The alphas son, p.1
The Alpha's Son, page 1
The Alpha’s Son
Penny Jessup
Tiny Ghost Press
Copyright © 2021 Tiny Ghost Press
www.tinyghostpress.com
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN:
E-book 978-1-7399834-0-6
Paperback 978-1-7399834-1-3
Hardcover 978-1-7399834-2-0
Cover Art by: Kayleigh Fine
Title Font: Paula Painmar
For my mate. Everyday is a festival with you…xxx
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Bonehead
The Trouble with Mates
At The Ballet
THE FESTIVAL BEGINS
The Alpha’s Son Arrives
Beer Pong
Capture the Flag
The New Arrival
Splash!
Blue Moon, I Saw You Standing Alone...
Breakfast with Eleanor
Swimming with Wolves
Going Rogue
Out of the Frying Pan
The Weight of the World
The Mating Run
Running Into Fate
Meeting My Mate
Mud Wrestling
The Cold Shoulder
Once in a Blue Moon
Heading Home, Alone
Can’t Get You Out Of My Head
I’ll Tell You Mine If You Tell Me Yours
The Missing Ballerina
On The Road
Motel Dreams
Rogue City Limits
The Alpha’s House
The Alpha’s Shadow
Hey, Old Friends
Face the Facts
Over It
The Harvest Moon
Jasper’s Choice
A Rogue Surprize
The Spider in the Canoe
Just Call Him
The Path Between Souls
About the Author
May the Moon Gods light the path between souls…
Bonehead
“Hold the door!” I yell, but this couple is too busy making out to notice me.
The doors of the 7 are closing fast and I need to be on that train. I’m running late, of course.
“Hey!” I shout...still nothing.
With less than a second to spare I jump through the shrinking gap, slipping inside right at the last moment. The subway train lurches forward before I’ve even found my balance.
“Thanks,” I mutter but the couple doesn’t hear me. They’re preoccupied, going at it like they’re the only people in the world. Like, full-on lip-smacking, nausea-inducing tonsil hockey.
Gross.
From their scents I know they’re human but seriously, they’re making out like a pair of freshly mated werewolves.
Like, totally get a room!
It’s only two stops from Grand Central to Times Square, but after an hour on a stuffy train from Stony Point, the last thing I want is to watch two hipsters eat each other’s faces off. And to top it all off I’m super late to meet Katie.
I lean against a subway map, tapping my foot, and try to distract myself by scrolling my fave Tiktoker’s feed. But it’s no use. I can hear their tongues slapping over my headphones.
And I thought wolves were mate-obsessed.
These humans would give an Elite Pack wolf couple a run for their money.
I know it’s a cliché. I’m not like the other werewolves.
But for me sketching boulders in Central Park is way more appealing than picking out wedding china.
If only every other wolf in my pack felt the same way. If only these love birds did.
We pull into 42nd and Bryant Park and I stare at the couple, hoping this is their stop.
Passengers of the love train, this service terminates here!
They’re too neck-deep to even look up.
The train takes off again, rolling out of the station, and I glance at the time.
Crap. I was supposed to meet Katie on the red steps in Times Square at 2. I’m nearly a whole hour late and my excuse is totally lame. Why can I never wake up before midday on the weekend?
Mom always says I’m going to sleep my life away. I always tell her if that means I don’t have to bother finding a mate I don’t care.
By the time we pull in at 42nd and Times Square, I’m bouncing out of my sneakers ready to get off this stinking train.
The doors slide open and I take off like lightning. Get me away from that ridiculous PDA!
I dodge and weave through the crowds on the platform, heading for the exit, bounding up the steps two at a time.
This isn’t the first time I’ve overslept and kept Katie waiting. We’ve been besties since we were pups, so she’s pretty used to the mess that is my life. But she’s also my favorite person in the universe and I hate letting her down.
The blazing summer sun hits my face when I finally emerge at street level. Outside the station, the streets of Manhattan are packed, as usual. For a second I’m overwhelmed by the sounds of the traffic and the smells of the pretzel wagons.
Heightened wolf senses can be a blessing. Like when you’re trying to have some alone time in your room, but it’s laundry day and Mom is on the way to empty your hamper. You can usually make out the sound of her approaching with enough time to slam your laptop shut and clutch onto a pillow. Usually.
But sometimes, especially in the city, the world can seem like a lot. Want to know what three-day-old hotdog water smells like? Ask a New York wolf.
I pause for a second to readjust.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Eventually, the honking of car horns, the sirens, the constant chatter from all around becomes a dull hum in the back of my mind.
Finally, I feel ready. I open my eyes.
I squint through the glare and take off down 43rd St. If I’m fast I’m only a minute away.
