by Cat Kalen
I watch him exchange a deadly look with both Logan and Stone in the rearview mirror, and when the scent of his rage pollutes the interior of the vehicle, my animal yelps. Stone’s eyes darken to a dangerous shade of silver as my father climbs from the SUV, crosses in front of it, and practically tears the passenger door clear off its hinges.
The officer, as if expecting this turn of events, puts his hands up palms out. “Okay, okay,” he says, the panic he’s feeling apparent in his tone. “Take it easy. I said I’d tell you everything I know.”
He slides from the seat. When my father slams the door with a resounding thud, I bolt forward and climb over Gem, Sandy, and Blaze as they watch the action unfold. Fearing he’s about to assassinate the man out here where his body will never be found, I jump from the vehicle.
Without looking behind me I know both Stone and Logan are tight on my heels. Loose gravel crunches beneath my boots as I hurry toward the trees fringing the highway.
Leaving the vehicle on the side of the road, keys still in the ignition, my father backs the officer up until they’re shrouded by foliage.
Once he has him in the shadows, he says, “We’re not going any farther, not until you answer my questions.”
With a common goal in mind, Logan and Stone instinctively begin to work together. They flank the officer while my father proceeds with a pat down. When he finds no tracking devices, or a second gun, he stands up and folds his arms across his chest.
“First,” he says, a new hardness in his tone as his lips peel back. As I watch him, I can feel my own gums tighten in response. “Who are you?”
I don’t miss the worry in the officer’s voice when he answers with, “The name is Mike Sanford.”
“Okay, Sanford, you say you’re not involved, so why then were you in a PTF hideout with a caged shader?”
“Call off your dogs first.” he says, his nervous glance going back and forth between Stone and Logan. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”
My father’s laugh is humorless as he pins him with a glare. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen. You spared my daughter’s life, which is the only reason you’re still alive, but if I find out you’re part of the team hunting for sport, those two,” he says, stopping to nod toward the deadly shaders baring their fangs, “are going to make sure you disappear.”
“I’m not part of the team. I’m not a part of any team.” He looks at me before adding, “Not anymore.”
I step up to him and tilt my chin until our eyes meet. “What do you mean, not anymore?”
“I know you’re not a monster, Pride. You opened my eyes to that.” He stops to rake shaky hands through his short hair. “Which is why I assembled a new team after our encounter at the Canadian border. But when headquarters found out, they made a visit to our branch. I tried to explain to them that not all shaders are bloodthirsty animals and that perhaps we needed to change tactics.”
“And?”
“And they determined that I was growing soft. They disassembled my team and kicked me off the force.”
A shiver turns my blood to ice and when I exhale, my breath fogs in front of my face. “You’re working alone then?”
“I’m working alone, but it’s not what you think.”
“Tell me what I think.”
“Let me just tell you what I know.” He pauses, but when I say nothing he continues. “I went there to stop them from killing that girl. You were the last person I expected to find in the safe house.”
“I never expected to find you there either.”
He looks confused for a moment then asks, “How did you find out about the hideout, anyway?”
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? 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. I think about the caged girl, and I 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 shader is a shader in their eyes. Age doesn’t matter, and the young ones are usually faster.”
“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.”
“Has anything been done about the imprisoned shaders?”
“Yes, but not by us.”
Unease crawls along my flesh and I wrap my arms around myself. “Strays?”
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.”
Sanford gives a worried shake of his head. “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 us versus them, I swallow and push the next words past my lips. “We had a group with us when we escaped from the compound. They were ambushed and ran, but they 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. 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 our kind, to come face-to-face with the things he’s done, I’m suddenly not so sure that I’ll ever be okay again.
Chapter Eight
A tremor moves through me as my father drives the vehicle along the winding driveway leading to his estate. 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 I 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 to 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 shaders 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, I eye the perimeter and wonder if the high-voltage gate locking the world out—and us in—is still powered with electricity. If we have to get out in a hurry, will we all be electrocuted?
I mentally catalogue the area and search for an escape route. While I believe my father 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 big sausage fingers 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 the work of a caring housekeeper?
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. 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 through the ventilation system. I 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.
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. 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?
When my vision blurs, I drop the photo and pull my hands back like they’ve been burned, then I 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 light-headed, I finally exhale and draw in quick sipping breaths to fuel my blood.