Pride's Pursuit Read online

  I think about Nova and the ugly bullet wound that didn’t kill her. I realize it had all been for show. That the officers had let her live so she could deliver me to them. I keep this to myself. Sanford doesn’t need to know, not yet, maybe not ever, of Nova’s deception.

  “Why did they want me?” I ask, speaking over the loud hum of the cars flying by on the freeway.

  His brow furrows, and his laugh is rough, almost maniacal, as it serrates the night and curls around me. “Think about it, Pride. You’re the one who got away. And no one ever gets away.”

  “So they wanted to hunt me then? For sport?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they forced Nova to lead me to them?”

  “She wasn’t forced,” Stone says, his angry voice raking down my spine like a jagged-edged knife.

  My gaze jerks to his and I can tell he’s in fight mode. “What are you talking about?”

  “She wanted you out of the way.”

  As I consider that possibility, my glance goes to Logan, and I watch his chest rise and fall while he fists his hands at his sides until his knuckles whiten.

  I stare at him for a moment and when the pieces fall into place my vision goes a little fuzzy around the edges. It takes effort to speak when I say, “You were supposed to be her mate.”

  “It wasn’t like that between us,” he answers through clenched teeth.

  “Maybe someone should have told that to her.” Rage erupts inside me when I think about the senselessness of all this. None of this should have happened and now Nova is out there all alone, and we have no idea if she’s dead or alive.

  I think about the caged girl, and jerk my thumb toward the SUV. “Who is she?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Why would they hunt someone so young?”

  “A wolf is a wolf in their eyes. Age doesn’t matter, and the young ones are usually more afraid and they feed off that.”

  “Do you have any idea who she is?” I ask Logan, wondering if he might recognize her from any of the packs he knows. Perhaps she comes from Richmond’s Village in the Jasper Mountains Nova once mentioned.

  When he shakes his head no, I wonder where her family is, or if she could have spent her life imprisoned by a cruel drug lord, like Stone, Sandy and me.

  I turn to my father, “Do you think she’s—”

  “It’s possible.”

  That has me thinking about my last conversation with the officer, when he assured me they were going to search the known drug lord compounds. “Has anything been done about the imprisoned wolves?”

  “Yes, but not by us.”

  Unease crawls along my flesh and I wrap my arms around myself. “Panthers?”

  He nods. “We can track them, but they’re not so easy to kill.”

  “That’s because they’re cats and they have nine lives,” Logan elaborates. “Their regenerative abilities are quicker than ours, and silver doesn’t kill them.”

  “Nine bullets will do the trick, but they usually get away before you can pump all nine in. They’re fast, Pride.”

  “We’re faster and stronger,” Stone announces, and I don’t miss the way he angles his head to see Logan before he adds, “And there isn’t an animal out there that can survive a ripped jugular.”

  As I think about wolves versus panthers, I swallow and push the next words past my lips. “We had a pack of wolves with us when we escaped from the compound. They were ambushed, and ran, but have yet to show up. Do you know if they’re—?”

  “We don’t have them. We never did.”

  “Then there’s a chance they’re still out there.”

  “Maybe,” he says, a brief hint of skepticism flashing in his eyes. “But if they are, I can help you find them.”

  “How?”

  “I still have all my equipment, including my radio transponder.”

  Since I’m not a girl who trusts easily, I narrow my eyes and gauge his reaction when I ask, “Why would the force allow you to keep your equipment?”

  “They didn’t. I stole it.”

  “And they’re not coming after you for it?”

  “I’m not a threat to them. They think I’ve gone soft.”

  “Which gives you the advantage,” I say.

  “It gives us the advantage,” he clarifies, letting me know he wants to work with us in the war against wolves. I mull that over for a minute longer and realize that under the circumstances I know I have no choice but to let him into my small circle. It might be the only way we can find the others.

  When a vehicle slows on the highway, I stiffen and shoot a nervous glance at my team. “We’re drawing attention.”

  “Okay,” my father says as he steps back, “We need to get out of here.”

  With that we all retrace our steps back to the vehicle, but my father slows and waits for me to catch up to him. He has a strange, nervous energy about him, and it makes me antsy.

  I glance up at him. “What?” I ask.

  “We need to hunker down for the night.”

  “Where do you suggest we go?”

  His mouth turns down in a frown, and he kicks at the gravel beneath our feet almost apologetically. “There is only one place we can go.”

  I look at him, but I’m not sure what he’s suggesting.

  He touches my arm to still me as everyone else climbs inside the SUV. “Pride,” he begins his voice full of remorse and when I see the lines around his mouth tightening, I know in an instant where he’s taking us. I stiffen and shake my head.

  “I don’t think—”

  “We need sleep.” His glance flickers to the inside of the vehicle and he knows he’s hitting a sore spot with me when he adds, “They need somewhere to go and Sandy doesn’t look well.”

  I angle my head to see the young girl and when I do, my stomach tightens. I know she’s seen a lot, been through a lot, but I thought once I got her away from the master and gave her a taste of freedom, it would help her heal. Maybe this new world and all the threats in it are too much for her to handle in her condition.

