Pride's Run (3 page)

Just then the clouds split open, the sun
peeking out in time to catch the action. Panting beneath the
glaring rays, my legs eat up the ground and I hit the first wall
running. Concentrating on the rasp of my own breath and the
pounding of my heart, I tune Stone out.

The silence of the crowd is broken by a
chorus of frenzied barks at my rear. The sound of other wolves
cheering us on makes me think of Jace and Clover and I push harder.
They need me to win this. They need the nutrition I’ll receive as a
reward.

I scale the first wall. Easy. Then bolt
toward the next obstacle, Jacob’s ladder. With instincts guiding
me, I begin my ascent, fully aware how the rungs get farther and
farther apart.

I coach myself.
Easy, Pride. Slowly.
Carefully. Don’t look down.

When I reach the top platform, I clamp the
knotted rope with my sharp canines and bear down. My legs push off
the ledge and I swing low, my paws mere inches from the ground as I
cross the mud pit. An adjustment has been made and my light weight
causes me to overshoot the sand by a few inches and I land with a
thud onto the hard ground. I curse under my breath, determined not
to make that mistake again. Blinking back the pain, I climb to my
feet and shake it off. I don’t bother to check on Stone. I can hear
his pants and know he is closing the gap.

Up ahead is the net and I
know
what
they’ve done, what Mario had been hinting at. This next obstacle
could very well decide the outcome. Logic assures me that since
Stone is big on strength and light on brains, he’s bound to miss
it.

I catch a flash of black fur as Stone runs by
me. If he spots the flaw, I could end up going on scraps today. I
can go on scraps. I’ve done it numerous times before. The aging
Jace and Clover are another story and thoughts of them prompt me to
dig in harder.

Stone bares sharp white teeth and glances at
me over his shoulder as he takes to the outside edge of the net,
where the netting hasn’t been tampered with. Shocked, I open my
mouth, but no sound comes.

He’s already at the top of his net by the
time I reach mine. He looks down at me and using telepathy, the way
our kind communicates when in wolf form, barks out, “
What’s the
matter, Pride? Cat got your tongue
?”

I briefly note the way his aging bunkmates,
Cruz and Star aren’t cheering him on. Why would they? Greedy boy
that Stone is, he never shares his victor’s reward with them. Not
that we’re allowed to share. But still, I don’t let that stop
me.

Getting my head back into the game, I
scramble up quickly and drop to the ground on the other side of the
net. Stone’s inky black tail wags as he takes the lead.
Determination renewed, I look at the strategically placed orange
cones, not his tail.

He hasn’t won yet.

I move in and out of the zig-zags, my small
size and agility giving me an advantage over his larger, more
muscled frame. I catch up with Stone and rage flashes in his pewter
eyes as he angles his head to see me. That split second of
inattention gives me the advantage. Wanting to drive home the fact
that my brains have beaten his brawn, I grin and gesture toward the
soft ground seconds before Stone’s beefy paws sink into the trap,
seconds before it’s too late for him to do anything about it. When
he stumbles, collective cheers ring out behind me. I jump over the
man-made mud hole camouflaged by patches of green grass as the
sound of Stone’s teeth crashing together reverberates through the
air.

I push forward, tackling the hurdles with
ease and a few minutes later I reach the end. With a swish of my
tail I turn to see Stone, now knee deep in mud. His nostrils flare,
his teeth flash, and his eyes darken when he looks at me. In a
swift movement that takes me by surprise, he leaps from the mud
pit.

He exposes his fangs in challenge and
instantly the air charges. Just like the animal he is, he turns on
me. As I watch him, my mother’s familiar warning words come rushing
back.

Trust no one but family.

Despite our human halves, the wolves inside
us are still primal beings, ruled by instincts and survival of the
fittest. I can never let myself forget that.

I can feel the rage unfurling inside him as
he lunges with lightning speed. I go up on my haunches in response
to his threat. He swipes at me, his long nails tearing past fur and
catching the fleshy part of my cheek. I strike back, clamping my
jaw around his jugular and dragging him to the ground. He proves
too strong and within seconds he flips me over, promptly trapping
me belly up between the ground and his powerful body. He flattens
himself out along my length and puts his mouth near my ear.

“
I’m going to enjoy breaking you,
kitty-cat
,” he murmurs.

I crinkle my nose, laugh and go straight for
his ego. “
The only thing you can break is wind
,” I taunt in
an attempt to rattle him.

Angered by my words he throws his head back
and the deep sound coming from the depths of his throat sends a
flock of birds into the blue sky. That gives me the opportunity to
pull my legs out from beneath him and secure them under his
stomach. With every ounce of strength I possess I push, sending him
hurtling backwards. His howl stabs the air as he lands with a
crash.

I climb to my feet and crouch low and note
how much stronger Stone is getting. When he learns to fight with
his head and not his heart, I’m going to be in big trouble. Right
now he doesn’t get it that there is no place for emotions in the
battle of life and death.

Stone quickly rights himself and stalks
toward me. As we square off again, guns cock above our heads and
the master blows his canine whistle. Obedient dog that Stone is, he
halts his forward momentum and shifts back to human. I watch him
circle around and saunter off. I don’t, however, miss the gleam in
his eyes before he turns away—a gleam that speaks of secrets.

What does he know that I don’t?

Crouched on all fours I quickly shift back to
my human form and do something I haven’t done in a long time. I
touch Stone’s mind and the instant I do his dark, chaotic thoughts
hit me like a sucker punch. My stomach twists in response and a hot
wave of nausea rolls through me.

Determined to figure out what he knows before
I break the connection, I push past the confusion. When I hear him
erratically reciting a sequence of numbers I struggle to make sense
of what he’s doing. I go deeper and catch flashes of his cage,
flashes of silver in a dark cellar. I hear footsteps followed by an
ear-shattering gunshot. Then I see blood trickling between his
lips, which not only alarms me but confuses me even more.

I press my hands over my ears to mute the
thunderous sounds, and try to puzzle things out. None of it makes
senses. If Stone had fought with a handler, I would have heard
about it—news spreads quicker than a virus in the courtyard. But
Stone would never fight with a handler. He’s in tight with them and
they give him way more leeway than the rest of us, which makes me
wonder what’s going on inside that head of his.

Then another more disturbing thought hits. Is
this what happens to the mind once a wolf has been broken?

My chest tightens and I can’t help but feel a
pang of sympathy for him. Stone had been a good pup. A
playmate.

A burst of sadness I can’t allow myself to
feel is quickly replaced by a cold shiver when Stone’s hard eyes
lock back on mine. He knows. He knows I’ve been inside. When I feel
him searching, pushing his frenzied thoughts into my head, I go
back on the defensive and immediately close off my mind.

Perplexed and feeling anxious after that
brief encounter I summon my composure, climb to my feet and turn
away in time to see the next two wolves line up for their test.

I move off to the side and spot Mario walking
along the perimeter of the brick fence. He steps up to me, puts my
collar back on and hands me my nightgown. A gunshot rings out as I
pull it on over my mud-caked body.

“He wants to see you,” he says and gestures
with a nod. I don’t need to look up to know who he is talking
about. I can smell his expensive cologne and hear the squishing
sound of his leather shoes on the ground as he approaches. I look
up anyway.

My master…

The man who controls me.

I might be kept in the dark about most of the
master’s business dealings, but it’s common knowledge among the
wolves that he is deeply involved in the drug cartel. I smell it
all over him. A tracker like me is called into action when
something goes wrong. No one crosses my master and gets away with
it. If you try, I’m brought in to make an example out of you,
usually around the throat area.

I know what I’m doing is wrong. But I can’t
contain my wolf, can’t fight the raging hunger gnawing at me. Maybe
it would be different if I’d been taught. That’s not part of my
education though, because my master wants me to embrace my wild
side. It does, however, give me some measure of comfort to know
that the men I take down are no better than my master. Beneath
their expensive cologne I can smell the greed, the deceit, the
drugs.

“Good morning, Pride,” the master says as he
closes the distance between us. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his
dark piercing eyes as they rake over me. The fine lines and creases
on his face crisscross like a chain-link fence as he narrows his
focus in concentration. Confidence oozes off his tall, powerful
body, demanding the respect of those beneath his stature. Dark
shiny hair frames a firm face, wrinkled and aged from too much time
in the sun. With his dominant manner and well-groomed presence, if
he were a wolf, he’d undoubtedly be the alpha. Today he looks
relaxed and comfortable in his designer sports attire that, come
afternoon, will be replaced by an expensive suit.

Strides determined, he comes closer and Mario
steps away. My stomach growls and I wait for him to signal the
handler to come back and take me to the kitchen. I won the race,
which means I get to dine on the freshest food, not scraps or
leftovers, and I always make sure to put some away for my
bunkmates. At their age, even when pitted against their peers, they
rarely win the race.

Still though, sometimes even when I perform
my best I’m forced to go the rest of the day on very little. Even
though I’m the runt, the master knows I come from good breeding and
he has it in his head that I can always do better. Isn’t beating a
strong alpha like Stone in an extreme obstacle course enough?

He’s not signaling a handler, which makes me
think he has a job for me. He likes me hungry when I hunt. He
thinks it gives me an edge.

“Master,” I say.

He has that look in his eyes again. One that
tells me a job needs to be done. He slips his finger under my chin,
and I try not to flinch. I don’t like to be touched, especially by
him. My mother’s touch was the only one I didn’t shy away from. If
I close my eyes real tight, I can almost remember what it feels
like to be held in her strong arms, to be pulled into her embrace.
I remember the way she had the uncanny ability to make me feel
safe, even though I knew I was anything but.

The master’s dark gaze moves over my face,
assessing me, and I lower my eyes like any obedient canine would
do–I might not be broken but I do know how to play the game. The
stitched green alligator on his shoe, stark against the pristine
white leather, glares at me, as if to warn: one wrong move and I’ll
eat you alive.

An odd, almost animalistic sound, rumbles in
the master’s throat and my head jerks up with a start. I stare at
his jugular as I sniff the air and can almost taste his excitement
on the tip of my tongue. He always gets like this before a kill.
Although gut instincts tell me there is something else going on
inside his head. I can sense it. He wants something else from
me.

But what?

“It’s time, Pride.”

My stomach clenches and my mind races
.
I really, really don’t like the sound of this.

“Time for what?” I ask and stare him straight
in the eyes, something us pups aren’t allowed to do and I wonder if
my disobedience will come with a price.

Instead of answering he gives me that
confident smirk of his and says, “Get yourself something to eat,
then get prettied up. I have a surprise for you.”

A
surprise?

The sick, uneasy feeling in my stomach
tightens to a painful knot and a strange, horrible sense of
foreboding crawls over my skin. I claw at my pale flesh, and
despite the puffy, red welts rising up in response, I still can’t
shed the god-awful feeling that something very bad is about to go
down.

As I consider this unexpected turn of events,
the master snaps his fingers and gestures for Mario. A second later
he pivots and steps away and I twist around to watch the handler’s
slow, careful approach. That’s when my glance lands on Stone
standing some twenty feet away. Looking hard and feral and dressed
in nothing but a pair of worn jeans, I take note of the way he’s
watching me, the way he always watches me.

He has a smile on his face—smug, cocky and
full of secrets-and it’s all I can do not to cross the courtyard,
extend my nails and swipe it off. My hackles bristle as I get the
sneaking suspicion that Stone isn’t quite as stupid as I always
thought he was. When his cold eyes lock with mine it instantly
provokes the wolf prowling restlessly inside me.

I stifle a growl, but the wide grin on his
face, combined with the way his gaze has left mine to rake over my
body, forces the sick feeling inside my stomach to punch into my
throat. I swallow it down and try to figure out exactly what’s
going on.

Instinctively, fight or flight instincts kick
in and my first reaction is to straighten my shoulders and assume a
combative stance. Hardening myself, I offer Stone a look of cool
indifference. The last thing I want is for him to sense my
fear.