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

by Kalen, Cat

  Kill.

  “Do you take me for a fool?”

  “That would make me a fool,” I say.

  He lets go of my face and crosses his arms over his chest, the lapels of his expensive suit bunching under his arms. “Are you telling me that for the last three weeks, he never once mentioned his pack to you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I was concentrating on my mission, doing whatever was necessary to stay alive so I could get us back here to you.”

  “And did that mission mean running for three weeks?”

  “I ran to avoid the paranormal task force. If they caught me, you’d never get the rogue.” I try to sound casual and give an easy wave of my hand when I add, “So you can let him down. He’s a lone wolf who doesn’t know anything.”

  “He knew enough to get that tracker out of your neck, didn’t he?” he challenges.

  “That wasn’t knowledge. That was luck.” I roll one shoulder. “We were being hunted and I figured if he screwed up I was dead either way.”

  “But you didn’t die, did you.”

  It’s a statement not a question, but I answer anyway. “That’s because you taught me well. I knew it was a way for me to gain his trust and let him think I was on his side so he wouldn’t run away from me.”

  The master glares at me, his eyes are dark, full of suspicion. “Maybe I taught you too well.”

  “Did you think he’d just follow me back here? I had no choice but to let him cut the tracking device out of my throat. I couldn’t let him think I was leading him, or allowing hunters to follow us. He would have bolted for sure.”

  “Where did you get the gun, Pride?”

  I lift my head like he should be proud of me. “I took down an officer and stole his gun, then I turned it on your rogue,” I say, easily pushing the fabrication past my lips.

  As he stares at me long and hard, I realize my scripted lies must be packing a punch, because even Logan looks worried. Like he might actually believe I’d led him back here on purpose. But after everything we’ve shared, intimacies included, he knows me well enough to know that I’ll do anything, anything, to ensure his safety.

  Whether he likes it or not.

  Just then I hear a noise outside the office. When the master looks past my shoulder, I wonder what all the commotion is about. The master makes eye contact with Lawrence. He gives a curt nod, a signal for the handler to open the door. Lawrence turns and I can hear his baggy jeans rubbing and his boots scuffing when he steps out into the hallway.

  I slowly angle my head and catch him speaking quietly to Mica, not quietly enough to prevent me from overhearing, however. But it isn’t what they are saying that holds my attention and has my stomach fluttering. Oh no, it isn’t the food they are discussing that excites me, at all. It’s what I see to the right of the door that fills me with hope and has my heart racing.

  As the overhead light glistens on the rectangular security box hanging on the wall behind the door—its cover slightly ajar—I spot rows and rows of spare keys all lined up like obedient soldiers. I look closer and when I see one key, all shiny and new, I remember my padlock.

  Could that be the key to my escape?

  My mind races quicker than my heart as I plot and strategize a way to get my hands on it. But sensing the master’s deadly gaze drilling into my back, I feign disinterest, turn toward him and keep my face neutral as I study my nails, the same way I once saw Gem do.

  But thinking of Gem has my stomach knotting. I need to find her and free her from the master’s clutches before we can make an escape. I can only assume he’s keeping her close because of me, a token to hold over my head until he determines whether I’ve been broken or not.

  Lawrence comes back and my stomach clenches in distress as he places a tray of sandwiches on the master’s desk. Under the circumstances I couldn’t choke one down even if I tried.

  The master moves back to his seat and reaches for one. As he takes a generous bite, I wonder what kind of cruel, sick man nearly beats another person to death then washes down the blood on his hands with a cucumber sandwich.

  “Have one, Pride,” he says, his eyes gauging me.

  Even though I suspect I’ll only throw it up later, I know better than to refuse. When I reach for one, the master asks, “Who is the girl?”

  “Girl?” I question, stalling as I work to come up with a reasonable explanation, even though I know full well he’s talking about Gem.

  “The one I found wandering around the estate.”

  It takes effort to chew my sandwich as my stomach tries to push it back into my throat. “I have no idea who she is.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that she showed up the same time as you?”

  I don’t for one minute think the master believes in coincidences so I say, “I think she might have followed us from the mountain.”

  He watches me chew for a long moment, then says, “Either way, I think she’ll make a nice addition to the pack. Good breeding material.”

  Emotions press against my heart and I try not to show a reaction as I take another small bite of my sandwich, then, even though I know I’m pushing it, I boldly ask. “Why are you impregnating all the females?”

  He gives me an odd look, like Sandy’s pregnancy means so little to him that it’s not worth remembering, then he responds with, “Ah, you mean Sandy.”

  “Yes,” I say, working hard to keep my anger in check.

  His head nods with satisfaction. “I expect good strong alphas from her.”

  I use that opportunity to turn the conversation back to Logan. “Speaking of alphas, you probably shouldn’t kill him,” I say, trying to keep the desperation from my face, but I need to do something, anything to put an end to his pain and suffering. “He can give you good strong pups.”

  “You think so?” he asks, the corner of his mouth turning up in a knowing smile.

  “I ran with him.” I swallow so hard the sound carries in the bare room. “I know how powerful he is.”