  “Sandy needs food and sleep,” I announce, and while there are so many things I don’t know about my father’s motives, I do get the sense that he’s trying to do right by me. I still have no idea what suddenly prompted him to change his ways, but I understand he is trying to right his wrongs and forge some sort of father daughter relationship between the two of us. What I don’t know, of course, is why now.

  His voice is uncertain, his eyes so sad and regretful when he asks, “So you’re going to be okay going back to my place in the hills?” that it has me craving to claw back the years we lost, has me aching for my mother’s comfort.

  I miss her so much.

  I miss her touch, her scent, the way she always made me feel safe even when I knew we weren’t. As my chest fills with heartache, I swipe at my eyes and turn from my father, not wanting him to see any weakness in me as I think about the family I lost.

  I know I made the hard decision to try to better understand him, to learn from the man whose blood runs through my veins, but as I think about stepping into the mansion where my father once imprisoned wolves, to come face to face with the things he’s done to our kind, I’m suddenly not so sure that I’ll ever be okay again.

  8

  A tremor moves through me as my father drives the vehicle along the winding driveway leading to his mansion. I briefly shut my eyes and when I open them again, I glance over my shoulder to catch one last glimpse of the world I’m leaving behind, and try to fight the strange sense that I’ll never see it again.

  An ominous feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as the heavy metal gate clangs shut behind us. The site is so hauntingly familiar that it brings back horrific memories of my dark days in captivity.

  Beside me, Stone squeezes my hand tighter, and even though I keep my expression blank, vacant, he’s still fully aware of the knot weaving itself tighter and tighter in my stomach.

  “It’s going t
o be okay,” he whispers inside my head, but from the tension in his body, I know his stress levels are every bit as high as mine.

  Floodlights ignite the compound and bathe the huge expanse of lush, green lawn in artificial brightness. When I get my first real look at the impressive house where my father once kept wolves under his strict command I suddenly feel a little nauseous, a little overwhelmed.

  As my mind shifts and sorts through this unexpected turn, mental images of all the cruelties that took place in this compound play out in my mind’s eye. Working to push down my emotions in an effort to keep all my wits about me, I draw in a fortifying breath to calm myself. But then I think about the first time Logan saw my battle scarred body and I remember what he said. His master wasn’t cruel like mine.

  As that last thought settles me slightly, and gives me a modicum of hope that deep inside my father has redeeming qualities, I canvass the perimeter and wonder if the high voltage gate locking the world out—and us in—is powered with electricity. If we have to get out in a hurry, will we all be electrocuted?

  With old habits dying hard, I mentally catalogue the area, and search for an escape route. While I believe my father is trying to change his ways, and isn’t out to harm us, it still doesn’t stop me from approaching this change of plans with caution.

  He parks at the top of the twisting driveway and after he slams the SUV into park, we all pile out and wait for my father to make the next move. A bird takes to the sky as he circles the vehicle to meet us on the cobblestone walkway leading to the front door. I breathe deep and catch the sweet scent of berries on the breeze. The familiar aroma elicits a shiver from deep inside me.

  Looking tired, weather-beaten, and emotionally battered, my father’s shoulders slump slightly when he announces, “There are enough bedrooms upstairs for everyone. Take your pick. We can talk in the morning after everyone is rested.”

  With that my father steps ahead of us all, and we follow him to the front entrance where he punches in a code to open the door. I listen to the beeps and commit the numbers to memory. I don’t miss the concentration on Stone’s face, an indication that he is doing the same. Pushing past our fears, we all step inside.

  Even though I’m tired, my body craving sleep, and my knees so weak they simply want to collapse beneath me, I know I’ll never be able to settle myself down. I step farther into the foyer, my boots sliding over the polished marble floor as I take in the opulence of his estate.

  “Alexander, is that you?” a male voice booms from the near vicinity.

  I stiffen as a big, burly man approaches from the east wing, his beefy hand hovering over his gun as he carefully assesses us, stopping to size up each and every intruder. I shift my stance, and when I feel the gun I now possess scraping along my spine, it gives me a measure of comfort.

  Once his inspection is complete he steps up to my father, and I take a moment to think about the name Alexander. I haven’t heard my father’s first name in so long that I’d almost forgotten he has one, almost forgot what it means. Defender of men. Too bad he’s never lived up to it.

  “What’s going on here?” the guard asks, his booming voice echoing off the high ceilings and walls.

  My father holds one hand up to calm the man I can only assume is his guard. “Everything is fine. We’re all going to get some sleep and we’ll talk in the morning.”

  The guard backs down and nods. My father turns to us, and gestures toward the staircase. “Go get yourselves settled in.”

  All eyes turn on me, waiting for me to make the next move. Since I know we have no other option, I give a quick nod of consent and we all tromp up the stairs. My stomach is a bundle of nerves and I wait until everyone finds a bed before I slip into the last room at the end of the hall. I quickly close the door behind me, needing to be alone to get my thoughts together.

  I simply stand there for a long time, waiting, listening, but for what I don’t know. I flick the light on, and walk the room, committing every piece of furniture, every obstacle and escape route to memory.

