Pride's Run Read online

  I follow Lawrence inside the office and instantly take note of the master’s stiff posture as he speaks quietly into the phone. When he sees me, darkness clouds his eyes and he pitches his voice even lower, whispering in muffled words to prevent me from overhearing.

  In an instinctive response my tongue darts out to taste the danger in the air. The unstable energy swirling around the room hits me like a slap to the face and triggers a reaction from deep within. As black angry waves roll off the master, my senses go on high alert, warning me. Every muscle in my body tightens, prepares. I’m not quite sure what’s going on, all I know is that something very bad is going down. I can taste the tension and feel it in every fiber of my being. Then again, I’m not sure what could be worse than the news he delivered to me yesterday.

  My gaze skates over the room and when no immediate danger presents itself to me, I let my glance shift to the bountiful spread of grapes, cheese, breads and those tiny finger sandwiches that I love so much. While it might simply be an afternoon snack for my master, there is enough food to feed me and the elders for at least a month. My stomach growls loudly, the noise filling the cracks in the walls as my hate for my master reaches new heights.

  Lawrence looks on as hungrily as I do. When I hear his stomach’s response I know it’s his greed talking. He’s already been fed today. The master diverts his attention and snaps his fingers at Lawrence. Lawrence’s baggy jeans rub together and his heavy boots scuff the floor as he turns toward the door, to lock the others out, and us in. The bolt slides home and a moment later he drops my chain and nudges me forward.

  Late afternoon sun trickles in through the open window and warms my bare feet as I shuffle along the polished floor. I stand there, and quickly catalogue the room a second time. That’s when I notice the marble statue smashed on the floor, small broken pebbles are scattered around the master’s desk. At least now I know what caused the commotion. But the sight of that broken statue alerts me to the master’s rage and has me worried. The blood in my veins thickens and my pulse begins to jackhammer.

  The master finally lowers the receiver and looks up from his desk. When I see darkness invading his cruel eyes, the inky black pupils bleeding into the brown, I instantly know why I’ve been summoned.

  The lines beneath his eyes deepen as he gestures with a wave. “Have a seat, Pride.” The master might be trying to present a calm demeanor, but I know it belies his true emotions. Anger resonates beneath each word, the cacophony of noise warning my wolf to tread carefully.

  Once again my nape prickles and I draw on my inner strength as I stalk closer. I swallow and try not to stare at the scrumptious spread of food sprawled across my master’s desk as I lower myself into the plush seat.

  “Have you had anything to eat today?”

  I steal a quick glance at him. His smile is brutal and twisted as he stares down at me, and while I know he’s a hard man driven by greed my wolf still doesn’t cower, like he wants her to. In fact, it’s all I can do to keep her leashed and prevent her from going for his throat.

  “Answer me,” he demands, his voice lacking any sort of tolerance for me today.

  I give a quick shake of my head.

  “Then please, have a bite.”

  The nerves tracking along my spine tingle and I briefly meet his eyes, wondering what he’s up to. I don’t like it when he’s nice to me. I know nothing good can come from it. As I consider his offer, the scent of the food calls out to me. I want to resist, I really do. I hate to take anything he offers me, but I’m so hungry I feel faint. If I try to escape when I’m this light headed, I wouldn’t make it ten feet out the front gate.

  After a quick consultation with myself, I slowly reach for a finger sandwich, then lean back in my seat to eat it.

  “What have I done to deserve this?” I cautiously ask around a small bite.

  The master props one elbow on his desk and scrubs his hand over his chin as he studies me. As I stare at him, I see an element of desperation on his face, one I’ve never ever seen before. It piques my interest and has my wolf stirring.

  “It’s not what you’ve done. It’s what you’re going to do.”

  Not at all surprised by that answer, I force myself to chew slowly, even though I want to gobble it up and go for another. I continue to eat and try not to fidget, anxious to find out what’s so important to the master that it’s forced him to call on his best tracker.