  The master taps his fingers on his desk and shivers skitter up my spine when he gives a humorless laugh, one that reverberates off the walls and echoes around us. His deadly gaze bores into me when he says, “Interesting.”

  I want to ask what he finds so interesting, but shut my mouth when he gestures for Lawrence to release Logan. I take a huge bite of the sandwich to keep myself from crying out in relief. A moment later Logan drops to the floor with a resounding thud. He grips his ribs and a loud groan sounds in his throat, but he’s still unable to shift and heal himself with his collar on.

  Another noise sounds at the door and the master’s eyes harden when he looks up to see one of his bodyguards standing there, a stricken look on his face.

  The guard’s uneasy glance goes from Logan, to me, to the master. “The perimeter has been…” he pauses as though unsure of how much to say in mixed company, then he lowers his voice and murmurs, “breached.”

  My heart leaps, wondering if it’s my small army invading and hoping it’s not. Our plan has been crippled, and now any attempt to overthrow the master with a direct hit will only end in disaster. We’re in no position to fight. Not yet.

  But when the master’s furious gaze jerks to the bodyguard and he asks in a hard voice, “In broad daylight?” before he jackknifes out of his chair, I get the sense that he knows who’s out there, and that such an attack has happened before.

  Curiosity overriding fear, I watch him carefully, taking in the troubled look in his eyes as well as the beads of moisture dotting his forehead. Tension hovers in the air and when his face tightens wearily, I realize he instantly looks older.

  I also realize I’m not the only one he’s at war with.

  Chapter Seven

  My stomach grumbles softly as I listen to Sandy sleep restlessly beside me, my thoughts completely preoccupied with Logan. I play with the elastic band around my wrist and my heart squeezes painfully as I twirl and snap it. I can only hope and pray he’s been p
laced in a cage free of his collar and allowed to shift, otherwise his fate will be sealed and there isn’t a thing I can do about it.

  It never fails to amaze me how strong my new mate is, how sure he is of me. The special bond between us warms me, and I know him well enough to understand that deep inside he believes I’ll always make the right decisions. And even though I don’t want to disappoint him, sometimes I hate the faith he put in me, because sometimes I’m not so sure of myself.

  What if I can’t always do the right thing?

  Watching him suffer while I spilled lies that kept him in manacles was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I hope I never have to go through that again, otherwise I fear it could very well break me.

  I scan my cell and pace quietly as I open my mind and try to contact Stone. I need to know what he knows and figure out what we’re all up against if I want to put a new plan together to get us out of here. I also desperately need to know what’s going on in the mansion, who is friend, who is foe, and who is waging a war against the master.

  I sink to the floor and run my finger through the dirt. As I create pictures in the dust, a habit from childhood, I think about Logan and his promise to one day take me to the ocean. Will he ever be able to keep that promise? Or will the master destroy us first?

  As my thoughts turn to the master, it has me considering his enemies. I’m smart enough to realize that something or someone is out there, threatening him and perhaps his drug cartel. He’s building himself an army for protection. I wonder if the phantom enemy that is closing in from the outside has chased away my small army, or worse, captured them.

  I think of Logan’s family, the ones who came with us and the ones who stayed behind, and know I can’t let the master get his hands on them. As the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place, it instantly becomes clear to me why Logan is so important to the master, why he wanted the rogue wolf brought to him alive—so he can harness Logan’s family and add force to his numbers. And I can’t forget that he’s impregnating the females for that same reason. Werewolf pups grow fast and it doesn’t take them long to learn how to fight. As I mull that worry over, I stifle a yawn as exhaustion pulls at me.

  After a sleepless night my body is beginning to break down and I know I should rest while I still can, because I know the next few days are going to be difficult for all of us.

  I push to my feet, step away from the impenetrable metal bars and force myself to lie down on my cot. As I stare at the wooden boards and scan the ventilation system overhead, my eyes slip shut and I work to regulate my breathing, but there is nothing I can do to stop my mind from recalling the distinct scent my sensitive nose picked up on in those very vents earlier today.

  I lay there for a long time, my mind finally settling, but what feels like hours later, a noise at the foot of the stairs pulls me from my slumber.

  I roll onto my side, unease exploding inside me and raising the hairs on my nape as I peer into the dark. As a tall figure emerges from the shadows and his face comes into full view, my heart crashes against my chest and the room begins to spin before my very eyes.

  “Pride,” the man says after a long time, and the sound of his voice, warm and familiar takes me back to when I was just a pup.

  No! It can’t be.

  As old memories flood me, I rub the sleep from my eyes and wonder if I’m dreaming. Except when I blink my lids back open, he’s still standing there, staring at me from the other side of my cage.

  “Pride,” he says again and my wolf howls in response to the urgency and emotion in his voice.

  Feeling unstable, I tentatively climb to my feet, wondering if this is some sort of trick, some cruel way to break me. I track slowly to the metal bars and grip them hard, but when a warm hand closes around mine, my insides begin to quiver and I sink to the cold floor, my new nightgown dusting the dirty ground and washing away my picture as tears prick my eyes.

