Alpha Asher by Jane

Chapter 175

Chapter 175

The howling didn’t stop when we raced through the pack’s boundary lines and into what many wolves considered ‘no man’s land.’

A total of four hundred and seventy-three miles west of Asher’s pack was Alpha Bran’s, which we fully planned to steer clear of. Even though it was insanity not to relay the location of the Vampire’s lair on the off chance we didn’t make it back, I couldn’t risk Asher sending a group of warriors to my rescue.

The last thing I needed were the Vampire’s thinking I’d come to ambush them.

A few of the warriors followed us past the boundary lines, though they didn’t dare venture too far. If I had to guess, the ones brave enough to leave Asher’s territory were new recruits, desperate to prove themselves in the eyes of their Alpha. When the last wolf following us slowed and darted back to the territory lines, I let out a sigh of relief. 1

The sound was muffled by the helmet I wore and smothered by the snarling of the engine, yet Tristan still felt the need to turn his head ever so slightly in my direction. It was the weird connection he and every other Vampire had with their ruler. In many ways, it was similar to the bond between a Luna and her pack, yet there was no direct channel of communication.

As convenient, and mildly unsettling, as it was to have Tristan and Giovanni picking up on my emotions, the ability to mind-link would’ve been far more useful.

Curled behind Tristan’s large frame, I lost track of the time that passed. Unable to see the small screen on the sports bike, I counted the passing hours by how sore my backside was becoming.

Silence rang in my ears where Asher’s voice had once been, and even though I promptly ended the mind­link between us after promising I’d return, I could feel his lingering presence in the furthest depths of my thoughts, waiting—listening for any whisper that I was in danger.

Always the protector, no matter how tumultuous things became.

“He’ll forgive you. You know that, right?” Tristan grunted, clearing his throat to regain my attention.

I set the helmet onto the seat of the bike and stared up at the flickering sign of the gas station we stopped at, unsure of how to respond. FastMart, I deduced even though the blinking letters read ‘F st M t’, was nothing more than a little shack comprised of four poorly constructed brick walls. Right outside the front door, whose glass was hazy and covered in half­peeled stickers from cigarette advertisements, were two gas pumps. The one we stood at had a rusted number 2 on the handle, as if we couldn’t figure that one out ourselves.

I looked back at Tristan, still unable to conjure a response. He had never liked Asher, especially before coming to accept that I’d never choose him as my mate. It was strange to hear his reassurance rather than some clever insult meant to tear Asher down.

the gas. I don’t think this

stared down at

cash.” Tristan drawled, “If we don’t make it back, Asher can track us through your card and see that we stopped here. It’s

pump. It sat at an odd angle, making it look as though it were going to fall over at any moment. I nodded, erasing my look of surprise

my mind—one created by the slew of intrusive thoughts that explained in explicit detail the many number of things that could potentially go wrong. Well,

leave me behind and go

turn to raise his eyebrows, only instead of surprised, he looked

for leaving your side? Perhaps, Giovanni will forgive me for trying to murder him and for the loss of Breyona’s wolf. If not, I’m

rolled my

“So dramatic.”

him to his own devices, I turned on my heel and approached the little shack. Through the foggy glass windows, I could see a single aisle of what appeared to be potato chips and some very old looking candy, along with a tiny counter and a mass of crimson hovering

kid, you got any money?” A raspy voice low to the ground

station was partially concealed by a large ice cooler. A sign was stuck to the door of it by a single piece of duct tape.

They were made even more vibrant from the dark tattered clothing he wore, and from the uneven mop of ebony hair on his head. Without

there charges an arm and a leg for a beer, just thought you should know.” The man said, jabbing a thumb

door

bell attached to the frame jingled as I pulled the door open. Instantly, I was greeted by the pungent scent of gas station hot dogs and the body odor of who I could only assume was Garret. The mass of crimson I saw through the foggy window was the man himself—or his

hundred percent a human. He looked up from his magazine, which had half-dressed women printed on both the cover and backside and

around these parts, sweetheart?” He drawled, sliding the magazine off to

a slight southern twang, which made sense when he picked up an old Styrofoam cup and spat a wad of something dark into it. The scent of stale tobacco wafted between us, deepening

gas, that’s what.”

snippy, just askin’ a question.” He chuckled, his

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