Walter isn’t as good at containing his emotions. His eyes travel from my head to my feet and back again, a disdainful sneer on his lips.
Jericho steps forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you, Max.” I shake his hand, doing my best not to squeal at his vicelike grip. “Jasper and I are counting on you during these unsettling times.”
“Yes, sir,” I say automatically, the ever-obedient pup.
“We were just finishing up our discussion,” Jericho says, referencing his surly companions. “Jasper, I need to speak with you about the outreach program.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I’ll see these men out and then we’ll talk.” Jericho turns to me. “I’m sorry but this will need to be a brief visit, Max. I know you understand.”
As a ripple runs down my spine, my shoulders instinctively pull back. What exactly am I supposed to be understanding? That the pack comes first, even over Jasper and my relationship? Even over the travesties that took place back in California? I glance at Jasper, who is bowing his head ever so slightly, a sign of submission.
“Gentlemen, let me walk you out.” Jericho ushers his visitors toward the elevator, and as he engages Salazar in one last piece of business, Walter glances over at us, his beady eyes dark and penetrating, a smug grin playing in the corner of his mouth.
What the hell, I think, and I reach out with my mind. I want to know what’s going on in that privileged head of his. We meet eyes and I extend my consciousness until it rams into his. He resists at first, visibly straining, but I’m able to pierce his protective barrier and catch a few glimpses.
Walter is standing in a dark corner of an empty parking lot, glancing furtively to the sides. A man approaches in a black leather jacket, with a greasy ponytail, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. When he reaches Walter, he unzips his jacket and holds one side open. In the vision I can’t see what it is he’s showing Walter, just that Walter nods, satisfied, then produces a manilla envelope stuffed with a rectangular-shaped block. Is that cash? Lots and lots and lots of cash? Walter hands the man with the ponytail the envelope, then turns and walks away.
As I leave the vision, I’m left with a sense of satisfaction, a crumb of what Walter must have been feeling in that moment—the sort of satisfaction that comes when the pieces of a well-laid plan fall into place.
Walter and I are still staring at each other, his eyes tight and his jaw tense, but he relaxes as I withdraw my consciousness and stop probing at his mind. He gives me one last dark look, a cautious, questioning sort of look, but also a warning.Don’t test me.
What did I just see and what is he planning?
“Max?” Jasper says, already halfway down the hall to his room. “You coming?”
“Yeah.”
Walter slips into the elevator behind Salazar, and I wait until the doors close, not wanting to turn my back on him for even a second.
I follow Jasper into his room. He stands for a moment between the door and his bed, not looking at me, running a hand through his hair.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He doesn’t turn to face me, just looks back over his shoulder.
“Things are bad, Max. I don’t know how they got this bad. After everything I did, I don’t get how they could have fallen apart so easily.”
I step to him and put my hands on his shoulders, rubbing his back with my thumbs.
“You’re talking like we’re about to go to war or something. Is it that bad?”
“Maybe.”
Finally, he turns to face me.
“Just because of Olivia and Mia?”
“No, there’s something else going on,” he says, his eyes pointing to a spot on the rug. “It’s not just Morven. More and more packs are turning on us. Alphas who I spent time with, who promised me they were aligned with us, are defecting.”
“Who’s changing their minds? Morven?”
“Not from what I can tell. Morven hasn’t sent anyone south of DC. Either the packs are turning on their own or there’s something else.”
“Your dad has to have some idea.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs and huffs. “Or maybe he’s too blind to see it.”
