Pride's Run Page 6

  From the front seat, the handler shoves a raincoat into my hands. “Keep yourself presentable,” he says.

  I shuffle into the coat and pull the hood up to keep my hair dry and my makeup from spilling down my face. A quick nod to my bodyguard lets him know I’m ready.

  I step ahead, shift into character by pretending to be an innocent seventeen-year-old girl, and make my way to the front entrance. The bodyguard remains a few feet back and we pretend we don’t know each other.

  As I approach the wooden door, my glance keeps wandering to the distant mountains scattered through the Olympic National Park. My wolf stirs, wanting that kind of freedom. In search of an escape, I scent the air and can almost smell the earthy ground and fresh pine trees. My ears perk and catch the sound of the water rushing down the rocky embankments. As the wild calls out to me, my wolf grows increasingly restless, itching to run up that cliff, and lose herself in the night.

  Shhh, I whisper under my breath in an attempt to settle her.

  When my hand closes around the door knob, I tune the world out and focus on one thing and one thing only. Escape. I blink the water from my eyes as I step inside and pull down my damp hood.

  A quick casual glance around lets me know the place is busy. I suppose that’s to be expected on a Saturday night, but it does make zeroing in on my mark a bit more difficult. Not that I’m going to hunt him, but I can’t deny that my curiosity is piqued. That, and I have to let my handlers believe I’m doing my job. Anything out of the ordinary will simply raise suspicion.

  I think more about my mark. From his picture alone I can tell he’s no drug lord. So who exactly is he and why is he so meaningful to my master?

  I shrug out of my jacket, step farther into the establishment, and catalogue my surroundings. Using caution, I look for possible threats and deadly enemies, as well as my best escape route.

  Beneath a row of small windows a string of padded booths are neatly aligned along the wall. I spot a few couples talking quietly over drinks, their hands touching shyly, and the normalcy of it all makes my gut clench.

  Squared wooden tables, scratched and dented from years of misuse, are haphazardly scattered throughout the floor and seem to be occupied by those who haven’t hooked up yet. I take note of my exits. Other than the door I came in I can see another door toward the back. A service entrance. Perfect.

  The crowd is young like me. But unlike me they’re loud, rambunctious, and despite their barely-legal drinking age, a vast amount of alcohol is being consumed. A plume of cigarette smoke curls in front of me and the pungent scent mingles with a mixed bouquet of perfumes and assaults my sensitive nostrils.

  I crinkle my nose as I cut through the throngs of people and the sound of balls breaking, followed by a woman’s laughter, filters in from the back room. I shoot a glance to my left and wonder if there is an exit back there as well.

  With my bodyguard at my back, I make my way to the bar. When I take a seat on the hard wooden stool, I scan the area behind the counter and take note of the glass shelves filled with liquor bottles and the floor-to-ceiling mirror that allows me to see behind my back without having to turn. The elderly gentleman working the counter moves in front of me, blocking my view of the mirror. He eyes me skeptically and I wonder if he’s about to card me.

  “I’ll have a coke,” I say before he gets a chance, then I shoot an innocent look over my shoulder. “My mom’s checking in. I’m waiting for her.”

  As I sit there blinking up at him, he nods and pours me a soda before moving on to the next client. I take a small sip of my drink and spin on my stool.

  That’s when my glance lands on him.

  At first sight air hisses from my lungs and I don’t need to weed through the smells clouding the air to know it’s the boy I was sent to hunt.

  My hackles twitch as I watch the way he turns toward me. He shifts in his seat, each movement careful, purposeful.

  Dangerous.

  There is an intensity about him that I’ve never seen before, one that has my wolf stirring in the most bizarre ways.

  From across the room our gazes collide and lock and, oddly enough, as we continue to stare at one another I feel a little disoriented, a little thrown off my game. The rest of the crowd seems to fade away and when my pulse kicks up a notch and pounds at the base of my throat I get the feeling there is more to this boy than meets the eye.

