Running with the Alpha's Son, page 21
I rub the back of my neck and sigh. “I know. You’re right. Shall we try again?”
“No, enough for today,” Yoki says, already standing and straightening out the skirt of their robes.
“But it’s only just after noon. Should I come back in a couple of hours or…”
Yoki rubs their chin like an old wizard, only they look like a child playacting. “Something is blocking you from truly connecting. I must think and commune with the moon gods to come up with a solution. Come back tomorrow.”
With that Yoki turns, their robes flung out like the petals of a flower, and leaves the tent for the desert.
I slump forward on my cushion, my shoulders rolling and head dropping. “Maybe it’s no use. Maybe I just don’t have what it takes to be the blood wolf.”
“Hey,” Omar says, suddenly standing right next to me. “You were chosen for a reason. The moon gods don’t make mistakes like that. Besides, you’ve barely started. It took me two weeks to even figure out how to sit still during morning meditation, let alone control my wolf presence.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you’re already leaps and bounds ahead of me.”
“Thanks,” I say, and Omar places a hand on my shoulder.
“You’ll get it.”
For a moment his eyes are full of this strange intensity, like he’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t figure out what. Then he laughs and smiles that crooked smile.
“You must be hungry. Wanna get some lunch?”
Just the mention of the word lunch and my stomach rumbles like there’s a thunderstorm brewing in my belly.
“Totally.”
“I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong,” I say as we make our way to the lunch tent. “Why was it so easy that first day?”
Omar chews the inside of his cheek and thinks for a moment before answering.
“I think it probably caught you off guard,” he says. “That was the first time you’d truly let your guard down, right?”
He’s not wrong. On that first day I felt safe, with Yoki and with Omar. I knew they were trying to help me. And while that hasn’t changed, for some reason, whenever I’ve tried to truly let my guard down over the last couple of days I’ve hesitated. I have no idea why.
“I suppose.”
“Yoki said something was blocking you. You just need to figure out what that is.”
What could be blocking me?
Back home there’s a whole bunch of reasons why I might not want to open myself up completely. There are prying wolves who want to know too much about what I’m thinking. Wolves who’d like to use that information against me. Then there are the wolves I’m closest to. But why would I be worried about letting my guard down around the wolves I care about the most? And then it hits me…is it Jasper?
The last couple of days he’s been pretty quiet. He’s been working to help build the school and getting nowhere with Tomas. I know he wants to leave, that he’s only staying for my benefit. Is that why I’m having trouble connecting? And is this blockage the same thing that’s preventing us from mind-linking?
“Earth to Max,” Omar says, waving a hand in front of my face. I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped walking. We’re standing a few paces from the entrance to the lunch tent. “You okay in there?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. Sorry. Just thinking. Ow.”
Something pinches in the back of my mind and suddenly I’m aware of a presence behind me. I spin to see who’s there but all I see is a shadow cast on the ground as whoever it was darts away behind a tent.
Weird.
“Something wrong, cuz?”
“I’m—I’m fine.”
I turn back to the tent and cast a glance across the tables. Jasper is sitting alone in the far corner, watching us.
“Oh, he’s here.” Omar has clearly spotted Jasper as well. “Listen, you know that full moon ritual I was telling you about?”
“The drum circle thing? It’s tonight, right?”
“Yeah, I should go help the gang get ready. Make sure all the drums are—drumming. But I’ll catch you round.”
“Will I see you there?”
Omar is already backing away, eager to make his exit. “Yeah, I’ll be there, I’ll be the one banging on the offbeat.”
“Great, you’ll stick out then,” I say.
“See you,” he says, then turns and jogs away.
I head inside the tent, signaling to Jasper that I’ll grab some food then join him. Once again I load my plate with the most ridiculously delicious-smelling food—today it’s pork chops, coleslaw, green beans, and mash—then plonk myself down across from Jasp.
“Hey,” I say when he doesn’t greet me but instead stares at me like there’s something on my face.
“Hey,” he grunts.
“Still no info about your mom?” I ask, assuming that’s the reason he’s in a sulky mood.
“Tomas wasn’t even at the school today. Good news is the roof is up. Should just be a day or two more until the whole thing is finished.”
“At least you can say you’ve accomplished something while you’ve been here.”
His expression softens a little. “Still no luck accessing your blood-wolf powers?”
“Nada.”
“That sucks.”
For a moment we sit quietly, neither of us touching the piles of food in front of us.
“Maybe they overestimated—”
“I don’t want to leave yet,” I interject before he can finish his sentence. “Yoki is going to figure out what’s blocking me and then—”
“What if nothing is blocking you?” he asks, sounding more irritated than I’d like. “What if they’re just saying that to keep us here.”
“Jasper, do you really think that’s what they’re up to? If they wanted to hold us prisoner they would just lock us up. They’re trying to help.”
“And Omar? Is he just trying to help?”
I reel back, pressing my shoulder blades into the chair behind me. He can’t be serious.
“Omar is Yoki’s apprentice. He’s learning how to be in touch with his spiritual self. What’s your problem with him?”
Jasper doesn’t say anything. He shoots me a glare then picks up his fork and moves the unwanted salad around on his plate.
