Page 17 of Chasing The Alpha's Son
“The only reason it can’t happen is because of you,” I say, lowering my gaze and trying not to mumble too much. “Eleanor is locked up; we’re safe. You say you want to protect me but what are you even trying to protect me from?”
“She’s not the only one. There are other people out there who want to hurt me and the people I”—he catches himself, changes track—“the people close to me. Tensions are high in the pack, our position is vulnerable. Not to mention the threat of rogues, Eleanor’s father out there somewhere.’’ He takes another step toward me, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. “I meant it when I said I don’t want to lose you. This is the only way I know how.”
Somehow we’ve drifted so close his face is out of focus. My eyes dart to his lips, the glimpse of straight white teeth behind them, his tongue. I reach out and grab him, pull him to me and plant my lips on his. Our chests collide and relief surges through me. It’s very possible I may black out here and now. For a second Jasper is putty in my hands, but very quickly he tenses and shoves me away from him, hard.
He wipes his lips with the back of his hand.
“I’m doing this for you,” he says.
“Are you? Because you looked pretty happy back there with Clayton.”
Jasper shakes his head like there’s a fly pestering him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The door swings open and guess which blond-haired, privileged asswipe pokes his head in?
“Hey, I heard a commotion. Everything all right, Jasp?”
He surveys the staff hallway and raises a judgmental eyebrow.
“What are you doing back here with the staff anyway? Is this guy bothering you? Hey dude”—he turns to me—“I think we’re running low on quail eggs so you might want to run off to the kitchen, let someone know. Kay, bud?”
Jasper steps forward. “Clayton, he’s not—”
“Don’t bother,” I say, pushing past them both.
“Whoa, rude!” Clayton says. “You know we’re friends with the owner, right?”
Ignoring him completely, I traipse back through the halls of the Plaza. This whole night has been a colossal fuckup. And after that little interaction I know why. I don’t belong here with these people.
I should just leave, but as I pass by the doors of the ballroom the alpha’s voice catches my attention. Something he said earlier reverberates in my head.An announcement, pay close attention.Maybe it’s curiosity or some kind of hold the alpha has over his pack, but as much as I’d like to run screaming into the night, I make my way back into the ballroom.
The room is quiet except for the alpha’s voice, booming unnecessarily from a sound system. “Thank you for gracing this ballroom with your magnificent presence,” he says. “And thank you to the Plaza for hosting us this evening.”
A small round of applause rises from the audience.
I can’t see Katie or Aisha, or a spare seat anywhere, so I find a column to lean on and listen. The door behind me swings open, allowing Jasper and Clayton to slip inside. I catch Jasper’s eye, but huff and turn my attention back to his father.
“For those of you paying close attention to your lunar calendars,” Jericho continues, “you’ll be aware of an auspicious lunar occurrence due to herald in the New Year.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “A blood moon is on the horizon, due to rise two days after Christmas.” Hold for chorus of oohs and aahs.
A blood moon. They don’t come along that often—less often than a blue moon as far as I know. Although, apart from glowing this spooky shade of red, there’s nothing that exciting about them. Of course, being wolves we have superstitions about every lunar event. It’s all childish nonsense, but people go wild for it.
“My good friend Alpha Morven Labraid from the Rocky Pack has invited a select group of Elite wolves to join them in their mountain-lodge packhouse for the event. These fortunate wolves will be treated to all the skiing, mountaineering, and hot chocolate the Rocky Pack has to offer. Then as Christmas draws to a close, they will make the journey to the stone circle of Wolf Point, the highest peak in the Rocky Pack’s territory, where they will be privy to what is sure to be an amazing view of the blood moon.”
Excited whispers zip through the room.
“My son Jasper will be my official representative on this trip.”
I glance back at Jasper, who is tensing his jaw.
“And while I’m certain interest in this event will be unprecedented, sadly the Rocky Pack only has the space to accommodate three more wolves and their mates. To determine who will take the other six spots, I have decided to host a competition. To win a spot on this trip I am laying down achallenge.”
Jericho’s eyes land on me when he says that last word, as if it’s meant just for me. Is this the challenge he mentioned earlier?
“Ladies and Gentlewolves, a competition of this nature has yet to be held in this century… To decide who is worthy of a spot in my envoy, I will be holding a race of fire and ice!”
Hands clutch pearls. Every mouth in the room falls open. A couple of women gasp audibly.
The race of fire and ice is an old-school Elite Pack tradition—so old-school there hasn’t been one since Jericho took over from his father. It’s extremely dangerous; people have died competing. And I, like most people in the room it seems, thought it was a thing of the past, a barbaric ritual we all pretend was discontinued long ago, a relic of a less evolved pack. For an alpha whose authority is being questioned, this is a strange move.