  Carrying himself like a skilled predator, he has his back to the wall, keeping one eye on me and the other on the door. He looks at me long and hard, and his gaze is so unwavering and so penetrating that it practically robs me of my next breath.

  Feeling a little peculiar inside, my glance trails over him, and I can’t help but notice how strikingly handsome he is. Dressed in a navy t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans it should be easy for him to blend and lose himself into the crowd. But he doesn’t. At least not to me.

  When my body reacts strangely, I give a quick shake of my head to clear it, hardly able to believe my reaction to this boy.

  This mark.

  My gaze travels back to his face and haunted eyes with a lifetime of secrets lock back on mine. Foreign sensations erupt in my stomach when he blinks dark lashes over liquid blue eyes. I swallow. Hard. Because there is something about those vibrant blue eyes of his that remind me of the Pacific Ocean—remind me of freedom.

  I sit there and try to still my heart, and despite everything warning me to, I can’t seem to pull my glance away, can’t seem to turn from him. What is it about this boy that holds my attention and fills me with curiosity, fear?

  I take a moment and wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Does he see a young runt, eyes too big, lips too full and skin too pale? Or does he see a girl? One, who, under different circumstances he might approach and ask to buy a soda. One he’d consider bringing home to meet his parents.

  My heart beats faster and I can feel my chest rising and falling as I get lost in that girlish thought. For a moment I forget who I really am. For a moment I allow myself to dream. But when reality comes creeping back, like it always does. I fist my hands until my nails penetrate flesh. I’m not a normal girl and I can never have a normal life.

  Get your head back in the game, Pride.

  Rattled, I work to harden myself, to focus, but when his lips turn up at the corner, the hairs on my nape tingle, like they always do when my wolf senses danger. Then it suddenly occurs to me—he knows. He knows what I am! And he knows why I’m here. My blood rushes and my animal instincts go on high alert.

  I narrow my eyes suspiciously and study him harder. He, in turn, lazily drums his fingers on the scarred tabletop and inspects me. His glance is tentative, searching, deeply probing and I don’t miss the curious lift of his dark brow as we size one another up.

  For some reason I get the distinct impression that not only does he know what I am, but that he’s been waiting for me. My ears perk as I listen to the blood in his veins. It’s slow and steady, a telltale sign that he’s not afraid, at least not of me.

  With confidence oozing off him in waves, he continues to drum his fingers and I shift on my stool, uncomfortable under his careful scrutiny and concentrate on the one question that keeps circling around inside my head.

  Who is this boy?

  I take in his face, his brown, shoulder-length hair, the pretty flecks of pewter in his blue eyes—tiny flecks of pewter that weren’t there a moment ago.

  Oh no!

  My body tenses and it takes every ounce of strength I have to keep from flying out of my chair, shifting mid-air, and pouncing on the boy who is studying me with intimate recognition. Because this boy isn’t a boy at all.

  He’s a wolf.

  A shifter, like me!

  But he’s not just any shifter. He’s an alpha. One who is dark and dangerous and could tear my head clear off my shoulders before I could even think about bolting.

  My heart drums in my ears and as I tear my gaze away my survival instincts kick into high gear. I need to
move. I need to run. I need to do something.

  My glance flutters around the room to catch sight of my bodyguard. He’s watching me, but he’s also watching the cute brunette two tables over. My pulse pounds so hard in my neck I fear some vital organ in my body might explode. But I can’t think about that right now. Because right now, with my guard’s attention diverted, this might be my only opportunity to run. I wet my dry lips and swivel on my chair, calculating how long it will take for me to reach the back exit. I’m fast, but my mark looks faster.

  Moments before I’m ready to bolt I steal one last look at the boy, but when I notice something on his neck it stills me and has warning bells clanging in my head.

  I look closer, to make sure, but there is no denying what I see. The boy has chafe marks on his neck.

  Chafe marks where a collar used to be!