My phone is buzzing in my pocket so I try to pull it out without losing any pace. Katie has sent me a string of texts.
“Where are you?”
“Did you oversleep again???”
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaax?????”
I continue running, trying to type a panicked reply when…
“Oomph!’
I hit what feels like a brick wall and stumble backward.
My feet catch on each other and, in spectacular fashion, I trip, toppling toward the pavement. My phone slips from my hand and––as my ass hits the floor––it shatters.
Pain radiates in my butt and spine as I squint up at the thing I ran into...only it’s not a thing. It’s a person. A guy.
“Watch where you’re going, bonehead.”
“I’m...I’m sorry,” I say, grimacing. The sun is backlighting the guy, which makes it hard to see his face. But he’s tall, wearing a black blazer with a white t-shirt underneath, black skinny jeans, and combat boots.
He doesn’t sound that much older than me.
“You should be more careful.”
“I said ‘sorry’.” This dude is starting to annoy me. He doesn’t even offer to help as I collect the pieces of my smashed-up phone. The least he could do is apologize too.
“Here,” the guy says and sticks out his hand to help me up.
I give him a dirty side-eye but accept his offer.
The second we touch time slows down, seconds stretch into eternities. Birds hang frozen in midair. The pedestrian clogged sidewalks are a blur. The guy pulls me to my feet like I weigh practically nothing. I stand face to face with him and his features come into view. My breath catches in my throat.
His eyes are piercing emerald green, offset by dark, angular brows. His face is narrow and symmetrical, black hair swoops across his forehead framing his devastatingly handsome features. He has cheekbones that could cut steel and just the faintest hint of freckles across his cheeks. His lips are the perfect shade of peach…
He looks like a damn Abercrombie model.
And his scent…his scent hits me like a tidal wave.
My olfactory senses are overwhelmed by his intoxicating mix of mint, lemon, and something else...is that cherry blossom?
The backs of my knees are tingling, my legs wobbling like pudding in a cup. I’ve never felt this way before. What is this? This feeling...what is it?
Is it because of...of him?
“You okay, bonehead?”
Suddenly, the world snaps back into real-time. People push past us, the traffic roars like the ocean, the sun is bright and blaring.
And this dick just called me a bonehead! For the second time!
“Don’t call me bonehead.”
“Why not...bonehead?”
“You broke my phone!”
“You ran into me.”
“Doesn’t seem like I did too much damage. I’m the one who ended up on my ass.”
Whoever this jerk thinks he is, it doesn’t give him the right to speak to anyone like that. No matter how clumsy they are.
He looks like he’s about to say something else when he’s distracted by a gust of wind, blowing up through the grates from the subway.
A dark, questioning look colors his expression.
For a moment we stand silently and he stares daggers in my direction. And then without saying another word he steps past me, as if I wasn’t even there, and continues walking.
“Hey! You jerk, you can’t just walk away! What about my phone?”
“Whatever,” he says, without turning back.
“Hey wait!”
He doesn’t wait and he doesn’t respond either.
He keeps walking.
When he finally disappears into the crowd, it dawns on me.
His scent...that weird feeling. Something else… Was he...a werewolf?
“Ouch.” A broken piece of glass pricks the skin on my palm––I was clenching my fist harder than I thought––and my smashed up phone reminds me…
“Katie!”
The longer I stand here the later I become.
Down the street, I can’t even see the ridiculously good-looking––possibly a werewolf––but totally a jerk anymore.
I turn and start running again.
Who was that guy? Why does he think he can act like such an asshole!?
And why has he made me feel all...tingly?
The Trouble with Mates
“There you are!” Katie says when she spots me, huffing as I make my way up the red stairs. I can tell my cheeks are flushed––maybe from the running, but maybe from my encounter with an annoyingly good-looking jerk––and I’m super out of breath.
My bestie, on the other hand, is radiant. The wind catches in her corn blond hair as she turns and smiles. Her pale face breaks into a broad grin when she sees me.
At least she doesn’t look angry.
“Took you long enough,” she says when I reach her. I bend over my knees, spluttering.
“Sorry...I’m...always late…”
“It’s fine,” she says, grinning cheekily.
“No really,” I say, finally able to speak like a normal person. “I’m such a lame-ass. I shouldn’t have kept you waiting.”
“I haven’t been waiting. I knew you’d be late so I purposefully told you to show up an hour earlier than I did.”
My jaw drops open. “That’s so sneaky!”
“You call it sneaky, I call it clever.”
I didn’t think Katie could be this devious.
“Come on.”
At about an eleven on the smug-meter, Katie links her arm through mine and leads me back down the steps.
“How’s the new house?” I ask.
Up until two months ago, Katie lived down the street from me and my parents. After her parents got divorced, she and her mother moved to a new place in Queens.
