTimes as our main means of communication. But as winter turns to spring, tensions between our and the neighboring packs rise and I hear less and less from him.

“Jericho has him traveling pretty much anytime he doesn’t have classes or exams,” I whisper into my phone.

“That’s tough,” Mason says, his voice staticky on the other end of the line.

I’m crammed into a stall in the boy’s bathroom on the third floor of my school. No one really comes in here unless they’re on their way to the art rooms, so it’s a great spot to take private calls during my lunch period. On the door of the bathroom stall in front of me someone has scrawled Brad sucks cox .

I roll my eyes. Super original.

“I know he’s trying to stay in touch as much as possible but it’s tough when he’s between time zones and keeping weird hours.”

“And the mind-link thing didn’t work.”

“Nope.”

“Will you keep trying?”

“Not unless I want my brain to explode out of my ears.”

“Gross.”

“Anyway, how are things with you?”

School has been weirdly lonely since the semester started back up. I have a couple of friends, Becky and Peter, who I sit with at lunch, and a cool lab partner in Biology, a girl named Norma, who always has a different-colored streak in her hair. But I can’t exactly tell them about everything that’s going on in my life. Wolf and human culture aren’t supposed to mix. They’d probably report me to the school counselor and petition for me to be hospitalized if I did try to tell them the truth.

With so much going on it sucks not to be able to talk it all through. Scheduling time to see Katie has been difficult—school and her mates are keeping her busy—and Aisha’s dance company has just started rehearsal for a new show, which is taking up the brunt of her time. With Jasper stretched thin between his studies and pack duties, Mason is the only other person I can talk to. And he’s stuck in the mountains, in a pack that may or may not be harboring hostilities toward ours.

“I’ve got to say,” Mason says, sounding sort of tired, “things have been pretty weird since Morven came back from New York. This whole year has had a strange vibe.”

“What’s going on?”

“All pack dinners have been canceled. Morven and my dad have been in meetings with the other officers pretty much day and night.”

“What do you think they’re meeting about?”

“I dunno. Strategy? In case things fall through between our two packs.”

“Has your dad said anything?” Not that I’m trying to spy on the Rocky Pack, but getting a little bit of inside information from our rival pack’s beta, their second in command, could be useful.

“He said Morven is pissed.”

“Because of what Jasper did at New Year’s?”

“Sort of. I think it had more to do with the promises that had been made and broken. He feels humiliated. Morven is quite proud.”

“Do you think he’s going to turn on Jericho and the Elite Pack?”

There’s a pause and a muffled sound. Mason takes a long breath. “I don’t know.”

The sound of footsteps echo off the walls and I sit frozen for a moment, prepared to pull my feet up onto the toilet seat if whoever it is finds their way into the bathroom. But they pass by, the sound dwindling as the person moves away from the door.

“Sorry, thought my solitude was about to be interrupted.”

“It’s okay.” Another pause. “Look I shouldn’t tell you this but…”

My heart rate accelerates at the sound of Mason’s conspiratorial tone; I clutch my backpack tighter to my chest.

“Morven knows Jericho and Jasper have been visiting other packs. My dad said he’s worried your alpha is courting allies so he can turn on the Rocky Pack.”

“That’s nonsense,” I reply. “Jericho is just making sure we’re safe.”

“Maybe.” Mason doesn’t sound as convinced as I am. “Or maybe he’s trying to amass a contingent of packs so he has the advantage if things were to get…violent.”

A shiver passes through me from head to toe. My headache flares up just a little.

“You think things could get violent?”

Mason doesn’t respond but I picture him shrugging. “We’re wolves. Natural predators. Coveting territory is second nature to us. Violence is always a possibility.”

My head is swimming and not just because of the approaching migraine or the smell of toilet cleaner. Could the fracture between the Rocky and Elite Packs turn into something worse—something a lot worse? Could it turn into war?

It’s too much for me to consider right now. Jericho is a proud alpha, he’s strong, he’s known for his stature, his power. He wouldn’t shy away from brutality. But would he instigate it?