  Finally he says, “I have a job for you.” When he leans forward and narrows those deadly eyes, I can smell something on him that I’ve never smelled before. Fear. It teases my wolf and triggers my senses.

  As if to emphasize the importance of his next point, his voice takes on a hard edge when he adds, “And I need you to follow my orders exactly.”

  I swallow the rest of my tiny sandwich and gauge the master as I reach for another. He doesn’t stop me and the fact that he’s letting me have seconds can mean only one thing. He doesn’t want my wolf ravenous during this hunt, doesn’t want my carnal hunger getting the better of me. Whoever this mark is, he must be needed alive and that makes me curious. What threat does this mark pose to my master? How much would my master suffer if I purposely screwed this job up on him?

  Then another thought strikes, and I nearly choke on my next bite.

  The master is sending me out!

  I can hardly believe it. After delivering yesterday’s news, why would he take such a huge risk and allow me to leave the compound? I don’t ask because I already know the answer. I’m the best tracker he has and this mark is important. But does he not understand that he’ll be helping me past my first big roadblock, the electric fence?

  Excitement wells inside me and I try to keep my face expressionless. I don’t want the master to know what I’m thinking, but the telltale gleam in his eyes speaks volumes.

  He knows I’m going to run.

  The master gives me a small, shrewd smile that holds no humor. “I’m sure you’re smart enough not to try anything foolish.”

  Just then I hear voices in the courtyard. I glance out the window in time to see Mario lead Jace and Clover past the window. The bottom falls out of my world when understanding hits like a hard blow to the stomach. Air rushes from my lungs and my last vestige of control snaps like a taut wire.

  “No!” I bark out, when I see the weariness on Clover’s face. Her glance locks on mine and she mouths something to me. Something that sounds like run.

  My heart seizes and I draw a savage breath. It’s clear they know my fate—they also know theirs—yet they still want me to run, to fight back, to take over where my parents left off. They’re willing to accept the punishment that comes with my disobedience.

  Rage unfurls inside me and a growl rips from my lungs as I jump to my feet, but the gun cocking behind me is the only thing preventing me from shifting and crawling over the desk to tear flesh from bone.

  Lawrence closes in from behind. “Easy, kitten.”

  My chest heaves as I glare at my master, my wolf scratching at my insides as she struggles to free herself.

  He taps his fingers on his desk as we stare at each other, a silent battle of wills. A long moment passes before he asks, “Do we have an understanding, Pride?”

  I don’t answer. I can’t. Instead, I continue to glare at him, chaos erupting inside me as the contents in my stomach churn and rise in my gut.

  Believing he still has the upper hand, my master pulls a napkin off the table, shakes it out and lays it over his lap. He might as well be waving a red flag in front of a bull. My nostrils flare and I zero in on his throat.

  Appearing unaffected by my outrage, the master doesn’t waste any more time with me. With a nod he gestures toward the door. “You leave at sunrise. Miss Kara will prepare you.” And as simple as that, I’m dismissed.

  Lawrence grabs my leash and yanks it, but I don’t move. I can’t tear my gaze away from the master’s smug face, can’t stop thinking about what he’s going to look like when I’m through
with him.

  “Let’s move.” Lawrence’s voice cuts through the riot pounding inside my head, and while I’m unable to settle my scattered thoughts Clover’s last word keeps rushing to the forefront.

  Run!

  But how can I possibly run when he’s holding all the cards?

  How can I not?

  I think of the puppies and the lifetime of abuse they’re about to endure at the hands of the master. I think of the sacrifice the elders are willing to make, a sacrifice for me and a sacrifice for the greater good. In that instant I make a commitment to myself and vow their sacrifice will not go unavenged.

  I’m going to crush him.

  5

  August 25th Four days until full moon

  * * *

  The night is dark. The rain heavy.

