Chasing the alphas son, p.22
Chasing the Alpha's Son, page 22
“The closer I am to someone.”
Jasper lifts his gaze to meet mine, and the look of guilt on his face is devastating.
“So, to answer your question,” Agatha says, throwing both hands up. “Are you the blood wolf? If what you mean is, ‘Am I a monster, the boogeyman from the stories?’ Eh, I’m not so sure. What I do know is this.” Her eyes bore into mine, and I can almost feel her thoughts, as if they’re tickling my brain. “Whether you like it or not, you have inherited a great power, and once you have control of it, you will be capable of a great many important things.”
The tickling sensation becomes a scratch, an electric pulse fizzing and burning at the edges of my consciousness. Agatha leans forward even farther and I wonder for a second if she’s trying to press into my mind. Darkness grows at the edges of my vision, blooming into a maroon cloud, as a wall of energy presses against my brain.
I squint a little and grip my chair, trying my best to close off my thoughts, to resist the invasive sensation. I push back with all the energy I have left, and finally the pressure subsides. Agatha leans back, again draping an arm casually over the back of her chair.
She surveys me with narrow eyes for a moment longer before smiling.
“I think you’ll be just fine,” she says, grabbing her tea like nothing happened. “It will take work. But you will be fine.”
I sigh a breath of relief. Was she testing me just now? Agatha has given me some clarity, but questions still swirl in my brain, and along with them a sense that things have changed irrevocably.
“It’s gotten late,” Agatha says, pulling me from my thoughts. “You must be tired, little blood wolf. At least I know I am. Maybe it’s just my old bones, but I will say good night. Omar will take care of your sleeping arrangements.”
Agatha gets up, and as she waddles toward her bedroom I stand and reach for her hand.
“Thank you,” I say.
She eyes me once again, nodding slightly, and pats my hand. Without saying another word, she drifts off behind the curtained doorway. Jasper is watching me keenly from where he sits, and I force a smile.
“Jasp—”
He stands, interrupting me. “We should get some sleep.”
“Yeah…okay.”
“I can get that tent and heater set up for you,” Omar says, jumping up from his makeshift workshop. Clearly he’s been listening this whole time.
“That would be great,” Jasper replies and follows Omar outside.
Around ten minutes later the door swings open again and Omar comes back in, shaking off the cold as he hangs his puffer on a hook by the door. I’m sitting up in my cot with a blanket over my legs.
“Oh,” I say, when Jasper doesn’t follow him.
“I’d tell you he said to say good night, but…” Omar shrugs.
Omar kicks off his boots and starts gathering blankets from a basket in the corner. “I know he’s your mate and all, but that dude needs to learn how to chill.” Omar tosses the blankets onto the armchair in the corner. “Suppose a night outside in a tent might do him some good.”
I scrunch up my sheets in my fingers, unable to shake the image of Jasper’s guilty face from my mind.
Omar plonks himself down in the armchair, pulling the blankets over his legs. I guess we’re sharing a room then. I should have figured this cot was where Omar usually slept.
“Jasper has a lot on his shoulders,” I say, but the words don’t quite come out right. My statement turns into a question before I can finish it. By trying to defend him I’ve fallen into the same trap as everyone else, giving Jasper the benefit of the doubt just because he’s under a mountain of pressure.
“Hey, it’s your life, cuz.”
“Yeah it is.” I huff and pull the covers up over my shoulders, rolling onto my side to face away from Omar.
“All right,” he says, and I hear him shifting about. “Time for sleep.”
He flicks off the light and the room goes dark. Down here in the valley there isn’t much light to begin with, and without the soft glow of the electric bulb, I can barely see a thing. The only illumination a dull-blue light, coming from the digital clock on the oven.
Scrunched into a ball, I try to close my eyes and sleep, but thoughts keep racing through my mind: my vision of Jasper’s mom, the guilty look on his face, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel when we slid off the road, how he reacted similarly when we burst a tire on the way to Rogue City in the summer. Is this why Jasper has been pushing me away? Telling me he’s trying to protect me? Because he blames himself for his mother’s death?
And then there’s this whole blood wolf situation. Have I changed completely? Why did the blood moon pull this out of me? Was it there to begin with or was it random? What am I now?
I sigh and roll onto my back. Tingles tickle the side of my face and I have the distinct feeling I’m being watched.
“Can’t sleep?” Omar asks, his voice low.
With a huff I lay my forearm over my eyes. “Nope.”
“Has the pain come back?”
I think over Omar’s question as I stare at the ceiling. The intense physical pain is definitely not back, but this sense of uncertainty is almost worse. I shake my head and a long pause stretches out for what feels like minutes.
“This may not mean much to you,” Omar says finally, “but in my old pack we believe in the blood wolf too.”
“Great,” I say, unable to stop the sarcasm from busting out.
“Only in my pack we don’t tell stories of a monster, a wolf driven crazy.”
I roll onto my side and find Omar watching me intently with generous, caring eyes.
“To my people the blood wolf is sacred—a being who is able to commune with all of wolfkind. They symbolize that we are all born of the same mother, blessed by the same gods. Even if alphas have put up walls to keep us separate.”
