Page 112 of Chasing The Alpha's Son
“Uh, it’s Max, Max Remus,” I say, rubbing my neck.
She squints over the top of her fashion-forward half-moon glasses before checking her list.
“Ah, there you are, Maximilian,” she says, as if to a five-year-old. “Such a strong name. Please take the elevator to the function room on the ninety-ninth floor and have a wonderful evening.”
There’s a high-pitched ping as the elevator arrives, and I step into the brightly lit box.
“Happy New Year!” the woman calls as the doors slide shut.
Like a bullet I’m whisked up through the building. An LED screen on the ceiling plays a video that mimics my movement, only instead of traveling through an elevator shaft, I’m shooting through the night sky toward a glowing full moon. I’m just glad it’s yellow and not red.
Another ping signifies my arrival, and as the doors open I have to take a step back. A wave of noise and warmth spews forth, flooding the elevator and my senses. And it’s not just noise from the crowd of well-dressed wolves mingling by high tables, sipping drinks, dancing under a wolf’s-head-shaped disco ball, or vaping on the terrace, furs draped over their exposed shoulders. It’s mental noise. So many wolves all in one place. There’s a fierce ricocheting pain in my head, despite my having downed what was left of Agatha’s tea before leaving the house. The force of will it takes to block out the noise is so intense, I jam my eyes shut and press my shoulders against the mirrored back wall of the elevator.
Maybe this is too much, too soon. I’ve only just begun to understand my new ability. It was silly to think I could just hang out here where the wolves are the most entitled, where their thoughts are the loudest. I remember what I’ve been told about harnessing the power, and I think of Jasper sitting cross-legged on a rock in a clearing, his eyes closed and his breaths steady. I try and do the same—breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, count to ten.
I need something to cut through, something to focus on. Knowing he’s here somewhere, I channel my energy into finding Jasper, searching through the overgrown hedge maze of thoughts and feelings, searching for his unique wavelength. Finally, I catch a whiff of cherry blossom, and a calming sensation washes over me.
“Coat, sir?” a man’s voice asks. Hesitantly, I open my eyes, and find that I can temper the noise. I build up my walls again and focus on the young guy in a cute uniform, with his arm outstretched. “Can I take your coat, sir?”
“Sure.”
I hand the guy my well-used puffer jacket and step into the light of the party. The alpha’s function room is expansive, set out across two stories with an atrium and a wicked glass sculpture suspended in the center. A swirling glass staircase leads up to the second floor, which stretches farther back until it’s too dark to make anything out. Multiple bars, well-stocked with just about every liquor, champagne, and garnish you could think of, sit to the sides of the room. Everything is onyx black or shining reflective silver. It’s garish and stark and looks like money. I scan the crowd, searching for Jasper.
Beyond a glass wall is a wide diamond-shaped terrace where people are huddled around tall braziers burning in what must be freezing New York winter air. Thinking some air might do me good, I head outside. A cool breeze pinches my cheeks, but somehow, even up this high, I’m not cold in my suit jacket. Wolves stand at tall circular tables, sipping cocktails and champagne. Set against the New York skyline, a stage sits surrounded by gold and white balloons, through which the infamous Times Square Ball can be seen. The jumbotron screens repeat their flashy advertisements, bright as all hell. On one of them a clock is counting down to midnight. Just three and a bit hours to go.
Through the crowd I catch a brief wisp of Jasper’s scent and turn to find him chatting to a couple—the woman with a backless gown, the deepest shade of burnt orange, and the man in a full-on tuxedo. Jasper says something, and the woman, unable to help herself, runs a hand down his arm as she laughs outrageously. I know for a fact whatever he said was not as funny as she’s suggesting.
Without hesitation I make my way over to him, and grin when he looks up and spots me. For the briefest moment he smiles back. But then his smile turns to muted panic. He glances at the couple in front of him, then he looks back at me, and gently shakes his head. It’s a warning.Not now.
Is this dude serious?
He invites me to this dumb party, and immediately he doesn’t want to be seen with me. Is he worried I’ll say something stupid in front of some important wolves? Or is he just afraid that if we’re seen together, people will connect the obvious dots?
With a huff and a sigh I head back inside toward one of the bars, desperately hoping they don’t card in a place like this.
Halfway through the room I stop, the light of the glass sculpture bright on one side of my face. A painful niggle at the side of my consciousness is pulling me in another direction. It feels familiar, an energy I’ve interacted with before. And it’s in trouble.
Turning swiftly, I make my way through the crowd toward a bank of high-backed booths and a dark corner of the room. I let my instincts lead, surprised at how quickly I’m becoming attuned to my new sensibilities. There’s no one back here, but I spot a door markedFire Exitand push through.
Outside in an industrial stairwell, voices float up from one floor down: one is distressed, the other angry. I head down and find Mia sitting on the top step of the next flight, her head in her hands, and Olivia standing next to her, her jaw clenched, one hand gripping the railing so hard it might bend.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, and both girls snap their heads in my direction. Olivia breathes a sigh of relief to see me. Mia just stares at me with blood-red eyes.
“It’s her father,” Olivia says, spitting the last word.
Swiftly, I descend the last of the stairs to join them. “What do you mean?”
Olivia glances at Mia as if to say, “He’s your father, you tell him.”
Mia sniffs back some snot and wipes her face. The emerald of her gown is brilliant against the pink flush of her pale skin. “After you all left, my father could sense something was up. I didn’t want to tell him just yet, so I was messaging Olivia in secret, but eventually he looked in my phone.”
“That’s horrible!” Anger flares in me at this invasion of privacy.
“He’s a real piece of work,” Olivia chimes in.
“He completely blew up,” Mia continues. “Said I was responsible for the future of the pack. And that’s why he brought me here.”
Cold dread drips down my spine, and I have to focus a little harder to keep the voices at bay.
