Pride's Pursuit

  Pride’s Pursuit

  Cathryn Fox writing as Cat Kalen

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Crashing Down

  About Cat

  Copyright

  Copyright 2019 by Cathryn Fox

  Published by Cathryn Fox writing as Cat Kalen

  * * *

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  * * *

  Discover other titles by Cathryn Fox at www.cathrynfox.com.

  Please sign up for Cathryn’s Newsletter for freebies, ebooks, news and contests: https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/c1f8n1

  ISBN 978-0-9878559-6-1

  ISBN Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9878559-5-4

  1

  The fire has been burning for days, the savage blaze devouring everything in its drunken path. Wild, angry flames lick the star-studded sky as plumes of smoke form an eerie haze over the waxing moon, turning the night an ominous shade of red.

  Chalky ash falls from the treetops like the winter’s first snow and the scent of blood is so thick in the air it twists my stomach and clogs my dry throat. I wince as the bitter taste of death settles on the back of my tongue and burns my flesh like hot, molten silver.

  At the crest of this secluded mountain town there are no fire trucks to be seen, no blaring alarms to be heard. Without a team of brave firefighters here to extinguish the inferno, I fear it could go on forever.

  Hot panic is the first thing I feel. Anger is the second. It churns inside my gut, and the feral wolf inside me turns vicious as she takes in the senseless chaos unfolding before her eyes.

  I breathe deep to move past the coppery tang of blood and smoke and that’s when I catch a familiar scent, one that reminds me of rotten eggs and car exhaust. My pulse drums harder in my neck while my brain weeds through the smells, shifting and sorting until it’s able to determine the true root of the odor.

  Gasoline.

  I give a hard shake of my head, my rattled brain struggling to come up with some plausible explanation as to who or what could have doused the village with fuel.

  How was this secret town discovered?

  I mull that over for a moment longer, and then suddenly my thoughts come to a screeching halt; the only reasonable answer lodging in my esophagus like a lump of day old bread.

  “No,” I cry out, my breath coming quicker now, the world around me blurring in and out of existence while waves of blistering heat wash over my trembling body. As the fire sucks the oxygen from the air, bile punches into my throat and it takes two locked knees to keep my legs from failing.

  My hackles spike and a deep howl rents the air. The low-pitch sound chases the flames up the mountain only to get lost in the thick underbrush. Acrid smoke stings my eyes and I blink against its toxic bite as I quickly assess the damage. My head jerks from left to right and the brisk autumn breeze fueling the flames whips my curls across my face.

  I push my hair from my watery eyes and strive to gather my thoughts. But before I can settle the chaos bouncing around inside my brain like a puppy’s rubber chew toy, the shifters at my back bolt forward, leaving Logan and me alone in the bleak night.

  A split second later—my father, Stone, Gem and Sandy—the wolves who travelled to Canada with Logan and me disappear from my line of sight, four brave warriors charging head first into the inferno. Even though I can’t seem to move my legs, can’t seem to follow them into the flames, the commotion pulls a reaction from my wolf.

  Thick talons elongate, and her unchecked rage jumps a few notches, her animal instincts feeding off the dark destruction closing in on her. Deep inside she wails, clamoring to be unleashed. Her loud primal cry is a clear indication that she knows. She knows the person responsible for the destruction of Logan’s entire village. His entire family.

  That person is me.

  While I might not have been the one to soak the village in gasoline, might not have been the one to ignite the match that lit the town on fire, I know this damage is my fault. I’m smart enough to understand this violence is a direct result of my escape from the compound a month ago, when the Paranormal Task Force chased me through Olympic National Park.

  I have no doubt in my mind that the PTF officers—men who shoot first and ask questions later—tracked me to this private village, a place where werewolves live normal lives and take to the woods on shift night to avoid bloodshed.

  It’s the only logical explanation.

  My hands fist at my sides and my heart pounds as rage unfurls inside me. This wasn’t supposed to happen! None of this was supposed to happen. After freeing the pack of wolves trapped in our cruel master’s cellar, six of us fled the California compound together and travelled to Logan’s secluded home in the Canadian mountains with one purpose in mind.

  To live normal lives.

  But as I stare at the devastation, the complete and utter destruction of his entire community, I realize that as long as the PTF are out there, as long as they believe we are cold-blooded killers who feast on flesh and must be destroyed, we’ll never be free.

  I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to kill the officers who refuse to believe we can live normal lives. Refuse to believe we’re not beasts, out to turn innocent humans into blood lusting monsters who kill for sport. What is it going to take for them to understand that we’re not soulless predators?