  “Father?” is all I can manage around the lump in my throat. “Is that really you?” I ask, completely overwhelmed by the emotions pressing on my heart.

  He smiles at me. It’s warm, but cautious, and helps push back the chill in my body. I look closer, and take in the square shape of his face, older now, weathered, and more severe, like he’s witnessed a lifetime of suffering. But it’s his eyes when they lock on mine that has my heart aching and my throat closing in pain.

  The hurt I see in the depths of his brown eyes, the regret shaping the outer edges twists me up with sadness.

  What happened to him?

  He sinks to the floor beside me. “Pride,” he says. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I whisper. Somehow I find the strength to choke out, “I thought he killed you.”

  Darkness moves over his face, but I’m too numb to react. If the master didn’t kill him, where has he been all this time? But I don’t ask because some small part of me warns me not to, warns that I might not want to hear his answer.

  His hand touches my face. “You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman.” A long pause and then, “I always knew you would.”

  Unable to deal with the emotions his gentle touch brings, I try to cut the tension and mask my feelings by asking, “Are you telling me I wasn’t born with my looks?”

  With that he laughs and while the sound should be warm and comforting, it feels more like a blow to the stomach than anything else and generates a deep sadness inside me.

  I’ve missed him so much.

  “You were beautiful from day one, sweetheart,” he assures me.

  “Now look who’s trying to be funny,” I say, working to keep my voice from shaking as badly as my hands. “I was a gangly runt and you know it.”

  Humor leaves his voice when he says, “What I know is that you’re a survivor, Pride. You always have been and always will be.” His eyes go dark, serious when he continues. “Don’t ever let anyone take that from you.”

  “I won’t,” I say when I see how solemn he’s become, and I feel a strange sense of relief when those two simple words bring a small smile to his face.

  He holds my hand a long time, then breaks the quiet by asking, “Do you remember when you were little and I used to sing to you?”

  I nod.

  “Do you remember the words?”

  As my mind recalls his whispered lyrics about love, loss and forgiveness, I say, “Yes.”

  “Good,” he says and pats my hands. “That’s good, Pride.” Then I hear something in his voice, something that sounds like regret when he asks, “Do you remember the last words I spoke to you?” His voice hitches when he adds, “Before I left here?”

  I swallow, and wonder what he’s getting at. What is he trying to tell me? As I struggle to understand, to puzzle things out, I say, “Yes. You told me that some things are worse than death.”

  “Do you know why I said that to you, Pride?” He shifts closer, and when his comforting scent curls around me my heart tightens with long ago memories.

  “To help me stay strong?” I answer, my voice sounding strangled, even to myself.

  Anxiety fills his features and my body stiffens, everything inside me warning that I might not be ready for what he’s about to say next. “Partly,” he says, his voice falling off as we exchange a long look. But as I sit in silence, waiting for him to explain, he closes his mouth. As his lips form a tight white line I can’t help but wonder if he thinks I’m not ready to hear it yet either.

  But before I can ask him what else it means a noise above us has him stiffening. He presses a finger to my lips to hush me and slowly climbs to his feet.

  He begins to back away from me, and I reach for him. “No. Don’t go.”

  “Forgive me, Pride,” he says as he steps further away, until he disappears into the darkness. “Sometimes we have to do what we have to do.”

  Breathing hard I jump up from the cold floor, my hand still outstretched as I frantically scan the cellar, my father’s voice still lingering in the night
even though I can’t catch any remaining scent of him. My gaze darts from left to right, but when I find myself alone inside my cell, the basement empty except for Sandy, who is just beginning to wake, I let loose a cry.

  It was a nightmare!

  As that reality slowly sinks in I throw myself onto my mattress. I work to regulate my erratic breathing as my battered mind rushes in all directions, and I note the small part of me warning that it wasn’t a dream at all, that my father really was here.

  But it had to be a nightmare, I tell myself. It had to be. A bad dream that was brought on by yesterday’s trauma. Otherwise it means my father has done something.

  Something he needs forgiveness for.

  But as a confined wolf who’s been taught to trick and lure, I know nothing about forgiveness.

  Except he wasn’t here, I remind myself. None of this is real. It can’t be. Swallowing uneasily, my shaky gaze goes to the door at the top of the stairs and I find it tightly shut, no signs that anyone has been in or out.

  But no matter how hard I try to convince myself that it was nothing but a night terror, my stomach clenches with worry, because there is a part of me that believes while my father might not have been here physically, he was still communicating with me.

  As I think more about our exchange, I wonder what he is trying to tell me. What is he asking of me? Despite my worn out body needing sleep, I’m suddenly too afraid to close my eyes. Instead, I lay there for the rest of the night, and run our conversation over and over in my mind until I hear the upstairs pipes groan awake.

  A sign that the household is rising.

  I’m thankful when the handler finally comes, and don’t even care that it’s Lawrence. All I want is to get out of my cage and get outside, to let the warm sunshine melt the ice inside me. Less than ten minutes later I find myself in the courtyard, the air fresh and crisp, the sky clear of clouds after yesterday’s heavy rain storm.