Page 98 of Chasing The Alpha's Son
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.
