Pride Unleashed (a Wolf's Pride novel, book 2)

by Kalen, Cat

  As I focus in on Logan and take in the dark, troubled shadows beneath his eyes I can’t help but feel an odd sense of betrayal for allowing another alpha into my thoughts. But it’s not my fault that Stone and I defy nature and can mentally communicate when in human form. I realize it’s not something the others wolves can do, and I can’t explain why the two of us are an exception to the rule. All I know is that we are.

  “Well,” Lawrence probes as he tosses me another leash, the air between us crackling with volatile electricity as he waits for my answer. “Is it the hard way or the easy way, kitten?” he asks again.

  With no choice but to block Stone from my thoughts so I can fully concentrate on this current crisis, I catch the collar with a hand that bears deep purple scars—whip wounds received from doing things the hard way. But lessons learned have taught me when to push and when to back off.

  Without averting my gaze in a show of submission like I’m supposed to, I continue to glare at Lawrence. After all, the handler wouldn’t expect anything less from me. The cold metal collar sends chills scurrying down my spine as I secure the restraint around my neck and snap it in place, my compliance answering his question.

  When metal grinds metal, the lock sliding home, Lawrence visibly relaxes because he knows once I’m leashed, shifting is impossible. Not unless I want to put breaking my neck at the top of my to-do list. And right now those top spots are reserved for a select few.

  Lawrence steps away from the vehicle and I can’t help but bare my teeth as he hooks a heavy chain to my collar and gives it a good hard tug. I jerk forward, my neck nearly snapping like a dry twig, and I can feel Logan’s tension spreading like an unleashed virus.

  Before it infects Lawrence and causes him to react, I want to tell Logan to back down. We can’t break cover, or let the handlers or anyone else in the compound know what we mean to each other. In this prison our feelings for one another will simply be used against us.

  I slant my head to see my mate but no matter how hard I try I still can’t speak to him telepathically when in human form. Using my eyes, I telegraph a message, and he correctly interprets the meaning. When he lowers his head in submission, I turn back to Lawrence and see the suspicion darkening his eyes.

  “Should we get this over with?” I ask in an effort to take his focus off Logan.

  There is a dangerous edge to Lawrence’s voice, one I’ve never heard before when he focuses back in on me and says, “Over with? Oh no, Pride, this is far from over.” The malicious look on his face tells me he knows something I don’t and ribbons of fear trickle along the back of my neck when he adds, “For you, kitty cat, this is just the beginning.”

  Chapter Two

  I fight to steady the pulse thrumming in my throat as Lawrence punches a code into the number pad behind us. When the metal gate clangs shut, the loud sound resonates in my ears and I can’t help but feel a certain amount of unease.

  As the security system engages, the fence emits a low frequency hum, a warning that the power has been restored. And of course we all know what that means. Any attempt to scale the barrier will result in death. A familiar shudder moves through me when I steal a quick look at the key pad and strategize the best way to short-circuit the wires should our plan veer off course.

  Once Lawrence has us both chained and under his control, he gives us a good hard tug to set us into motion. Purposely keeping two measured steps ahead of us, he ushers us up the long twisting driveway and I suddenly feel like cattle being led to the slaughter house.

  Understanding the magnitude of our actions, and that we’re about to walk into the lion’s den, I gulp down my discomfort and deliberately keep my focus off Logan, unable to let my emotions get the best of me. Instead, I draw on my rage and glare at Lawrence as he hurries forward. While there is an air of bravado about the handler, I know he’s afraid. But he isn’t just afraid of me and what I can do to him.

  He’s also afraid of the master.

  In the master’s house, the handlers and staff have about as much freedom as the wolves do. The master’s employees are made up of illegal immigrants, ones who either follow the master’s command or risk deportation. I wonder briefly if Lawrence would take his freedom if offered. That thought raises another one. Many of the wolves have been broken, so who in the compound is truly my ally?

  Who can I trust?