“One pack under the moon,” I whisper in response.
“What was that, cuz?”
I press my lips together. “Mm, nothing.” I roll back flat on the cot.
“Okay, we should sleep now anyhow. I just wanted to share that with you, in case you thought you were some kind of monster or whatever.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Omar shuffles around a little, getting comfortable again.
“Wolves like us know what being misunderstood feels like,” he says, sounding sleepy and withdrawn all of a sudden. “I just don’t want you to worry.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure what a proper response is.
“Night, cuz.”
“Good night.”
Omar is asleep in a matter of minutes, snoring gently in a way that’s sort of adorable, but I can’t get comfortable. The cot is stiff underneath me, the quilt too scratchy, my pillow not the right height. And out there Jasper is alone, in the cold, feeling responsible.
The last words Omar said play on a loop in my brain: “Wolves like us know what being misunderstood feels like.” Have I misunderstood Jasper this whole time? Have I misread his intentions?
I roll onto my side and Omar sniffs and moves but doesn’t wake up. With the bed creaking beneath me, I push up into a sitting position. My shoes are at the end of the mattress, and I slip them on as quietly as wolfily possible. Holding my breath, I sneak past Omar—not sure why but certain I don’t want to wake him—and make my way to the door.
Ice-cold wind wraps me in a freezing torrent and flakes of snow whip my cheeks the second I step outside. I shut the cabin door behind me, hoping I’ve not disturbed anyone’s sleep. Jasper’s tent is only a few yards from where I’m standing, but in the blizzard that’s picked up it’s hard to see, obscured by a foggy curtain. From inside the tent, a soft-orange light is emitting a warm glow. I wrap my arms around myself, brace against the cold, and head toward the light.
My teeth are chattering by the time I reach the tent, and my fingers are already so numb I fumble with the zipper trying to make my way inside. Suddenly, the zip slides open, pulled easily by Jasper, who lifts the flap and stares at me like he’s just discovered a wild bear tearing at his shelter.
“What are you doing?” he asks, but I can’t respond, I just stand and shiver.
Despite my silence and the look on his face, Jasper opens the tent further and I slip inside.
There’s no room to stand, so I end up crawling into Jasper’s space and find myself sitting, knees pressed to my chest, on a swathe of blankets and pillows. A lantern sits in the corner, casting warm light and deep shadows across the tent walls; in the opposite corner a small space heater is whirring away, the cord stretching back out through the door. And in front of me Jasper is sitting up, his legs buried in a sleeping bag and the pile of quilts, his hair mussed, his cheeks rosy, and a confused, stern look in his eyes.
“Is something wrong? Are you in pain?”
I laugh a little and shake my head. “No.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says. “You shouldn’t…be near me.”
“Jasper—”
“No, Max. I saw the way it hurt you, the way I hurt you just by being close to you. I swore I would never and…I’m the reason you—”
“You’re not, though. You aren’t responsible for any of it. You couldn’t stop the blood moon, just the same as you couldn’t stop me chasing the thing I want most in the world. It was my decision to come here. It was my decision not to give up. Yeah, you’ve been a jerk and you’ve done things that have made me feel not great, but nothing is going to feel as bad or hurt as much as not getting to see you.”
I pause, my chest heaving, fingers trembling. I edge forward slightly, closing the gap between us.
“Not getting to be near you.”
I reach over and place a hand on top of Jasper’s.
“Not getting to be with you.”
I bite my lip as Jasper’s gaze drifts from our hands to my face.
“Jasper—”
His lips meet mine with force, precision, and purpose. He steals my breath and my words, and I return his kiss.
When we break apart, puffing, and rest our foreheads against each other’s, our breath is visible, little clouds of steam mixing in the small space between us.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jasper says.
“You won’t.”
“There’s always a risk…if you’re with me…”
I sit back just a little, keeping him held in my arms. “There’s always a risk with anyone. But it’s my decision if I want to take that risk.”
Jasper’s head leans gently into my palm, and I run my thumb along his stupidly perfect jaw.
“If I lost you…” he says, his eyes traveling everywhere but in my direction.
I lower my head and force him to meet my gaze. “You won’t.”
Jasper is shaking, his whole body shivering like he’s freezing, even though the electric heater is working just fine. His mouth twitches and his chest rises and falls too quickly. I pull him closer and support the back of his head, squeezing him against my shoulder and holding him fast.
We sit like this for a while until Jasper has stopped quivering, then without saying anything we slide under the blankets, lying on our sides like a cozy set of cutlery. Jasper wraps a strong arm around me, rests his chin lightly on my shoulder, and presses his chest firmly against my back. Wind pummels the tent as the heater whirrs in the corner. And with Jasper wrapped around me, a protective cocoon, we drift off to sleep.
It’s the best night of sleep I’ve ever had.
MORNING IN THE VALLEY
The pain is back when I wake up.
Not quite as intense as it was before Agatha worked her medicine yesterday, but still not great. Somewhere between a really bad headache and a knife wound to the skull. I moan and curl my legs up.
“What is it?” Jasper says sleepily, his arm shifting on top of me.