  From the back of the car I sink into the plush leather seat and listen to the mesmerizing drone of the wipers. They swish back and forth in a sleepy pattern as the driver negotiates the near deserted highway with practiced ease. The handler in the passenger seat leans forward and blasts the cool air to keep the windows from fogging and a bitter chill moves through me. Although I’m sure the chill has more to do with the deadly adventure I’m about to embark on and less to do with the frigid air nipping at my flesh.

  On either side of me sit two body-guards, ones I’ve worked with before and know better than to cross. They’re both big, brawny men with steroid-induced rage who wouldn’t think twice of snapping my neck if I dared to even look at them the wrong way.

  Following protocol, I keep my head down and stare at my hands, which are neatly folded and resting on my lap. I bide my time and try not to fidget under the uncomfortable tightness of my form-fitting jeans. While I’d like to adjust the waistband or at least open the button so I can breathe during this long car ride, I know better than to make any questionable movements. The results could be deadly.

  I never travel with my collar on—how would that look if someone spotted it in passing, or if we were ever pulled over—so I currently have two cocked guns aimed my way with two trigger-happy men wielding them. They’re cruel men, like my master, who love to torture and torment and I can tell they’re just waiting for me to make one wrong move.

  As I think about the risks I plan on taking a burst of anxiousness zings through my blood. I can’t mess this up. I just can’t. Too many people are counting on me and I refuse to let them down. Tonight is the night I have to escape.

  Tonight is the night I will escape.

  Then there will be no leashing my wolf, because no matter what it takes, or how long it takes, I’m going to put a stop to my master’s cruelties once and for all.

  I take a deep calming breath and pray the opportunity to get out from under the guards’ watchful eyes presents itself. Otherwise… I quickly squash that thought. There cannot be an otherwise, because failure is not an option. I have to do this. For the elders, the puppies.

  For my parents.

  My chest squeezes as I angle my head and turn my attention back to the road. Earlier this morning, at the beginning of our long journey I’d paid extra attention to each twist and turn of the highway—I want to make sure I know my way back—but we’ve been driving for close to twelve hours and I’ve long ago lost track.

  Once again I think of the elders and my stomach cramps. I’ll never forget that look on Clover’s face, the one that reeked of resignation and utter loss. It’s permanently etched in my memories and will always remind me of my mission.

  Then I think of Stone, and what he wants from me. I can only guess the chaotic sequence of numbers running though his broken mind was some sort of countdown to our mating. As anxiousness mingles with rage, I use it, absorb it, and let it fuel the determination coursing through my veins.

  A bump in the road and the flash of a highway sign have my thoughts careening back to the present. I’m able to read, Olympic National Park, Port Angeles, Washington through the blurry, rain soaked window before the plush SUV I’m traveling in speeds past.

  I steal a glance around and try to gather my bearings. I’ve never been taken so far away from home before and I can’t help but think how close we are to the Canadian border, to where those packs of wolves are rumored to run free. Wolves who hunt together and take care of each other. Wolves who haven’t been confined and don’t live by the same rules as we do—each wolf for himself.

  Could such a place really exist? Do I dare hope?

  Needing to occupy my thoughts to keep my emotions from getting the better of me, I consider the clothes Miss Kara dressed me in as I work to desensitize. My too tight-jeans feel like a second skin and could undoubtedly be considered provocative to some. The soft pink spaghetti-strap tank top clings to my body and douses my pale cheeks with a hint of color. Miss Kara fitted me with a lacy push up bra to give me a hint of cleavage, and while I don’t think it suits me that well, it does make me feel feminine and maybe even a little pretty.

  My long blonde curls are left loose and pinned in the front to better frame my face. My makeup is light and summer-time fresh, and the sticky gloss tinting my lips tastes like sweet watermelon. I can’t seem to stop licking it. But I think the action has more to do with my nervousness and less to do with the sweet, fruity flavor.

  My look is a youthful one, which leads me to believe the mark is close to my age. Of course, I won’t be given his picture until moments before my hunt. I’m never told any more than I need to know, but my cover story, however, is usually the same. I’m new in town, a junior in high school, and I’m out looking to make a few friends before I begin classes.

