Pride Unleashed Page 3

  After risking his life to give me my freedom, I know he’s angry that I’ve come sauntering back into the compound like nothing happened between us at Olympic National Park. And if there is one thing I know, Stone’s anger means trouble. I also know exactly who he’ll direct that anger at. But surely he knows me well enough to understand that I’m not about to take my freedom at the expense of his or anyone else’s.

  I listen for sound upstairs, hoping the master is going to call for me as I pull my nightgown on over my chilled body and drop down onto my bed. Scurrying backward until my back is pressed against the cool cellar wall, I pull my knees to my chest and let the cement foundation suck the heat from my bones. The last thing I want to do is get too comfortable in this prison.

  As my wolf growls softly, I turn my head to see Sandy. Curled into the fetal position, her long wheat-colored hair falls forward to mask her features. As I study her it suddenly occurs to me that’s she’s pretending to be asleep. But from the rise and fall of her chest I can tell she’s wide awake and paying very close attention to her surroundings.

  I struggle to figure out what’s going on. Why did she go from surprised to cold when she first saw me coming down the stairs? Could it be because she’s angry with me? Angry that the elders were killed because of me?

  Sadness overwhelms me and I take a deep breath to drag the heavy air into my lungs. As I do I catch faded smells of Jace and Clover, but as I move past those scents, I catch another aroma. It’s faint, but it’s there just the same.

  I pull it in, trying to decode it, trying to figure out why it’s vaguely familiar to me. But the answer continues to linger just out of my reach. I wrack my brain until the ugly truth hits me harder than a blow to the gut. My heart goes into my throat and I jackknife from the cot.

  “No!” I cry out, my glance moving to Sandy’s belly, to determine how far along she is.

  My fists pound on the metal bars, then I grip them until my knuckles turn white. Guilt eats at me for leaving her, for not being here to protect her from this kind of abuse. It should have been me the master bred, not her. She’s too young. Too innocent.

  I want to call out to her, to tell her how sorry I am. But when I see her lips curve like she’s happy about her little secret another thought hits.

  Who’s the father?

  Before I can consider it further, a loud noise at the top of the stairwell gains my attention. My eyes dart to my door, and my heart hammers against my chest when I hear angry voices followed by pounding footsteps and slamming doors. The master’s dark, dangerous tone curls around me and squeezes my chest like a tight fist.

  As air evacuates my lungs, every instinct I possess tells me I should have listened to Stone, because everything in the master’s rage warns me that I’m in very serious trouble here.

  Equal measures of fear and fury shoot through me, and my wolf—sensing that her life is in grave danger—growls in retaliation and prepares for a fight. My canines punch through my gums and I drop to the floor and hunker low, bracing myself as I wait for the ambush.

  Honestly, I didn’t think my first night back was going to be a pleasant one, but I didn’t think it was going be my last one either.

  3

  Time slows to an agonizing crawl as I continue to wait. Seconds tick by and soon minutes turn into hours. I stay crouched low, hunkered down on my hands and feet, but when the invasion never comes I begin to suspect that the anticipation of an attack is far worse than any torture the master could possibly inflict upon me.

  Perhaps that was his intention all along.

  A long time later a noise finally penetrates the quiet of the cellar, and when I catch the tantalizing taste of bacon on the tip of my tongue I know morning is upon us.

  Desperate to face the master, desperate to know what happened between him and Logan last night and what he really wants from my mate, I shake the fog from my sleep-deprived brain and prepare myself. My knees ache in protest as I pull myself to a standing position and stretch out my stiff limbs.

  The sound of my popping joints echo in the quiet and my ears perk for sound from above. As I diligently wait for the upstairs door to creak open, fresh outside air rushes into my cell from the ventilation system and I drag the vineyard’s scents into my lungs. Beyond the grapes I catch hints of rain in the air, and off in the distance I can hear the low, menacing growl of thunder.

