Pride's Run (9 page)

The pewter in his eyes deepens when he pushes
the knife in harder. “You won’t make it very far with this.”

I know what he means. What he wants to do.
But what if it’s a trick? What if he’s one of my master’s puppets,
sent to cut my jugular and leave me for dead?

What if he’s not?

A
s indecision
flickers through me, I quickly weigh the risks. In that instant I
realize I have little choice. My best chance of losing those
hunters and making out of this place alive is to let this boy slice
into my neck.

I grip his hand and press the steel blade of
the knife harder into my throat. “Do it.”

My wolf bristles. She doesn’t like it, but
that doesn’t stop me from placing my fate in this stranger’s hands.
I don’t do it because I believe in him. I don’t. I do it because
the next few minutes are about survival, not trust.

His face hardens and the pewter flecks recede
as his wolf settles. Big black irises swim in a stormy sea of ocean
blue as he tips my chin up and searches my throat. I don’t like to
be touched so I try not to flinch as his deft hands surf over my
throat, inspecting and probing until he finds exactly what he’s
looking for.

“Don’t move,” he warns in a hushed tone. His
voice is both hard and fierce and has my composure slipping a
little. But I’ve made my decision and I refuse to second guess it
now.

As tightness settles in my chest I tune out
the footsteps pounding toward us and focus on the fierce
concentration moving over his face. It’s that fierce concentration
that gives me hope that this rogue tracker knows what he’s
doing.

With a sweep of his hand he pushes my hair
off my shoulders, and something in the careful, delicate way he
touches my skin sends shockwaves rocketing through my body. A
shiver rushes over my flesh and there is nothing I can do to stop
my body from trembling.

His eyes meet mine for a brief second, and
when he searches my face I almost forget how to breathe. “Easy
there, little one,” he says. His breath rushes over my cheeks and
the softeness I hear in his cadence almost chases away my
anxiousness. Feeling a little rattled by my responses to him, I
force my stiff muscles to relax and take deep centering breaths, in
through my nose and out through my mouth.

With the PTF hot on our tails, not to mention
my handlers, the forest around us begins to shake from the
thundering chaos. As the hunters fan out in different directions,
the ground vibrates and the wind picks up, blowing damp leaves and
debris past our faces. Trees quake in response, sending the
nightlife into hiding.

The rain falls harder and penetrates the
canopy of branches overhead, soaking my clothes and hair and making
the dangerous removal of my microchip that much more difficult. As
my drenched t-shirt clings to my body a savage chill settles in my
bones. Goosebumps break out on my flesh and I try not to shiver as
I allow this boy to split my skin.

Despite the urgency of the situation he
doesn’t hurry. Slow, steady hands move over my neck and not only am
I surprised by his dexterity, I’m surprised by his gentle touch,
especially since all I’ve ever known is brutality from men.

I feel a sharp sting, and then his glance
meets mine as his hand hovers over my neck. Skilful fingers remain
motionless in mid air, waiting for me to react. I hold still as a
fierce wave of light-headedness washes over me in a debilitating
whoosh. But I don’t let it weaken me. Instead I bite back an animal
cry and let the pain strengthen my wolf.

“Brave little girl,” he whispers, and I want
to correct him. I might be brave, and I might be a runt, but I’m no
little girl. Like him, I’m a tracker, and while I might not be an
alpha, when it comes right down to it my wolf will do whatever it
takes to survive.

He turns his attention back to my throat.
Squeezing my skin he pushes his knife in deeper to catch the
underbelly of the device. A quick flick later, he holds a blood
coated, circular piece of plastic between his fingers.

After he shows me the microchip, he says,
“Let your handlers track this.” Turning from me, he tosses it far
into the woods.

My ears perk, listening for it to land, but
my attention is no longer on the tracking device, it’s on the river
of blood trickling down my neck. Within seconds my tank top turns a
deeper shake of pink, the coppery scent rising like cool mist on a
placid lake until it reaches our nostrils.

As the alpha’s glance carefully tracks the
rivulets of crimson trickling along my throat I don’t miss his
deep, agonized growl as it rumbles in the night.