“Max, you still there?”

“Huh?” I shake myself free of my dread-filled thoughts. “Yeah, I’m here. How is Mia doing in all this?” I haven’t heard from Mia since she went back to the mountains with Morven.

Mason gives another sigh in response. “She’s…not great. She misses Olivia obviously. Truth is I haven’t seen all that much of her. Morven’s had her on a pretty tight leash.”

Anger flares in me bright and hot. How can he keep his daughter from her mate? It’s diabolical.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Will you tell her I was asking after her? And that she can call me if she likes.”

“Of course.”

“And you?” I ask. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s hard not to feel pretty hopeless sometimes,” he says, breaking my heart.

A small spike of pain pricks at my brain. I can’t stand my friends feeling this lost and alone. Suddenly I feel majorly whiney for complaining about not having enough people to talk to, when in actuality I think maybe I’m one of the lucky ones. If only I could pass on a little of my luck.

“I wish I could be there,” I say. “The next time I talk to Jasper I’ll see if there’s anything we can do.”

“Sure.” I can practically hear Mason rolling his eyes.

“Why do you sound like that?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Come on, you can tell me.”

“It’s just…you think Jasper is going to do anything if it’s not what his dad wants?”

What is he implying? Yes, Jericho’s approval means a lot to Jasper. He cares way too much about what the pack needs. But he’s not a mindless drone.

“He’s not like that—I mean, not all the way like that.”

“I’m sorry. I know he’s your mate, but you have to be realistic. When it boils down, Jasper is a tool for his father to control.”

I want to hang up, flush my phone down the toilet, but I know Mason is probably acting out of some dark emotional place and not a place of truth. “That’s not fair.”

Mason takes a couple of breaths and when he speaks again his tone is noticeably lighter, like he’s trying his best to sound chipper. “I’m sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t fair to Jasper.”

I rub my neck, trying to adjust to the emotional whiplash. “Thanks.”

“Hey, listen, I’ve got to go,” Mason says, suddenly in a hurry to get off the call. “I’ll call you soon.”

“Yeah, okay—”

“See ya.”

Before I can say goodbye, Mason has hung up and I’m left in a daze. I sit in the cubicle, by myself in the quiet of the empty bathroom, until the bell rings and I need to head to class.

As I make my way to English I can’t help but wonder if Mason really does think Jasper is a simp for his dad. Does he really believe Jasper is just a mindless tool, an instrument his dad can use to manipulate situations? And if I’m with him, if I’m defending him, what does that make me? Does Mason think I’m a tool as well?

These thoughts plague me all the way through the rest of the day. I’m so preoccupied I hardly even notice the final bell ringing to release us.

On my way from the bus stop to my house I try calling Jasper, hoping he’s free and not in the middle of afternoon tea with some random wolf dignitary or cramming for an exam on human history.

“Hey!” he says, his voice like a balm, instantly calming me. “How are you?”

“I’ve had a bit of a day.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could chat but I’m about to run into a class. Can I call you later?”

I sigh, but understand. It’s not Jasper’s fault the world goes on spinning when I’m in desperate need of some affection.

“Of course.”

“Whatever it is,” Jasper says, “we’ll figure it out.”

And just like that I’m satisfied. Jasper cares about his father and about our pack but he isn’t a mindless drone, a hapless tool, he’s a person who cares and wants to make things better. And I’m not a simp for believing that. I’ve seen him in action.

“Thanks.”

“I’m excited for spring break. I’ll be coming back to the city. We can have our second date.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I can’t wait.” My heart does a little leap, sticking the landing and saluting the judges with a flourish. “I can hear birds. Where are you?”

“I thought you had class.”

“I can be a minute late. Answer my question.”

“I’m just walking down my street, about to—”

My feet come to a standstill as my house comes into view.

“Max?”

I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. Someone has graffitied our house, scrawled a word in red spray paint across the garage door.

“Max you there?”

I can’t answer, I’m too busy staring at the message left in large, aggressively angular letters:

TRAITOR