  I take a moment to process and when the full impact of what really happened here hits like a sucker punch, my stomach cramps and I nearly vomit. I swallow hard and my ears perk as dry tinder pops and splinters beneath the fiery assault, the sound reverberating off the distant, snow-packed peaks.

  But soon the noise is drowned out by the deep, tortured howl coming from the boy beside me—a selfless boy who crawled straight into my hell to save me from certain death. I never should have drawn him into my dark world. If I hadn’t accepted his help, the help of his family, then none of this would be happening.

  When I see the horror in his blue eyes, and taste the bite of his fury as it pollutes the heavy air and mingles with black wisps of smoke, my anger turns to worry.

  “Logan,” I rush out, forcing my heavy legs to move so I can go to him. “Logan, I’m so sorry.”<
br />
  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” There is a definite edge to his voice, one fed by pure desperation, when he whispers through clenched teeth, “But whoever did this does.”

  Looking hard and dangerously feral, he angles his head unnaturally. Flecks of pewter puncture the blue in his eyes as they lock on mine, but judging from his wild, distant stare, I get the sense that it’s not really me he’s seeing.

  The tormented look moving over his face is beyond frightening and as I take in the tension in his normally relaxed posture, equal amounts of fear and worry slither through my bloodstream like a poisonous snake. The truth is I’ve seen this boy beaten to within an inch of his life, yet never have I been so afraid for him.

  Understanding his world is collapsing around him, I pinch back the tears stinging my eyes and touch his arm in an effort to bring his attention back to me.

  “Logan,” I say softly, knowing he may very well have lost everyone he’s ever cared about and right now needs me to be the voice of calm, not anger. I temporarily shelve the rage inside me—a rage that is prompting me to find the men who did this and tear their heads clear from their bodies—so I can focus solely on what Logan needs from me.

  “Pride,” he whispers and pulls me to him. His hold is fierce, his embrace so tight it forces out what little oxygen I have left in my lungs. His voice echoes desperately inside my head as he buries his face in my disheveled hair. His breathing is rough, labored and I can feel his heart pound against my chest.

  “Pride,” he murmurs again, his voice shaking worse than his hands. I hold him tighter and can feel his enraged wolf prowling restlessly inside him, urging him to shift.

  To kill.

  “I’m here,” I assure him, pain stabbing my heart like a double edged blade. I try to reach out to him mentally, to help soothe the dark distress eating him up inside. Despite our connection, an intimate bond that developed from trust while we struggled to survive together in the forest, I still can’t speak to him telepathically.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” I say for lack of anything else, even though I know nothing is ever going to be okay again, especially if his entire family has been burned and left for dead.

  When his hands fist my hair, my fingers curl in his t-shirt. The chaos around us fades to a distant buzz and as we cling to one another his warm familiar scent almost makes me feel safe. Almost.

  As I offer whatever comfort I can, I listen to his blood rush and despite the urgency of the situation we stay like that for a long moment, until a hard voice forces us to separate. I step back, but my wolf bristles, not wanting to break from Logan.

  “Pride,” Stone says, his deep guttural voice sweeping through my thoughts like the brush fire through the pines. I edge farther away from Logan, severing the connection as I turn to Stone.

  He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes clouding with savage emotion before he says, “Your father wants you.” Firelight illuminates his strong features as he speaks telepathically to me, a means of communication, I recently learned, that only true mates are capable of establishing while in their human form.

  But now is not the time to be worrying about all the secrets that have been kept from me since birth, not when Logan’s world is falling apart around him.

  Stone inches closer, each step calculated, purposeful.

  Predatory.

  Fear shoots through me and the hairs on my nape prickle when I see worry tightening his features. His anxiety wraps around me like a lethal serpent and squeezes so hard I can feel my heart constrict to the point of pain.

  I suck in a sharp breath and try not to cough as my lungs fill with smoke. “What is it?” I ask, forcing the words past my lips so I don’t exclude Logan from our conversation.

  He takes another measured step closer and I can feel the warmth of his body as his knuckles slide along mine. There is something very primal and raw in his eyes as they study me darkly. A moment passes before he finally answers me.

  “We found someone. She’s alive.” His glance shifts to Logan and for the first time I don’t see black hatred in his dark expression. And it’s that lack of hatred that has me worried.

  Stone, the alpha wolf who was destined to be my true mate, straightens to his full height and expands his chest as he makes eye contact with Logan, the boy I gave myself to—body and heart—during the last full moon.