“Jasper, don’t you trust me?” I ask, keeping my voice low so the tables around us can’t hear. “After all this time. Everything we’ve been through. Don’t you…?”
He drops his fork and sighs. “Of course I trust you, Max. It’s not that. It’s…” He looks around and I realize what the issue is.
“It’s them. You don’t trust them.”
“I don’t trust him,” Jasper says, all too petulantly.
“Omar is helping me.” I reach out and place my hand on top of Jasper’s. “That’s all.”
“We’ll see.”
I pull my hand back and stare at Jasper, who’s biting his lip and scowling.
“You know what? I’m not hungry anymore.”
Before he can say anything else, I’m shoving my chair back and stomping from the lunch tent.
A couple of hours later I’m sitting on the rug in our tent, legs crossed beneath me, trying to meditate. My hands are resting on my knees, palms open to the pointed ceiling, my eyes squeezed shut. I keep trying to accept the intrusive thoughts darting into my mind, to acknowledge them and let them pass the way Yoki showed me. But I can’t. They keep coming in an angry swirl and I find myself only getting more riled up.
Why is Jasper so incapable of trusting? Why is he determined to hate the rogues when they’ve done nothing to hurt him? Why can’t he let go of the past and accept the moment he’s in? Why can’t I?
“Hey,” Jasper says, his voice piercing through and breaking the negative spiral. “You mind if I come in?”
“I’m trying to concentrate.”
“You look like you’re in pain.”
I open one eye and find Jasper leaning sheepishly through the door, half in, half out. With a sigh I let my posture collapse and quit meditating.
“You can come in,” I say.
He slips through the flap but hovers anxiously at the edge of the rug.
“About earlier,” he says, “I want to apologize.”
“Oh yeah?” I crab-walk on my hands and feet backward to the bed, hoisting myself onto the lumpy mattress.
“Yeah,” he says, and comes to sit at my side. “I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to—I don’t not trust you. It’s just hard for me to be around the people who…”
“Who you think murdered your mother.”
He looks up, a little shocked at my candor.
“Jasper.” I squeeze his knee with one hand and clutch his arm with the other. “I’m sorry. I know how much losing her has hurt you. But these aren’t the same people, the same wolves who did that. This place is proof that rogues are just as civilized as any pack wolf—more than some of the ones we’ve met. You can’t blame them for something they didn’t do.”
To my surprise he leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder and burying his face in the crook of my neck. He stays there for a moment, just breathing, then he kisses my neck and sits up to look at me.
“I know. You’re right. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know I’m sort of forcing you to stay here. That can’t be comfortable for you. I appreciate it.”
“I appreciate you.” He kisses me softly then leans back, smiling. “Did we just have an adult conversation?”
I laugh. “I think so.”
We both smile and Jasper pulls me in for a hug.
“Sooooo, it’s a full moon tonight,” I say. “There’s this drum circle thing happening out in the desert. You want to go with me?”
He takes a moment, swallows. “Sure. Yes. I’d—love to.”
The night is warm and the lamplight golden as Jasper and I walk hand in hand along the path that leads to the edge of the Sanc. Around us rogues are emerging from their tents to join the trail, everyone dressed in their nicest clothes—light, flowing fabrics dyed natural colors. Kids are running excitedly up and down the path and there’s a sense of occasion in the air, like something special is about to happen.
Once we reach the edge of the settlement, the desert stretches out into eternity under a deep, dark, star-dotted night sky. Rogues drift toward the horizon, all heading in the same direction but finding their own paths. Jasper and I follow.
We walk for the better part of an hour until the Sanc is just a light haze on the horizon at our backs and a bonfire comes into view up ahead, lighting up the yucca trees and the bulbous rocks. In a circle around the bonfire are wolves wearing hooded robes of the darkest crimson. Before them sit tall drums, with real hides stretched over the top of the wooden barrels. Sparks fly up from the fire and get lost among the stars. The moon is already a quarter of the way across the sky, full, silver, and welcoming. The crowd of rogues meanders at the edge of the drum circle. Some groups form, others stand holding hands with their loved ones, watching and waiting. Jasper and I find a spot between a family of five, their youngest kid swinging from Mom and Dad’s arms like an excited monkey, and an older couple, the woman leaning her silver-haired head on the shoulder of the man.
For a second I catch a glimpse of a face across the circle, half in shadow but weirdly familiar, and a ping pinches at the front of my brain, just like the one I felt earlier. I squint to relieve the pain and when I look up the face is gone as quickly as the sensation.
Who was that?
“I think they’re starting,” Jasper says, stepping forward ever so slightly.
From the edge of the circle Yoki emerges in a matching robe, carrying a long stick with a bulbous globe at one end. Omar trails behind them, also sporting a blood-red robe but unlike Yoki and the others, his is sleeveless, revealing his muscled arms and his rogue tattoo. He has a drum strapped to his chest.