  Since it rarely rains in California, especially this time of year, I can’t help but think the approaching storm is a warning sign of things to come. But with an autumn storm comes rain, and the downpour will help mask both the scent and the tracks of the wolves waiting in the shadows.

  When I think about my small army, my mind briefly flashes back to those dark, vague images I glimpsed on the security monitors last evening. I can only hope that everything on the outside is going according to plan and my team is ready and awaiting the signal. If not, if by some chance there is a fatal flaw in our plot to overthrow the master it could mean…

  Refusing to contemplate the prospect, I will the basement door to open and wait for a hint of morning light to filter downward. I can sense Sandy staring at me, sense the anger simmering just below the surface. When a low, threatening growl rumbles in the depths of her throat, a sinking sensation begins in my core and spreads onward and outward.

  I slant my head to see the young wolf. With her golden hair hanging in wild curls, her cold, calculating eyes look stark against her small face and sunken cheeks. When those big orbs shoot silver darts into my back I feel nausea well up inside me.

  Without bothering to hide her hate, she climbs to her feet and stalks to her door to await the handler. She wraps bony fingers around the bars and when I see how thin she’s become, it renews my purpose to get her out of here, to get her safe, warm and properly fed.

  Both sadness and guilt force my watery gaze back to the stairwell. While I’m unable to face those accusing eyes of hers, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to go to her, to pull her into my arms and console her. To let her know I hadn’t abandoned her here while I chased game and gorged on fresh meat in Olympic National park.

  I want to tell her how sorry I am about the elders and that I’ll do whatever it takes to free her, to get her out from beneath the master’s brutal control. But before I can push any of those words past the lump lodged in my throat, she speaks first, and her words chill me more than a wintery dip in the icy cold ocean.

  “He doesn’t need you any more, Pride.” Her tone is low, her voice laced with venom.

  As I digest the meaning of her words, my blood pressure soars and my vision pulses, the room fading in and out of existence. Shock keeps me motionless and my body stiffens, my addled brain hardly able to digest and comprehend what she’s saying to me.

  When I hear a rustling sound I don’t need to turn to know she’s rubbing her belly, and I can hear the sheer pleasure in her young, naïve voice when she adds, “You’re not the only one who can give him what he wants, you know.”

  As her words echo desperately in my head, I think about last night and comprehension slowly sinks in. It suddenly becomes perfectly clear to me that Sandy hadn’t gone from surprised to cold because she’s angry with me. She’d turned on me for one reason and one reason only. She wants the master to herself. Her wolf is threatened by mine—the only other fertile female in the compound.

  When that reality registers, I want to scream at her. I want to cry for her. I want to break free of my cell and tear the master’s head clear off his shoulders for what he did to her.

  Tears prick my eyes and I swallow, hating that she’s been broken, hating that she had to endure such torture at the hands of our cruel master. I can only hope that once I get her out from under his hold, I can help her heal and become whole again.

  “You should have stayed away, Pride. You’re nothing but trouble for the rest of us and no one wants you here.”

  Anger and sadness churn inside my belly as I briefly close my eyes against the flood of emot
ion. “Sandy—” I begin, not exactly sure what to say, but my words dissolve when my gaze shifts to her stomach.

  Her eyes sparkle, her lips twist viciously. “You’re nothing but a runt, Pride, and you could never have given a powerful alpha like Stone the offspring he deserved anyway.”

  Stone!

  Unnerved by that wild implication my stomach sours and a bitter cold shudder runs along my spine.

  Could it be true?

  Had Stone done this to her?

  The sheer lunacy of that notion has my legs going weak and my brain racing to catch up. Then again, what if he had no choice in the matter? The master isn’t a man who tolerates mistakes or insubordination. What if mating with Sandy was the only way for Stone to prove his loyalties to the master after returning to the compound empty-handed?

  I swallow. Hard. What would the master do to make me prove my loyalties?