  We drive in strained silence, no music, no talking, only the hum of the wheels on the wet pavement and the drone of the wipers to cut through my thoughts. I should probably use this time to catch up on sleep, I barely captured a wink over the last two nights, but the closer we get to our destination, the more restless my wolf grows.

  She can almost taste the freedom.

  Not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to my apprehensive state, I press shaky hands over my stomach and calm her. She settles slightly and hunches low, waiting.

  Twenty minutes later we pull into a busy parking lot. The big SUV looks completely out of place as the driver squeezes it between two smaller vehicles. My muscles tense and I sit up straighter, scanning the area and taking in as much as I can.

  From what I can tell we’re sitting outside a motel in Port Angeles. At the far end, attached by a breezeway there is a restaurant or pub of some sort. Music pours from the open windows and above the long, aging building a neon sign advertising ‘vacancy’ is flashing in an erratic pattern.

  Moments before the driver turns the car off, the handler to my right cracks his window. I instantly notice the dip in temperature. Wherever we are we must be at a higher elevation. At home in the valley the air is warm and sultry, even this late at night. Here in this mountain town, with the huge, snow-capped peaks providing a gorgeous backdrop to the motel, there is a bite in the air, one I’ve never quite felt before. My wolf bristles, anxious to climb those hills and feel that cool wind whipping across her face.

  The driver shifts in his seat and hands me a file. Since he knows how well I can see in the dark he doesn’t bother to flick a light on. I lay the file on my lap and carefully peel it open. The first thing I notice is the swatch of material provided, the second thing is the mark. My wolf gives a little yelp, but I try not to show any sort of emotion as I stare at the photo. It becomes painfully apparent why they needed a young, fresh-faced girl for this job—or at least a wolf who can pass herself off as one. My mark is just a boy, merely a couple years older than me.

  My heart sinks a little and my stomach turns inside out as I commit his features to memory. He doesn’t look like any drug lord I’ve ever tracked before. I take a good long sniff of the swatch and place it back in the file before I close it. Taking extra care to harden my features, I hand it back.

  The truth is, it makes me sick to my stomach to think the
master is hunting someone so young. I can’t imagine what he might want with him, or worse, what he might do to him. But I do console myself with the knowledge that the boy will have a fighting chance to flee, because this time, I have no intention of following the master’s orders.

  Just thinking about running has a fresh wave of anxiety rushing over me. My fingers instinctively go to my neck, and I feel the microchip planted below my skin.

  Despite the cool temperature outside, sweat beads on my forehead and I inconspicuously wipe my brow. I know I have to maintain protocol and keep suspicion off me until I can break free, so I take a moment to go over the instructions that were carefully drilled into me this morning. Using feminine appeal—not that I think I have a whole lot of that—I’m to flirt with the mark and lure him to the car, where I’m to then hand him off to the bodyguards. I’m only to call on my wolf if he gets suspicious and tries to run.

  Then the rules change.

  I’m an excellent tracker, and it won’t take my wolf long to find him. Once captured, I’m to lead him back. If he resists, I attack. Not to kill him, just enough to scare him and draw him out of the woods. Once my wolf gets the taste of blood, however, it can be hard to marshal her, especially when she’s hungry. I guess that’s why the master fed me so well this morning.

  I wipe my palms on my jeans before the bodyguard opens the door to let me out. I cringe against the overhead light as he glances around to make sure the coast is clear. Once he’s satisfied, he climbs out and gestures for me to follow. I slide across the leather and inhale the night air as I firmly plant my feet on the wet pavement. Hard rain slaps my cool skin and a big fat drop lands on my tongue as I glance skyward.

  I’m grateful that it’s raining because it’s always harder for the handlers to track us wolves in wet weather. If the rain slows them down enough perhaps I can lose them by running long and hard and putting a great deal of distance between us. Or perhaps the heavy rain will cause static and interfere with the microchip’s radio frequency. Hope fills me, but I keep it from my face.