He and Yoki stand at the edge of the bonfire and the crowd settles, silence stretches across the desert. Slowly, Yoki raises their staff to the sky and shakes it. The bulbous head must be filled with beans or rice because it makes a sound like a maraca. Yoki’s shaking grows in intensity as they raise their free arm to the sky and let out an animalistic yelp. In response Omar raises his right hand complete with drumstick, the other drummers in the circle follow Omar, and then in unison they bring their drumsticks down onto the skin of their drums.
The beat is deep, resonant, and echoes across the desert. Together the drummers beat a steady rhythm, with Omar leading and keeping the pace. Yoki yelps again and the drummers in the circle turn in unison to the right so they’re each now facing the back of the drummer in front of them. Another yelp and they begin to walk, their steps uniform and in time with the beat. They march and drum, kicking up dust and gaining momentum. Omar beats faster and the circle responds in kind.
Each beat of the drums sends a vibration through my body, as if the sound waves are rippling through my muscles. I shiver and squeeze Jasper’s hand tighter. He squeezes back. I wonder if he’s feeling it too.
As the circle continues to move the wind picks up, seemingly whipping the dust in a whirlpool along with the drummers. The edges of their robes catch and flutter about as if caught in a magic cyclone. The fire spirals. I turn my gaze skyward and it feels like the stars above are rotating as well. Or maybe the stars remain where they are and it’s me and the earth that are spinning.
Jasper leans a little closer and I catch a glimpse of him staring up at the moon, a serious revelry in his eyes. I follow his eyeline and there she is, a still beacon in the center of the swirl, the calm at the eye of the storm. The moon’s light is all-encompassing, flaring in all directions, and I feel it again: the warmth I felt the first day here when Yoki performed their ritual—the sense that we are all connected, one pack under the moon. In this moment I believe I could reach out with my mind and speak to any wolf on the planet.
The moment is interrupted by a growl. I pull my attention from the moon to find Jasper, no longer caught up in the moment, staring across the drumming circle. His top lip is curled back, exposing an elongated fang.
Again I follow his eyeline across the circle, just to the left of the blazing fire, and my gaze lands on the same face from earlier, only this time the pieces click into place in my mind. I know who that face belongs to.
A sharp pain stabs at the corner of my mind but doesn’t hurry away. I bite down through the pain as I stare at the man on the other side of the fire, the man staring back at us.
A FAMILIAR FACE
“Mr. Peng,” Jasper says, and before I can stop him, he’s pulling me around the circle.
“What is Eleanor’s dad doing here?” I ask, panting and struggling to keep up.
Mr. Peng, the man who convinced his daughter to kidnap Jasper, his dad, and me, who nearly killed Jericho and forced Jasper to be Eleanor’s mate, who fled that night, is here, his gaze fixed on Jasper’s from the opposite side of the bonfire. We maneuver through the crowd, distracted by the drumming and the hypnotic swirling movement of the drummers and the fire.
“I don’t care. I’ll kill him,” Jasper rasps.
Rogue faces turn to look at us as we barge through their ranks, shocked and appalled that we would disturb this sacred moment. But Jasper is too enraged, too focused to care.
When we finally reach the far side of the bonfire, Mr. Peng, who until now has kept his calm gaze locked on Jasper’s, flinches and darts. He runs. And we follow.
Jasper releases his grip on my hand as he pursues the shadowy figure fleeing the light of the fire and making toward the desert. The man is quick but not as quick as Jasper. His older limbs aren’t nimble enough to navigate the uneven desert floor. Swiftly, before we’re even ten or so yards from the crowd, Jasper is on him, spinning him around, grabbing him by the collar, and hoisting him into the air.
“What are you doing here?!” Jasper growls, shaking Mr. Peng. “You dare show your face?”
“Release him,” a strong, stern voice commands from behind us before Mr. Peng can answer.
I turn to find Mal, the bonfire at her back casting an ethereal orange glow around her silhouette, watching us with a grave expression. Behind her more rogue wolves are gathered, their fists clenched, their faces tense. They’re ready to take us on if need be. And I don’t like our chances.
“He tried to kill my father,” Jasper says, unwilling to look away from his captive.
“George came to us looking for sanctuary. He is under our protection. Let. Him. Go,” Mal commands again.
“He should be locked up!” Jasper shakes him again, and George—who knew his name was George!?—remains silent, his limbs flopping like a lifeless puppet’s.
“Let him go,” Mal says one more time, slowly and calmly, with the authority of someone who knows the odds are in her favor. “Or we will restrain you, Mr. Apollo.”
Jasper glances over his shoulder, the realization dawning that we’re outnumbered and no one is backing him up. Carefully, I place a hand on his shoulder.
“Jasp, put him down. Let’s talk about this.”
He hisses through his teeth, but finally lets go of Mr. Peng’s collar. The older man flops to the floor. Two of Mal’s companions swoop in to help Mr. Peng up and carry him off. He looks weak as he struggles to walk and I wonder if perhaps life hasn’t been so kind to him since he fled the pack.
Jasper is breathing heavily, his anger directed squarely at Mal, but she doesn’t seem concerned.
“Not now, not here,” she says. “Tomorrow morning, my tent.” She then turns on her heel and returns to the crowd.
When she and her rogue cohort have left us, Jasper runs his hands over his face, growling, then kicks the dirt.