  As the room spins before me, my hackles bristle, and I falter on my stool. When my feet hit the floor, my shaky legs almost give out beneath me because it suddenly becomes glaringly obvious that boy is not just a shifter.

  He’s a tracker!

  As my brain works through various scenarios, my throat closes over. Is it possible that I’m the mark? That the master has finally grown tired of my disobedience and has driven me out here to a place where I can never be traced back to him, to dispose of me swiftly and cleanly.

  Desperate to understand who this tracker is, where he’s come from and what he wants I try to read his thoughts, to see if I can speak to him telepathically in human form. As I struggle to communicate, my gaze focuses back in on his neck, and that’s when I see the tiny scar below his jugular.

  Taken aback by that discovery, my blood rushes faster and a million questions race through my mind. Mainly, how did he remove his microchip? And how did the handlers find him without it?

  Before I can seek answers to those questions the heavy front door pounds open and a hush seems to fall over the crowd. I turn and bite down a strangled cry when my glance lands on two officers, but I instantly know they’re not any old run-of-the-mill officers. From the way they are sniffing the air and carefully scanning the establishment, my gut warns that I’ve come face to face with members of the Paranormal Task Force.

  And they’re on the hunt.

  I slide back on my stool and turn from them to face the bar. My stomach plummets when I catch my reflection in the mirror. I can see undisguised shock and fear spreading across my face. I try to wipe it off, try to pull off casual, and try to act like I’m nothing more than a normal girl out looking to hook up with a normal boy.

  From my peripheral vision I spot the alpha. He looks worried, afraid, and just as surprised by this turn of events as I am. His blood rushes faster and his hands are fisted so hard I can see the whitening of his knuckles. His fear fuels my wolf and I can feel her stirring, itching to come out of hiding. But I must keep her leashed. If I don’t I’ll never make it out of here alive.

  Breathe, Pride, breathe.

  But I don’t breathe, instead my blood runs cold and I make the mistake of catching the PTF officer’s eye in the mirror. The look on his face is beyond frightening, and I instantly know when my act failed, when those deadly men who’ve been trained to shoot first and ask questions later have made me for what I really am. A wolf in girls’ clothes.

  As ruthless eyes lock on mine, the officer’s hand hovers over his gun, his fingers twitching. In an instinctive reaction my lips peel back to expose sharp teeth, and my snout begins to elongate.

  I spot another officer closing in from my right and I quickly calculate my odds. My wolf, as fearless as she might be knows there are too many of them to take on alone. Fight-or-flight instincts kick in and dictate I run. My heart races faster and as I prepare to make my move a hand slams down on my shoulder.

  Frantic, I open my mouth but the look on the boy’s face when my anxious glance searches him out silences me. In the face of a common enemy we connect on an instinctive level, and understanding arcs between us. Our eyes lock and we communicate silently, with only one thought propelling us both on—survival.

  The boy begins to move so fast I can barely keep track of his whereabouts. The next thing I know the mirror behind the bartender shatters and liquor bottles smash to the floor. Shrill screams sting my ears as flames ignite and lick up the walls in a mad rush.

  A commotion breaks out around me, and I use that distraction to break free from the officer’s firm hold. Dashing around the flurry of people, I dart to the back of the pub, to where the boy stands waiting. The alpha might be dangerous, but I’m smart enough to understand that right now, as I face death at the hands of the PTF, this deadly shifter is the lesser of two evils. Better the devil you know, as my father used to say. Not that I know this alpha, I don’t. But I do understand canine behavior.

  “This way.” Moving with confidence, he kicks open the service door and ushers me outside.

  My heart is beating so fast I can barely breathe, let alone think. I let my wolf instincts take over and follow the alpha into the dark, wet night. Once outside a rush of cold air slaps my face, and I turn to watch him secure the door behind us.

  He grabs my hand and his voice is deceptively calm when he says, “Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Smoke rises from the building and hangs over the forest like a deadly noose as we rush toward the trees at the far end of the lot, to where the rain doesn’t reach us. Cloaked in darkness, we duck low and try to camouflage ourselves beneath the tall timber.