“Ah!” The movement heightens the pain and I cry out.
“Max!”
Immediately Jasper is up, shuffling out of his sleeping bag and quilts and fumbling with the tent’s zipper. Through waves of nauseating agony I hear him opening the door to Agatha’s cabin and calling out for help.
In a moment the tent is pulled open and three bleary-eyed faces are staring down at me.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Agatha says.
Omar and Jasper help me up and back into the cabin. I plonk into a chair at the small, round table and Omar slides a steaming mug of tea to me.
“My herbal remedies will only keep the pain at bay for so long,” Agatha says, coming around the table nonchalantly and sliding into a chair herself. “But it will get better with time and practice.”
“Practice?” I grimace.
Jasper is standing off to the side watching me with his arms wrapped around his shoulders and worry contorting his features. I know he’s trying to keep his distance, but all I really want is for his arms to be wrapped around me.
“Yes, practice,” Agatha says, nodding once. “You’ll need to learn how to tune out the noise.”
“Or you will go insane,” Omar says from where he’s leaning on the kitchenette, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, smirking.
“Very funny,” I say and take another sip of tea. From the corner of my eye I catch Jasper’s confused expression.
Already I can tell this miracle concoction is going to work; the sharpness of the pain is growing dull, the throbbing less constant.
“Think you’ll be strong enough to make it back up the mountain, blood wolf?” Agatha asks cheerily.
I down the rest of the tea, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Speaking of,” Omar says, stepping forward, “I was gonna go check out your car this morning, see if it still works.”
Omar heads over to a wonky set of drawers next to the cot and pulls out a knitted sweater.
“You think you can fix it if it doesn’t?” Jasper asks.
“Haven’t met a machine I couldn’t revive,” Omar says, letting the blanket around his shoulders drop to the ground. Underneath he’s wearing a white tank top. “Agatha is a miracle worker for healing wolves. I work miracles with cars—give me an hour or so and she’ll be up and running like new.”
Omar turns and is about to slip on the sweater when out of nowhere Jasper growls. He must have spotted something, because he’s staring at Omar, his lip curling back to reveal an elongated fang. And I don’t think it’s just because Omar looks really good in a tank top.
“Whoa, cuz, what’s up?” Omar asks.
“What is that?” Jasper says, and I suddenly see what he’s talking about.
On Omar’s shoulder is a familiar tattoo: a circle with a wolf and a lightning strike running through it.
“It’s just a tattoo, man.”
“Who are you?” Jasper takes a step toward Omar, causing Agatha and me to jump to our feet.
“Jasper,” I say.
“Who are you?!” Jasper repeats, his voice turning into a roar, as he comes face-to-face with Omar.
“Whoa, man. What are you talking about? It’s just a tattoo.”
“The rogues who broke into my father’s house wore that insignia.” Jasper is close enough that Omar can probably smell what he had for dinner.
“I don’t know what to say,” Omar shrugs, shaking his head. “It’s just a tattoo. I got it from some wolf in Texas when I left my pack. I just thought it looked cool.”
Jasper eyes him dangerously, questioningly, clearly not satisfied with this answer.
“That’s quite enough,” Agatha says sternly.
Jasper, unfortunately, is very close to losing control, and without thinking he turns and growls at Agatha.
“You are a guest in my house,” she thunders. “And Omar is my lodger. There are no alphas or their sons in the valley.”
I think Jasper must realize that he’s insulted the woman who’s helped me and let us stay with her, because he instantly pulls back, a tiny whimper escaping him. “I’m sorry.”
“Omar,” she continues, although calmly now, “I think you’d better go see if you get can that car up and running.”
With a dark look in Jasper’s direction, Omar pulls on his sweater and heads for the door, grabbing a box of tools and his puffer as he goes.
“Now Max”—Agatha turns to me—“why don’t you calm down your mate while I put together a flask of tea for you to take with you?”
I nod and she does the same in return.
Jasper doesn’t move, not even when I’m standing right next to him. His jaw is tight, his hands are clenched, and a single bead of sweat is running down his temple.
Gently, I take hold of his arm with both hands, sliding the bottom one down until I’m cupping the base of his palm.
“Hey,” I say, “Omar isn’t like that.”
“He has the tattoo.”
“I bet lots of rogues have that tattoo; it doesn’t mean he was one of the people there that night.”
“It doesn’t matter; he’s just like the rest of them.”
“He’s not,” I say, letting go of Jasper’s arm.
Finally, he turns and actually looks at me. “How do you know?”
“I spoke with him last night. His family kicked him out because he’s queer. That’s why he’s a rogue: because he’s like us.”
Jasper’s eyes flash with some spark of emotion. Is it panic or recognition? Maybe it’s because for the first time I’ve identified something about him that he hasn’t been able to yet.
“He is?”
“Yahuh,” I say. “So stop acting like a bonehead.”
He rolls his eyes.
When it’s time for us to leave, Agatha loads me up with a couple of thermoses worth of pain-relieving tea, along with a crystal, a book on meditation, and of course, my wooden necklace.
She stands in the doorway of her cabin and I can’t help but give her a big hug.
“Thank you,” I say.