  Behind us the vehicle is left abandoned, the steroid-induced guards tight on our heels. They’re both breathing heavy and my wolf can’t help but take pleasure in the sound of their hearts pumping hard, can’t help but bask in the delicious scent of their warm blood as it rushes through their veins at breakneck speed. It makes her hungry, feral, and edgy and since it helps keep her on the top of her game I let her inhale the enticing aromas, let her pull them deep into her lungs so she can savor them later—when she just might have to feed off them for basic animal survival.

  As our footfalls slice the quiet, I scan my surroundings and sort through the different smells clogging the air, all the while looking for signs of danger. For the millionth time since awakening, I carefully run through our dangerous plan and calculate the risks, the threats I accounted for and the ones I have no control over.

  When we reach the front door, Lawrence punches in another code. After the lock inches open, he turns the knob, uses his shoulder to shove the door open and hauls us inside. The second I enter the grand entranceway I widen my eyes and commit the foyer to memory. Instincts dictate that I look for any type of change, anything that could hinder my escape plan.

  That’s when I take note of the new security system. The one Stone warned me about when he met up with me in the national park.

  Surprised at finding the little white box so easily, my pulse leaps, but I draw a calming breath to slow the blood sprinting through my veins. The last thing I want to do is show any sort of reaction and raise suspicion. But it does make me wonder why the master never bothered to conceal the monitor. Perhaps he has no fears that his wolves can break the code and escape. Then I remember what Stone told me. The security system wasn’t installed to keep us in, but rather, to keep something or someone out.

  Who or what could the master possibly be afraid of?

  As I consider that longer, I wonder how Logan plays into all of this. The master was, after all, desperate to capture the rogue wolf alive. So desperate, in fact, that he risked sending out his best tracker when there was a high possibility that I’d run. Was the master worried that Logan could lead a team of wolves back if he made it to his pack in the Canadian mountains?

  Or was he worried about something else entirely?

  The hairs along my arm prickle and I turn back to face Lawrence, fully expecting him to lead both Logan and me into the east wing, to the master’s office at the far end of the mansion. But when he separates us, handing Logan off to one of the guards, I try to appear unaffected by this surprise parting.

  I watch Logan go, catching one last glimpse of him before he disappears from my line of vision. Once he’s gone, I push down my anxiety and work to convince myself that this wolf—this teenage boy who’s come to mean so much to me—can handle whatever punishment the master is about to inflict upon him. Because the alternative is much too difficult for me to consider.

  Lawrence herds me past the small security office just inside the main entrance. I peruse the guard manning his station, then switch my focus to the vast array of monitors in time to catch fleeting images just beyond the perimeter. I narrow my focus, and my gut recoils when I realize something is out there.

  Something, dark, sleek, and stealthy.

  Something that looks cat-like, only bigger. My instincts go on high alert, every nerve ending in my body coming alive as my wolf clamors to take chase.

  Acutely aware that my team is also out there while some unidentifiable danger lurks in the shadows, tendrils of unease slither restlessly through me. I blink my eyes and try to figure out who or what is prowling around the master’s private kingdom. But bef
ore my brain can decipher what kind of creature is stalking the vineyard, I’m led toward the back stairwell.

  That’s when it occurs to me that Lawrence is taking me to my former cage in the bowels of the estate. My feet come to a resounding halt, troubled by this turn of events.

  “I want to see the master,” I say, eager to face him here and now, partly because I want to get the dreaded meeting over with and partly because I don’t want to be tossed into my pen for the remainder of the night, wondering about Logan’s fate. His future. The torture he’s about to endure.

  One dark eyebrow shoots up, mocking me. “Since when do you call the shots around here, pet?” He draws out the word pet just to taunt me. But I can’t let that get to me right now. I have more important matters to deal with.

  Like gaining my enemy’s trust.