  As I think about Logan, my heart goes on a roller coaster ride. He’s strong, I remind myself. The strongest wolf I know, physically and mentally. And while he’s assured me numerous times that he can handle whatever punishment the master is capable of delivering, I can’t help but worry. If you find a person’s weaknesses, then you’ve found a way to destroy them, and if there is one thing I know it’s that everyone has their breaking point. And it’s only a matter of time before the master finds it.

  For a minute I wonder about my own breaking point. What would it take for me to back down, to become the obedient wolf the master wants?

  When Sandy begins to hum a lullaby, one I’m familiar with from my days in the nursery, I get the distinct impression that she’s trying to taunt me. Once again I wonder if Stone is the father, and what other corrupt things the master made him to do prove himself trustworthy.

  That thought has my rage surging, and a volatile storm begins to brew inside me just as the door at the top of the stairs flings open. When light filters down, hot panic invades my stomach. I might have waited all night for a handler to come for me, to lead me to the master, but after learning Stone could be the father to Sandy’s pups, the timing couldn’t have been worse.

  With my world tilting on its axis, I need a moment to compose myself, to desensitize, to concentrate on my mission. I look around frantically and when I spot my mother’s old den it helps me remember my purpose, my commitment to destroy the master and make him pay for what he’s done to us.

  With no choice but to force Sandy’s disturbing news to the back of my mind, I call on calm, and diligently struggle to get my head on straight. I’ll need all my wits about me when I face the master and the last thing I want him to know is how desperate I am to get into the courtyard before noon.

  I’m almost relieved when I see that it’s Mario coming to let the dogs out. Mario has always been nice to me, but I can’t ever forget he’s one of them.

  He stares at me longer than what’s comfortable and I see the strain in his eyes, a new weariness that wasn’t there three weeks ago. Holding his gaze I stare back, fully aware that Sandy is watching us with dark suspicion. I can only chalk her distrust up to her current condition, and that’s she’s been beaten and broken by a man who I’m going to enjoy destroying.

  “Welcome back, Pride,” Mario greets and while his voice isn’t soft, it isn’t hard either. His focus goes from me to Sandy, back to me again. He studies me carefully, like he’s deliberating his next words. “Are you prepared for today’s obstacles?” he finally asks but I can tell he wants to say something else as his tense glance flickers from me to the padlock dangling on the outside of my cell.

  When the upstairs light glints on the shiny metal key, it occurs to me that the bolt is new. I’m not sure why that’s important. But some part of my brain registers that it is. I store that information away for later as Mario inserts the key into the lock, but his hand slows before he twists it. I can tell he’s waiting for my response, some kind of sign that I understand what he’s saying.

  Instead of responding I take a second to digest his cryptic words. As they settle in my brain I get the distinct impression that he’s trying to warm me about something. Something that has nothing to do with the obstacle course we’re forced to compete on every day and everything to do with the master.

  Apprehension curls through me and once again my hackles bristle, my fearless wolf ready and anxious to face whatever danger lies ahead. As I acknowledge the strange new energy inside the mansion, I take a moment to wonder about the compound and all its secrets.

  What’s happened here since I’ve been gone?

  As I peruse Mario it occurs to me he’s being extra cautious around Sandy. It’s clear that he knows she’s been broken. But does he know I’m not? Is it possible that the handler can be trusted? When I go for his throat to overpower him will he shoot to kill, or will he back away and let me take my freedom?

  He grabs my chain and I follow him out of the cage. I pad softly behind him, the cement so cold on the soles of my feet they begin to ache. Once he has Sandy leashed, he guides us up the stairs, and this time I fully expect him to take me to the master. When we reach the top, the cannon thunders outside the window and I take a moment to count the seconds between detonations. I checked the timing when I was outside scouting the estate, but it doesn’t hurt to check again, just to be one hundred percent sure that the schedule hasn’t changed since my escape.

  My stomach grumbles but I ignore the warm, enticing scents of bacon, eggs, sausage and my favorite, hazelnut flavored coffee, as they fill the mansion. Mario leads us into the kitchen, toward the back courtyard, and when it becomes clear that he’s actually taking me outside, instead of straight to the master’s office, I try to keep the surprise from my face.