  The sound of someone kicking the door startles me and I glance over my shoulder. Gnarled roots twist beneath my sandals and I cringe as the sound saws through the night. Hinges groan and within seconds the service door breaks open. Shards of tiny wooden splinters shower through the air and a moment later I blink against the flashlights aimed my way.

  We jump to our feet, run deeper into the woods and hide behind a towering tree. I press my back against the thick trunk and the scratchy bark scores my skin as I peer into the ominous night. Breath ragged, my glance rips from left to right as I work to devise my next move.

  Before I can come up with anything concrete, the boy tears his shirt from his chest and I catch the scent of his clean, soapy skin as he undresses. Unable to help myself, my glance races over his body—one that lacks my scars.

  I try to keep my voice level. “What are you doing?”

  “We need to get out of here,” he barks out, snapping my attention back to his face.

  We?

  Exercising caution I begin to inch away, sliding along the massive tree and putting some well-needed distance between us. My escape plans do not involve running with a dangerous alpha wolf, one who is wanted by my master. This boy is simply another obstacle I don’t need.

  Once again my gaze goes to the collar marks and the tiny purple scar near his jugular. He might be a shifter, a powerful one at that, and while he helped me escape, he’s still a stranger to me. One I don’t trust.

  “I run alone.”

  In a move so fast it takes me off guard, he pulls a knife and presses the cold steel blade to my neck. His intense, penetrating gaze moves over my face and when he opens his mouth I can tell he’s trying to choose his next words very carefully.

  Since his actions prove threatening, my wolf stands at attention, awaiting my command. The shifter looming over me might be big and deadly, but my primal side isn’t about to back down. I’m smart enough, however, to keep her leashed for the time being. At least until I hear what he has to say.

  The sharp blade splits my flesh and the coppery scent of blood reaches my nostrils. Our glances collide and a dark shiver trickles along my spine. As the air charges, I hold off my wolf and stand my ground.

  The pewter in his eyes deepens when he pushes the knife in harder. “You won’t make it very far with this.”

  I know what he means. What he wants to do. But what if it’s a trick? What if he’s one of my master’s puppets, sent to cut my jugular and leave me for dead?

&
nbsp; What if he’s not?

  6

  As indecision flickers through me, I quickly weigh the risks. In that instant I realize I have little choice. My best chance of losing those hunters and making out of this place alive is to let this boy slice into my neck.

  I grip his hand and press the steel blade of the knife harder into my throat. “Do it.”

  My wolf bristles. She doesn’t like it, but that doesn’t stop me from placing my fate in this stranger’s hands. I don’t do it because I believe in him. I don’t. I do it because the next few minutes are about survival, not trust.

  His face hardens and the pewter flecks recede as his wolf settles. Big black irises swim in a stormy sea of ocean blue as he tips my chin up and searches my throat. I don’t like to be touched so I try not to flinch as his deft hands surf over my throat, inspecting and probing until he finds exactly what he’s looking for.

  “Don’t move,” he warns in a hushed tone. His voice is both hard and fierce and has my composure slipping a little. But I’ve made my decision and I refuse to second guess it now.

  As tightness settles in my chest I tune out the footsteps pounding toward us and focus on the fierce concentration moving over his face. It’s that fierce concentration that gives me hope that this rogue tracker knows what he’s doing.

  With a sweep of his hand he pushes my hair off my shoulders, and something in the careful, delicate way he touches my skin sends shockwaves rocketing through my body. A shiver rushes over my flesh and there is nothing I can do to stop my body from trembling.

  His eyes meet mine for a brief second, and when he searches my face I almost forget how to breathe. “Easy there, little one,” he says. His breath rushes over my cheeks and the softeness I hear in his cadence almost chases away my anxiousness. Feeling a little rattled by my responses to him, I force my stiff muscles to relax and take deep centering breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth.