Pride Unleashed (a Wolf's Pride novel, book 2) (6 page)

That
we
ar
e nothing
.

Since the old Pride never would have b
alked at being n
aked
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
.
T
hen
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 blank
et 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 sp
its back
, practically frothing at the mouth as he pulls a
vile
face a
nd
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 h
is 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 c
ot
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 cloth
ing
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
do
ne
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
—wh
ich two wolves will produce the finest offspring.

We have many elders who are
well
past
their
prime
and are no longer reproduc
ing
, but
they’re
kept alive because the
y’re
still great tracker
s
.
Right now, however, o
nly 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
communicat
ion
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.

After risking his life to give me my freedom, I know he’s angry that I’ve come sauntering back
into the compound like nothing happened
between us at Olympic National Park
.
And
if there is one thing I know, Stone’s
anger means trouble
.
I also
know exactly who
he’ll direct t
hat
anger
at.
But
surely he knows me well enough to
understand that I
’m not about to
take my freedom at the expense of his or anyone else’s.

I
listen for sound upstairs, hoping
the
master is going to call for me as I
pull my nightgown on over my chilled body and
drop down onto my bed
.
S
curry
ing
backward until my back is pressed against the cool
cellar
wall
,
I pull my knees to my chest and l
et the
cement
foundation
suck
the heat from my
bones
.
The last thing I want to do is get
too comfortable
in this prison.

As my wolf
growls softly,
I
turn m
y head to see Sandy.
Curled in
to
the fetal position, h
er long
wheat
-
co
lored
hair
falls forward
to
mask her f
eatures.
A
s I study her
it
suddenly
occurs to me that she
’s pretending to be asleep
.
But f
rom the rise and fall of her chest I can tell she’s
wide
awake
and paying very close attention to her surroundings
.

I
struggle to figure out wh
at’s going on
.
Why did she
go from surprised to cold when she first saw me
coming down the stairs
?
Could it be because she’s
angry with me
?
Angry that the elders were killed because of me
?

Sadness overwhelms me and
I take a deep breath
to
drag the heavy air into my lungs.
As I do I catch faded smells of Jace and Clover, but as I move past those scents,
I catch another aroma
.
It’s faint,
but
it’s there just the same.

I pull it in, trying to decode it
, trying to figure out why it’s
vaguely
familiar to me.
But the answer continues to linger just out of my reach.
I wrack my brain
until the ugly truth hits
me harder than a blow to the gut
.
M
y heart goes into my throat and I
jackknife
from the cot.

“No!” I cry out, my glance moving to
Sandy’s
belly, to determine how far along she is.

My
fists
pound on the metal bars, then
I
grip the
m
until my knuckles turn white
.
Guilt eats at me for leaving her, for not being here to protect her from this
kind of abuse
.
It should have been me the master bred, not her.
She’s too young.
Too
i
nnocent.

I want to call out to her, to tell her how sorry I am
.
But when
I see
her lips curve
like she’s happy about her little secret
another thought hits.

Who’s the father?

Before I can consider it further, a loud noise
at the top of the stairwell
gains my attention.
My eyes dart to
the distant
door, and
my
heart hammers a
gainst my chest when
I hear angry voices followed by
pounding footsteps and
slamming doors.
The
master’s
dark, dangerous
tone
curls around me
and squeezes
my chest
like a tight fist
.

As air evacuates my lungs,
ever
y
instinct I possess tells me I should have listened to Stone, because
everything in the master’s rage
warns
me
that
I’m in very serious trouble
here
.

E
qual measures of f
ear
and fury
shoot through me and
my wolf
—s
ensing that her life is in grave danger
—g
rowls
in re
taliation
and
prepare
s
for
a
fight
.
My canines punch through my gums and
I drop to the floor
and
hunker low,
bracing myself as I
wait
for
the
ambush.

Honestly, I didn’t think my first night back was going to be a ple
as
ant one, but
I
didn’t
think it w
as going
be my last one
either
.

Time slows to a
n agonizing
crawl as I continue to wait
.
Seconds tick by and
soon minutes turn into hours.
I stay crouched low,
hunkered down on my hands and feet,
but
when
the
invasion
never comes
I
begin to suspect that
t
he anticipation
of an attack
is
far
w
orse than any torture
t
he
master
c
ould possibly
inflict
upon me
.