  Stone’s forehead creases, the seriousness of the situation apparent in his expression. “You’d better come with us. She’s asking for you.”

  Logan’s eyes widen, a deadly tornado brewing in their stormy depths. “Who is it?” he rushes out.

  “I don’t know. She’s not talking.”

  Logan makes a step to go, but Stone moves in front of him to block his path. His actions appear threatening to Logan’s wolf, and I draw in a sharp breath when Logan assumes a combative stance.

  With his body on edge, his every muscle tight, Stone searches the other boy’s face. A hush falls over us, even the animals scurrying from the fire go mute as the two alphas glare at one another, their gazes clashing in a silent battle of wills. With my pulse jack hammering, I tense at the strained silence, and watch, transfixed, wondering what Stone is trying to prove.

  This is not the time to be fighting for pack control!

  But when he pitches his voice low and says, “She’s hurt pretty badly,” preparing his enemy for the horror he’s about to face, my heart squeezes in my chest. Stone might be a hard alpha, a trained killer who’s been caged and tortured his whole life, but deep inside he’s just a boy.

  One who is as lost as I am.

  Logan gives a curt nod and when Stone steps back Logan takes the opportunity to bolt forward. I immediately chase after him and stay close, keeping pace as the grief-stricken alpha makes his way to his village. But soon his long legs are covering a vast amount of ground and I’m unable to keep up. Stone lags behind and runs by my side, his shrewd eyes trained on my back. Watching me.

  Always watching me.

  Wind whips at my face as I steal a sideways glance at him. Speaking telepathically, I begin, “Are they all…?” But then I stop abruptly, unable to push any more words out. I don’t need to finish the sentence for Stone to know what I’m asking, anyway. Even without making a mental connection, he can read my thoughts and actions as well as I can read his.

  “I don’t know. We only found the girl and she’s not speaking.”

  I push harder, my feet slapping a steady beat against the hot road beneath me. Since we ditched our car long ago, not wanting to take a chance that my father’s vehicle could be tracked to Logan’s home, the final trek up the twisting mountain has to be made on foot.

  The noise of my shoes pounding pavement echoes in the night and drowns out the hum of my heavy panting. Moisture breaks out on my skin, and my heart begins to beat so fast I fear it’s going to burst from my chest. But I don’t let that stop me. I can’t. Worry for Logan and what he might find prompts me to dig my heels in deeper. There is no way I’m going to let him face this senseless brutality alone.

  Just because I recently distanced myself from the alphas—deciding for all our sakes that I need to find myself and learn about my past before I can commit to my future—it doesn’t mean that I don’t care for the two boys. I do.

  A lot.

  We breeze by an abandoned playground. The rusty hinges on the old swing set squeal like a wounded animal as it sways in the night breeze. My heart clenches when I think of the children, a community lost, destroyed by cruel men who fear what they don’t know. What they don’t understand.

  From everything I’ve witnessed over the last few weeks, it’s become glaringly apparent to me that the PTF are nothing but trained assassins, more merciless than the wolves they hunt.

  Then again, I can’t forget about the one officer who saved my life after I spared his. But I very much doubt he can change the minds of many, not without some sort of proof that we’re not simply out for blood. But how can w
e prove that, and how many more will die until we find a way?

  My steps slow and Logan’s hushed voice cuts through the chaos and reaches my ears as we approach a burned out building. Before I push my way into one of the fire-ravaged structures, Stone catches my hand in a firm hold.

  My gaze darts to his and when his brow creases in concern, I note the ways his muscles are bunching, rippling along his shoulders and down his arms. His jaw seesaws from side to side, and I instantly brace myself, because I know that look.

  I know what it means.

  He inches closer, his body crowding mine. “I don’t think you should go in,” he warns.

  I give a fierce shake of my head and my teeth clamp hard enough to chip bone. “Well I think I should,” I counter and snatch my hand back from his tight grip.

  While I understand it’s in Stone’s nature to protect me, and I wouldn’t be alive today without his intelligence or sheer strength of character, he needs to understand that in the outside world, he can no longer be my strength.

  I love and admire him for his protectiveness and intellect, I really do. And while I know he’s a creature of habit, ruled by his survival instincts, I also know if we are going to thrive in a place where compound rules no longer apply, he has to allow me to grow, to find my path, and to respect my choices instead of trying to make them for me.

  Looking rattled, he rakes his hands through his mussed hair and everything inside me reaches out to him, my heart aching for the tormented alpha and all he’s been through.

  “Pride—” he begins, his voice a low, strained whisper as he makes a mental connection, and I instantly harden myself.