“It’s nearly ready for visitors,” she says.
Katie’s Mom could only afford a ‘fixer-upper’ and she asked Katie not to invite friends over before it was fixed up.
“Good, I’m dying to see it.”
“You’re just dying for some of my mom’s spaghetti and meatballs.”
“That too!”
We laugh and make our way west toward Shake Shack, our favorite restaurant in Midtown. And downtown. And, well...anywhere.
“I sent you a bunch of texts before you got here,” Katie says. “Why weren’t you texting me back?”
“Oh, my Moon Gods! I almost forgot to say...this obnoxiously rude guy bumped into me and I dropped my phone.”
“What happened?”
“It completely smashed!”
“Not with the phone, with the guy.” She slaps my arm. For some reason, my cheeks start burning up.
Why does my heart start hammering like an overly caffeinated woodpecker when I think about him?
“He was just some dude with bad manners,” I grunt. Bad manners and amazing hair.
We arrive at the restaurant and join the line to order. Katie and I have been coming here since we were kids and we always get the same thing.
It’s a Shack Meister with a banana milkshake for me and a Shroom Burger with a chocolate shake for Katie. Both with fries, obviously.
“How much time have we got?” I ask, sliding into a plastic green seat. “If that guy hadn’t wrecked my phone I could check for myself.”
“We’ve still got hours before the show. Don’t worry I won’t let you be late to see Aisha Miller.”
Today is a big day for Katie and me. We have tickets to see our favorite contemporary ballet dancer, starring in a new piece by this big deal choreographer from Paris.
“We better not be,” I say. “I still haven’t finished paying my parents back for the tickets.”
“Neither.”
Katie takes a long sip of her shake. She and I took ballet classes together when we were five but I kept tripping over my own feet and had to quit. She stuck with it a lot longer than I did. I still enjoy ballet, just as a spectator.
“I’ll never get over how a wolf from the Elite Pack somehow became one of the best dancers in New York,” Katie says.
“I know. I wonder how the alpha feels about that.”
It’s a rarity for a wolf from a pack to have a career that isn’t directly tied back to the pack in some way.
Aisha is different. She got out. That’s part of why I idolize her so much.
“I don’t care what the alpha thinks,” Katie says, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I’m just glad we’re finally going to see her in person.”
“Same! Seriously, I was starting to get scared we’d be in a home for elderly wolves before we got to see her.”
After we scoff down our burgers and shakes we head to Central Park. By the time we’ve wandered off the main path and under a cluster of oak trees the summer heat has me sweating and my shirt is sticking to my back in an unpleasant way.
“That looks like a nice shady spot?” I say, pointing to a patch of grass.
We sit and I pull out my sketch pad from my backpack. Surveying the area for a suitable subject, I pick an interesting cloud formation and begin tracing the outline while Katie rests her head in my lap.
“Are you excited?” she asks.
“About what?”
“About the blue moon that’s coming up in a few weeks,” she says as if it should have been obvious.
“Ugh, my mother hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
“Have you received your invitation for the festival yet?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Thank the Moon Gods.”
Suddenly, Katie sits up and glares at me. “Don’t be such a lame-ass.”
I stop drawing. “I can’t help it if I'm just not that interested.”
“The Blue Moon Festival is a big deal,” she says. “It only comes around every two or three years.”
The Blue Moon Festival is this bizarre tradition our pack has. Every blue moon the unmated wolves from the pack go to the woods to find their soul mates.
It’s mega lame.
“Just think, in a few weeks we could have found our mates!” Kate says, her eyes so wide and optimistic she looks like an anime character.
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“It’s a sacred ritual, you shouldn’t be so blazé.”
“It isn't sacred,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s scientific. The full moon makes our wolf hormones go crazy. The blue moon is an extra full moon in the space of a month. So of course we all go extra berserk. The festival is just a summer camp for randy wolves.”
“You don’t believe that,” Katie says.
“It’s all about probability. With all those amped-up wolves in one place, of course some people will find their mates.”
“The Blue Moon Festival is an important milestone in a young wolf’s life.”
I scoff and lean back on my elbows. “You sound like a school counselor.”
“I don’t care. The festival is important.”
Katie crosses her arms and makes a point of not looking at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to be a dick. I know it means a lot to you.”
She pulls at the grass. “I’m just excited about us going to our first festival together. You know, it’s not like you can avoid it forever.”
As much as I hate to admit it, Katie’s right. Every wolf in our pack who is over sixteen and unmated is supposed to receive an invitation to the festival. Attendance isn’t compulsory but it is expected. With a mate-crazy best friend and love-sick parents who’ve devoted their lives to the pack, I don’t have much of a say in the matter.