  I need the master to believe my rehearsed lies otherwise he might keep me from the courtyard tomorrow. If I don’t set my plan into motion at the proper time, there is a good chance I won’t get another shot at this and my mission to free the others and demolish the master once and for all could be over before it even begins.

  That thought has anger rising in my throat and a sick, nervous feeling rushes through my bloodstream. But as Lawrence pins me with a glare, I understand what the master is doing, understand that this is simply another form of punishment, a means to break his rebellious wolf.

  I also understand I’m in no position to change it.

  But I quickly remind myself that the night is young, and the master could still summon me. I need to cling to that crumb of hope because it’s the only way I can face the next few hours of solitary confinement. I swallow down my apprehension and continue to let Lawrence lead me down the dimly lit hallway. We reach the cellar door and I wince when he flicks the light on.

  I try to keep my breathing steady as I take in the cold cement floor at the foot of the stairs. The dank smell of the dirty cellar, wet and sticky against the inside of my nose, rises up to assault my senses and a guttural sound lodges in my throat.

  After experiencing freedom in the mountains—freedom to climb the ice-capped peaks, to drink from the rivers, and to live off nature—equal measures of dread and discomfort careen through my veins. The last thing I want to do is descend those steps, only to end up locked up in that same small, suffocating cage that imprisoned me for the last seventeen years.

  The very place that haunts my memories.

  Forcing myself to stay calm, I stand there for a moment, my wolf howling frantically inside me. While she is fearless in the face of danger, her instincts are telling her to run, to listen to Stone’s warning. I place my hand over my stomach to hush her, to remind her that it’s only a temporary situation and soon enough we will be free again.

  After I placate her, she crouches nervously and I question myself. Who am I’m really trying to convince? Me or her?

  “Move it.”

  Lawrence shoves me hard but I manage to brace myself on the door frame moments before I tumble head first down the stairwell. My lips curl back to expose sharp canines, and as my nails elongate, nature urges me to shift. To pounce.

  To kill.

  I draw in a sharp, calming breath, my body burning from the inside out, but I know better than to shift with my collar on. Using every ounce of strength I possess I gather my control before it snaps like a taut bow and settle for a low throaty growl meant to intimidate.

  Ignoring the warning rumble reverberating off the walls around us, Lawrence says, “Normally I’d say ladies first.” He pauses mid sentence to look over my small frame. I follow his gaze and note that over the past few weeks my body has filled out quite considerably. Now that I’m no longer starving, my skin sports a soft pink hue and my ribs don’t protrude quite as much as they used to. Something, I’m sure, the master will quickly correct.

  “Except you’re anything but lady. Isn’t that right, kitty cat?” he scoffs. As I glare at him he adds, “In fact you’re nothing but a runt with the body of a twelve-year-old boy.”

  That comment might have stung a few weeks ago, and while there is no disputing the fact that I am and always will be the runt of the litter, Logan has taught me to use my size as a strength rather than a weakness. He also made me very aware of my female body in other ways. But I know it’s that awareness that is going to make it difficult for me to pretend I’m the same Pride that left here three weeks ago.

  Because I’m not.

  The light dims as I descend the stairs slowly, wondering who or what is waiting for me at the bottom. I don’t expect to see Jace or Clover, the elders I’ve bunked with my entire life. My heart clenches and I breathe deep to push down my emotions when I think about them, think about the sacrifices they made to free me.

  When stair number five creaks I hear a waking moan a few feet away. My eyes adjust to the dark and that’s when I see Sandy, a young fertile female, stirring in Clover’s old cage.

  Her big brown eyes widen in surprise when I approach, but beneath that gleam I catch a glimpse of something else, something that has my hackles rising. I watch her carefully, trying to determine if I can trust her or if she’s been broken.

  As I look for some small telltale sign that the master has turned her from a playful pup into a killer watchdog, Lawrence opens my cage and shoves me in. When my feet skid to a halt on the dusty cement, I spin around to face him. Instead of closing the cage behind me, he widens it even more, the hinges groaning like a wounded wolf. While I expect him to hastily retreat, to run back to the master like the obedient handler he is, he surprises me by holding his ground in the darkened shadows, glaring down at me.