  Since putting our plan together weeks ago I’ve done nothing but fret over my initial meeting with the man I hate, fully expecting a brutal, if not bloody, interrogation. Armed with a solid, believable story, I was prepared to spill lies, knowing I’d have to convince him of my loyalties before he’d let me out to mingle with the others.

  I almost breathe a sigh of relief as I move toward the back door. Almost. Because everything in my gut tells me it can’t be this easy.

  Nothing in the compound is ever this easy.

  Mica’s indrawn breath reaches my ears when she sees me. Then she exhales sharply, reacting like she received a physical blow when she catches Sandy’s dark, feral gaze. She quickly turns away and pretends to fuss with a stubborn loaf of bread.

  The housekeeper has always been nice to me too, giving me extra scraps of food when no one is looking. But I don’t acknowledge her this morning. Especially since the master’s little watchdog is walking right beside me, studying my every move with entirely too much interest.

  Using the clock on the stove, I do a quick check of the time and realize it’s late morning as I’m led outside. The hairs along my neck tingle in anticipation because high noon will be here before I know it, and I must ensure everything is in place prior to that.

  When I step onto the dewy grass, the heavy, sultry air dampens my flesh and beads of perspiration speckle my skin, now tanned from my week running along the mountain peaks. As my thin nightgown clings to my moist body, I tilt my head skyward. I note the four impenetrable stone walls surrounding us as I observe the dark clouds moving in from the north.

  A storm is coming.

  An odd shiver moves through me, but the sound of a starter gun pulls my focus and I jerk my head to the left in time to see two male wolves take to the obstacle course, both eager to win the race so they won’t have to dine on scraps tonight.

  Mario removes the collar from around my neck. “Get yourself ready,” he says, then turns his attention to Sandy.

  I take that time to gather my bearings and scan the courtyard, keeping my face blank as I anxiously search for Logan and pray that he’s okay. But when my search turns up empty and I realize just how jam-packed the yard is, my senses go on high alert. I carefully study the herd of strangers, their faces and scents unrecognizable
to me.

  After a quick tally I estimate there to be at least twenty new shifters in the crowd. As I watch them, and note the probing way they’re all looking back at me, intuitive intelligence warns me that the master is building himself an army. And a very powerful one, at that.

  Realizing a compound full of newcomers isn’t something I had accounted for, something that could very well hinder my plan, panic bursts inside me. Desperate to find Stone, I look through the throngs of wolves, who are all in various stages of shifting. Not only do I need Stone’s help, I want answers. Where did all these werewolves come from, and why does the master need them?

  All around me deep guttural howls mingle with quiet conversation and as the noise ebbs and flows through the heavy air I lift my chin to take in the six trigger happy guards manning the grounds from their stony perch high above us.

  As I study them, someone nudges me from behind. I spin, but receive a blow to the shoulder that has me whirling back around. Air rushes from my lungs with an oomph and my teeth clench hard. Before I can regain my balance, a bump to my left hip causes me to stumble. Twigs gnarl between my toes and pain zings up my leg. Fearing I’m about to hit the ground with an undignified thud, I widen my stance and let my nails elongate.

  My wolf prepares to attack, anger boiling deep and heavy in her belly. But before she can shift into her primal form and challenge whoever is crowding her, a fistful of dirt is thrown into my face. I howl, and as the sound of my nightgown ripping mingles with my dark yowl it becomes glaringly apparent that I’m under attack.

  Had the master orchestrated this punishment?

  Is this what Mario had been trying to warn me about?

  My wolf wails, eager to attack her assailants face on, to tear fur from bone and fill her mouth with warm, sweet plasma, but the click of the guns cocking above our heads has the mangy crew backing down. As they disperse, anxiety bombards me because I realize that this display of animosity toward me means these new wolves are loyal to the master. This could very well cripple my plan.