Chapter 11
THE BLOOD WOLF SUMMONED
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Aisha asks, glancing at me from the driver’s seat of her Beamer, concern etched all over her face.
I wince, grimacing through the pain still occupying my brain. “Yes, just up ahead.”
We speed along a dark road, the dense foliage of the Rockefeller State Park on either side of us. The tires of Aisha’s car bumping over the dirt road I’ve directed us down.
“Not much farther,” I say, pressing into my seat. “He should be just up ahead.”
After my near collapse in the hall of Aisha’s building, we jumped in her car and sped north, up through the Bronx and Yonkers, and on toward Sleepy Hollow and Hawthorne. Luckily, I was able to locate the howl that had pierced my psyche, calling out for help, for me specifically.
Through the blinding pain I managed to catch a glimpse of a face, bloodied up and bruised. The roads were mostly clear at that time of night, so we made good time, thankfully. The drive which should have taken over an hour had only taken forty-five minutes.
“There!” I lurch up in my seat, pointing through the windscreen at the figure crumpled by the side of the road.
“Oh my moon gods,” Aisha says, pressing down on the gas to reach them faster.
We skid to a stop, our headlights illuminating the path and the curled-over form on the side of the road.
His shirt is torn, stained, the same dirt and blood spattering his jeans.
He lifts his broken face as we leap from the vehicle.
“Omar!” I call, the pain in my head lessening with every step toward him.
His split lip curves upward into a pained smile. “Cuz, you came.”
Crouching, I lift his face and examine his wounds. “Who did this to you?”
“I was coming to tell you . . . but they got to me first.”
“Who?!”
Omar tries to speak but ends up fighting a coughing fit instead.
“He needs medical help,” Aisha says. She’s standing behind me, backlit by the lights of her car. “We should get him back to the city.”
“No hospitals,” Omar manages to say through a series of coughs. “I just need rest.”
I glance back to Aisha, not knowing whether to force him to see some sort of human medical practitioner or let him decide. She seems as unsure as I am, shrugging in response.
“Let’s get you in the car and we can figure out what to do on the way back,” I say. “Can you stand?”
Aisha and I bundle Omar onto the back seat. It doesn’t seem like he can put weight on one leg, his left arm is hanging limply at his side, one of his eyes is almost all the way shut from the swelling.
“You’re a mess,” I say once Omar is nestled along the back seat.
“Good to see you too,” he says, somehow managing a smirk.
Aisha jumps into the driver’s seat and shoots me a look. I give her a nod to say thanks. She didn’t have to jump in and follow my blood-wolf senses the way she did. She hits the ignition, turns us around, and whisks us back to the city.
“You’re sure you don’t mind me crashing?” Omar says from Aisha’s couch, a blanket draped over his legs.
Since we cleaned up his wounds, applied antiseptic, gave him some of Troy’s clean clothes, and fed him herbal tea, the color has come back into his face. He’s still in a bad way, and a whole world of pain, but not in immediate danger.
“Of course,” Aisha says, placing a plate of peanut butter smothered toast on the coffee table. “I’m just glad nothing was actually broken.”
Omar shifts awkwardly, clutching at his ribs and wincing. “Not a hundred on that front, but I’ll survive.”
Aisha heads back to the kitchen to tidy up, touching my shoulder as she passes. The beanbag I’m drowning in makes a loud crunching sound as I shift my weight forward so that I can sit up.
“Do you know who did this to you?” I ask, forcing myself to look at Omar’s face, even though it hurts my soul to see him so beat up.
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue, and I can tell he’s thinking back to a couple of hours ago when whoever did this got the jump on him.
“Things are getting bad out there, Cuz.”
“Things are pretty bad here as well.”
Omar nods solemnly. “You’ve got problems,” he says. “I know. Those problems are happening everywhere.”
I shake my head, not computing what Omar is trying to say. What does his attack have to do with what’s going on inside the pack?
“Your pack is under threat, right?” he asks.
“Yes, Walter Bridgers, the bad guy we thought was after you, is amassing this giant conglomerate pack to destroy the Elite Pack.”
Omar purses his lips and waits a beat before replying. “Not just the Elite Pack.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying this bad dude you mentioned, his wolves are everywhere. Man, your whole territory is surrounded by them. And they’re not just hurting pack wolves. They’re coming after rogues. They’re trying to recruit us and anyone who says no . . . well . . .”
“Well, what?”
“I’ve heard stories about rogues disappearing. Whole encampments destroyed or vacated. Since the attack on the Sanc, my people have scattered, we haven’t got anywhere safe we can hide. We’re in trouble.”
“So Walter is padding out his numbers with rogues?”
“Ding ding ding, we have a winner.”
“And it was his wolves that—?”
He nods. “Yeah, three wolves, big ones, jumped me while I was making my way back into the city. And I was so confused because they weren’t from the same pack. I even thought they could be rogues for a moment. So when they asked I told them I was a rogue and that’s when they got aggressive.”
“Fuck,” I say, because what else can I? “I’m sorry.”
“This conflict isn’t just affecting you guys. At least for now your pack borders are safe. Out there . . . it’s getting ugly.”
I lower my head, squeeze my knees together.
“It’s going to get uglier,” I say. “We’re preparing for war, and Jasper, he’s . . .”
My chest feels heavy, I have to pause and take a breath.
“How is your man?”
I explain to Omar all about Jericho and how Jasper has had to step up and lead the pack during this crisis.
“That’s a shitty hand he’s been dealt,” Omar says.
The weight of our situation hangs in the air between us as we sit quietly. Omar keeps wincing as he breathes, as if his probably cracked rib is causing him pain.