  Caution aside, I bare my teeth. “What?” I growl, unnerved by the way those beady eyes of his are moving over my body.

  He extends one hand, palm up and smirks. “Your clothes.”

  My heart drops into my stomach as I turn my focus to the fashionably ripped jeans and snug t-shirt covering my body, clothes lent to me by Gem and worn by every ordinary teenage girl on the outside, something I’ve always longed to be. Had I really expected that I’d be allowed to keep them inside the compound?

  “Now,” he orders.

  I’m smart enough to know that stripping me of my clothes is simply another way of stripping me of my dignity and it’s also a reminder that we’re allowed to own nothing in this prison.

  That we are nothing.

  Since the old Pride never would have balked at being naked in front of the others my hands go to my t-shirt. Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, I grip the hem and peel it from my chest. Then I rip my jeans from my hips.

  As I push them down my legs and kick them off, my skin crawls like a million insects nipping at my bare body. I scratch at my flesh and ignore the urge to grab a blanket to cover myself. Instead, I glare back and don’t even bother to keep the disgust from my voice when I ask, “So I guess you have a thing for twelve-year-old boys then?”

  Black eyes shoot daggers as his head comes up with a start, his fiery gaze scalding me with the power of a thousand burning suns.

  “What are you talking about?” he spits back, practically frothing at the mouth as he pulls a vile face and glares at me in challenge.

  I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He knows full well what I’m talking about. Before he can retaliate, the sound of Sandy shifting restlessly beside us gains our concentration and cuts the rising tension. In one swift move, Lawrence grabs my clothes off the floor, slams my door shut and smashes his hand down over my lock. The sound echoes in the room but I refuse to cringe as I hear the bolt slide home, refuse to give Lawrence that kind of pleasure.

  But my wolf, knowing she is trapped inside this impenetrable prison for the entire night, wails in sheer agony and I can feel her spirit die just a little. The only time she ever felt alive was when she was running, when she was with Logan. I hush her, promising she’ll have those things again, no matter what it takes.

  “Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Lawrence says
, and I can hear his smug satisfaction as his lips twist in triumph.

  I want to respond, want to let him know that while he won this battle I plan to win the war, but the words sit on the back of my tongue because I know when enough is enough. I grip the bars and glare at Lawrence’s retreating back as he ascends the stairs and douses the lights, leaving us in complete darkness.

  Once he’s gone, I let loose a breath and step back. Shaking off my anger, I turn around and take in my old cot and ratty blanket, neatly draped over the worn mattress. At the end of my bed I find my white nightgown. Surprised, I pick it up and when the fresh scent of laundered clothing reaches my nostrils, I pull the gown to my nose and inhale. I can only assume Mica washed and folded it for me, but it does make me wonder if the aging housekeeper knew I’d return, either on my own, or by force. Then again, maybe she hadn’t done it for me at all. Maybe they all believed I was gone for good and it’s now time for one of the pups to move into my cage.

  Only those who’ve reached puberty are allowed to have their own dens. Then they’re put through a series of tests and agility training to determine who is the strongest—which two wolves will produce the finest offspring.

  We have many elders who are well past their prime and are no longer reproducing, but they’re kept alive because they’re still great trackers. Right now, however, only Stone, Sandy and I are of breeding age—and that’s one of the main reasons why I ran away three weeks ago.

  After the master decided that I was good breeding stock, I knew I had to flee. Not only did I think Stone was my enemy, the last thing I wanted to do was bring puppies into this world to suffer at the hands of the master.

  Thinking about Stone has me dropping my mental mind shields. I search for him, anxious to open communication again, to fill him in on our plan, but with the thick basement walls forming an impenetrable barrier, I can’t quite tap into his thoughts.