  The silence in the house is almost deafening as I run my fingers over the wood dresser, the antique rocking chair in the corner, and the nightstand. When I step up to the bed, feel the lace on the bedspread, and take in the soft pastel color on the wall, I realize the room has a woman’s touch. Did my father mate with someone after losing my mother, or is this simply the work of a caring housekeeper?

  That last thought has me thinking of Mica, and for the first time in a long time a smile touches my mouth. She was always so kind to me, and if it wasn’t for her I might never have made it to the master’s dungeon to get the key that helped free us all. My heart aches to know that after all these years she is finally going to be free of the master’s control and reunited with her family.

  I remove the gun from my waistband, tuck it under my mattress and fling myself onto the bed, taking care to keep my dirty boots off the pretty covering. As I think about Mario and the others who helped me win the battle against our cruel master, a myriad of emotions erupt inside me. I stare at the stark white ceiling overhead, but I don’t take pleasure in the soft mattress beneath me. The last thing I want to do is get too comfortable in this place.

  Feeling restless, I turn on my side, and that’s when I hear voices coming from the ventilation system. I listen, but can’t make out the words, but there is no mistaking the angry voice of Logan ringing hollowly through the pipes.

  I climb from my bed and tiptoe across the floor to put my ear near the plastic slats. When I angle my head, I find myself staring at an antique nightstand, and there is something sticking out of the back edge of the drawer, some sort of picture that, judging by the yellowing corner, looks like it’s been jammed in there for years, missing and forgotten.

  Curiosity piqued, I crawl across the floor, carefully pull the nightstand away from the wall, and give a tug on the drawer to loosen whatever it is lodged in the back.

  I carefully grip the corner of the picture and jiggle it back and forth until I loosen it. When I finally manage to free it, it slips from my hands and falls to the floor. I suck in a sharp breath and stare at the image for a long time, almost afraid to touch it. But when I finally reach for it, there is nothing I can do to stop the big hiccupping sob clawing its way out of my throat. I tentatively run my finger over the captured image of a very young, very pretty woman, one with a sad yet serious look on her face. When I flip it over and see the name Abigail scrawled on the back, along with a date, my heart turns over in my chest.

  How? Why?

  I consider the photo of my mother longer and as I wonder about the day it was taken, a million questions race through my mind. Was the picture taken before or after the master captured her and tossed her into the basement to live a life of confinement? Had my father picked her to be a part of his world because he loved her, or did he fall in love with her after he’d picked her?

  What did my mother really know about him?

  Remembering my mother has my chest squeezing in heartache, and my eyes filling with water. When my vision blurs, I drop the photo and pull my hands back like they’ve been burned, then look at my closed door. Feeling suddenly confused, and in desperate need of fresh air, I tiptoe across the wood floor, inch open my door and listen for sound. With no one moving about, I creep from the room, retrace my steps down the stairs, and punch in the code to the front door.

  I rush outside, run away from the monstrous mansion, and suck in a huge breath and hold it until my lungs hurt. When I begin to feel lightheaded, I finally exhale and draw in quick sipping breaths to fuel my blood. That’s when I catch the fragrant aroma of flowers. I scent the air for danger, and when I find none, I circle the mansion.

  When I reach the back of the estate, instead of finding an obstacle course housed inside an imprisoned courtyard, I find a lush flower garden, and when I sink to my knees I suddenly feel so very tired, physically and emotionally.

  When a dark shiver pulses in my blood, all I want to do i
s forget. Forget about those I’ve loved and lost. Forget about my failed mission to find the others, to stop the PTF. Forget about how much I’ve hurt the two boys who care so deeply for me.

  But since it’s not in my nature to forget, I pull the sweet perfume into my lungs, and let the memories flood me until I feel like I’m drowning.

  But then another smell hits me from behind, pulling my thoughts to the present. I listen to the quiet approach, fully aware of his presence before he speaks.

  “Hey,” the voice inside my head says.

  I look over my shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Want some company?”

  “Okay,” I say, knowing we need to talk about what happened tonight, but not knowing where to start.

  Taking care not to crush any of the flowers, Stone hunkers down beside me and his warm familiar scent curls around me and hugs my body like a tight sweater. After a long moment he says, “I’m sorry, Pride.”

  I look at him and my heart turns over in my chest when I see the sadness in his eyes. “Sorry about what?”

  “For not catching up with Nova,” he replies soberly.

  There is a new darkness in his eyes and I feel a quiver move through me. “What would you have done if you caught her?” I ask tentatively, a little worried about his answer.

  “I would have killed her.” His words are delivered with such cold calculation it twists my heart and has fear shooting through me.

  “You can’t do that, Stone. You can’t go around killing people.”

  “She threatened you, Pride. And that gives me every right to kill her.”

  I fist my hands until my nails bite into my skin and feel almost frantic when I say, “No. She made a mistake and I don’t want anyone else to die. Not because of me.”

  “Her mistake was falling for Logan,” he says, his voice holding a degree of anger, but there is no hardness in his eyes when he touches my chin and tilts my face until we’re eye to eye. “But I guess we all make mistakes, and we don’t always make rational choices when we’re in love.” He gives a humorless smile and adds, “Now that’s something Nova and I have in common.”