“Why were you coming back anyway? It could still be dangerous for you to be here.”
“I came to tell you what was going on out there.”
“But why? Why risk”—I gesture at his messed-up body—“all this?”
Omar lowers his gaze, a shadow falling across his face.
“Because we need you, Max. Rogue Nation needs the blood wolf if it’s going to survive.”
When Omar finally drifts off, I decide it’s time to head home. Aisha walks me out into the hall, half closing the door behind her so we don’t disturb him.
“Don’t collapse on me this time,” she says.
“Hey,” I say. “Thanks for letting him crash here.”
“It’s no trouble. We’ve got to look out for everyone these days.”
She reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze.
“You okay?” she asks. “This is all pretty traumatic.”
I wipe my face with a hand and have to laugh. “Yeah, this is probably the most messed-up situation we’ve been in, and you’ve been literally kidnapped.”
“I’d take myself being kidnapped over an all-out war any day,” she says, making me chuckle. But I shake my head because I hate the idea of her thinking that way. She’s too important.
“I wouldn’t.”
This makes her smile and for a second, we let the moment linger. Aisha has been a solid friend since we met at the Blue Moon Festival. And she’s always been there with advice when I need it. I could really use a bit of direction right now.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, and she nods as if to say Of course!
“Omar thinks the blood wolf could help—I don’t even know—make things better for the rogues or fix this situation.
But I don’t know how? I can’t change the minds of the people who want to hurt us and I can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to.
It’s not enough just to bring people comfort and I don’t want to use this gift to help fight a war.
But I know I should do something. If we’re facing the biggest threat of our lives, I need to do something. I just don’t know what.”
Putting it all out in the open is actually refreshing, the tightness in my chest that’s been there since the attack on the packhouse feels a little less intense. Aisha scratches her cheek and thinks for a moment.
“The way you’ve described your powers to me, it seems like they open you up to what another wolf is thinking or feeling.
It’s sort of like listening, only on a way higher frequency.
Maybe right now, you don’t need to do anything, or at least you don’t need to decide what to do on your own.
Maybe right now you just need to listen. ”
Could it be that simple?
“Let the connection you have to the wolves around you lead your actions,” she says.
“Just listen,” I say, turning the idea over in my mind.
“Can’t hurt.”
The next morning, I wake stupidly early, a thin stream of pale dawn light is slipping through the gap in my curtains. But I don’t feel tired. My eyes slide open with a new sense of purpose burning behind them.
All night I thought about what Aisha said and what Omar told me about the Rogue Nation and how they’re under as much threat, if not more, from Walter and his Axis Pack as we are.
As usual, Aisha is right. I don’t need to decide what to do or try to influence things with my abilities without knowing what’s best for everyone out there.
What I should be doing is using my powers to tune in to what’s happening across the country, to listen and learn from the wolves out there, and to see what course of action would benefit us all the most.
Sliding out of bed, I pull on running shorts, my favorite green hoodie, and a tattered pair of trainers before heading into the hall.
The door to my mom and dad’s bedroom is ajar, but the light is off, meaning they’re still asleep.
In the kitchen, I gulp down a glass of ice-cold water then slip through the back door, making sure not to let it bang shut behind me and wake the whole house.
Once I’m down the stairs leading off the back porch I speed into a jog, taking the trail into the woods. The sun is barely up but it’s already a warm day, the air is rich with the smell of pine. My feet move swiftly beneath me, heading to the river, and my familiar spot where I like to draw.
The trickling sound of water greets me as I arrive, the scene looking like something from a fairy tale with beams of morning light streaming through the trees, the greens vibrant and lush, and the stream a refreshing splash of crystal blue.
Considering the state of pack politics and the threat of hostile actions against us, I feel calm this morning.
Confident that I’m finally taking some action and using my powers in the right way.
I just hope that whatever happens in the next fifteen minutes or so does some good.
Only time will tell, but from the way my head feels light, the way my chest feels open, receptive to the summer air, oxygen-filled, I have to believe I’m on the right track.
I cross my legs under me as I perch on my usual rock, rest my palms on my knees, and close my eyes.
Taking calm, deep breaths, I let my consciousness expand, opening myself up to the Lunar Plane.
As always, I feel like I’m floating in a warm but weightless void.
Gradually the threads of my fellow wolves come into view, red and fizzing like electricity.
Usually I would explore the Lunar Plane like I would if I were walking, my feet firmly placed on the ground, traveling horizontally through the web of souls, but today I need to go bigger, I want to zoom out and see wolfkind as a whole, to listen to the voices of the Lupine Chorus, hoping they’ll tell me what I need to know, or point me in the right direction.
Feeling very much like a superhero, I lift off, rising through the web of wolves, flying higher and higher until the web resembles a map, reaching across the Lunar Plane.
From my vantage point I feel like I can see all the wolves in the United States, draped below me like so many vines.
Intuitively, I reach out for the rogues, attuning my senses to those of the wolves without pack associations.
One by one their threads begin to shine, turning pale, until they’re almost golden.
I call them out. I strain to listen to what they have to tell me.
Their voices cry out, desperate for peace, for safety, for a life free of oppression and stigma.
But there are so many voices, each vibrating on a different frequency, that it’s hard to discern a single train of thought.
I zoom out a little further, rising even higher, and draw out the rogue’s threads until they’re not just glowing, they’re shining, brilliant and white.
There are so many of them, more than I ever imagined. More than a thousand Sancs put together, more than any of our teachers or elders ever told us there were, more than—more than any single pack. And that’s when I realize something vital.
My eyes snap open and my consciousness contracts back to normal. But my heart is thrumming in my chest, my body vibrating, because a fresh thought has sprung to life in me.
We can win.