Looking fierce and carnal, he licks a fat
water droplet from his mouth and that’s when I see the bloodlust
flashing in his eyes. My senses go on high alert and everything
inside me warns that this boy, this big bad wolf, would like
nothing better than to eat me alive.

His hand jerks out. I instinctively take on a
combative stance but he simply reaches behind me to grab a few
leaves off a bush. He shoves them into his mouth, chews, and then
places them on my cut. My cold skin begins to tingle as the plant
goes to work on nursing my sore.

I eye him carefully. “What’s that for?”

“Infection.”

Puzzled, I glare at him. We both know as soon
as I shift into wolf form, my body will heal itself. In a few days
all that will be left is a purple scar. I’m about to ask what’s
really going on, but he steps closer, too close. His big hands span
my waist and when I try to move away he anchors me in place.

He puts his mouth close to my ear and his
voice is low, so low it takes effort for me to hear him. “The name
is Logan.”

Sensations begin to swell inside me,
confusing me to the point of distraction. Since I need all my wits
about me, I quickly try to tamp them down.

“Pride. It’s Pride,” I rush out in a tight
whisper before I can think better of it.

I instantly want to take my words back. I
know I shouldn’t tell him anything about me let alone give him my
name, but there is something about this boy that’s throwing me off
balance.

I’ve never reacted to another wolf this way
before and not only do I despise what he does to me, I can’t seem
to make sense of it.

Then again perhaps it’s simply animal
instincts. A female is programmed to seek a dominant male. In the
wild, survival of the species depends on it.

Either way there is one thing I do know. He’s
a distraction I don’t need, a ruthless one at that, and the sooner
I get away from him the better.

His deft fingers begin to loosen my shirt. As
he tugs my tank top out of my waistband, helping me from my
clothes, the soft pad of his thumb brushes over my sensitive
flesh.

What does he think he’s doing?

My predatory instincts take over and I react
to his unwelcome touch. Angered and unafraid, my wolf growls a
warning and my canines sharpen, putting a stop to any further
intimate exploration.

He inches back, and I instantly understand
his intent as his hands go to his buckle. He unfastens his pants
and with a nod he gestures toward a distance peak. “We need to get
into a defensive position.”

I almost feel foolish that I’d mistaken his
gesture for anything more than what it was. I’m a runt, nothing
more, and undoubtedly considered one of nature’s mistakes to an
alpha like him. But he doesn’t give me time to dwell on the
illogical notion that he was undressing me for other purposes. With
hurried movements he begins to shed the rest of his clothes and
instead of following suit, I simply stand there and watch.

His voice takes on a hard edge, one that
warns me not to challenge this alpha when he says, “We need to go.
Now.”

I glare at him and want to remind him that I
travel alone. But when voices thunder nearby, the hunters growing
dangerously close, I realize I’m in no position to argue. He’s
right. I need to move. Now. I reach for the hem of my tank top.

Like any good tracker, Logan makes quick work
of his clothes, discarding them in record time. Normally I don’t
watch when another shifter sheds, but there is something about this
boy that holds my attention.

Without a hint of modesty, he finishes
stripping, then stands before me completely naked. As I take in his
naked body my wolf reacts. My blood pumps faster and a strange,
primal growl rips from my throat before I can stop it.

I’ve seen naked before, but I’ve never seen
this kind of naked. A wave of awareness moves through me and throws
me off balance. I shake it off, hating the primal effect he seems
to have over my wolf.

My glance travels back to his face and I
catch the way he’s staring at me. His body is tense and with the
hunters closing in he presses a finger to his lips and silently
communicates with his eyes. We exchange a long glance and I know
what he wants, what he’s waiting for.

My hands grip the hem of my tank top tighter
and for the first time in my life I feel self-conscious about
getting naked in front of a boy.

I brush that ridiculous emotion aside and
remind myself that at our core we’re animals, ruled by nature and
survival of the fittest. Shedding in front of another shifter is as
natural as breathing.

I pull my top off and hurry out of my bra and
jeans. When I hear Logan take in a sharp breath, my glance darts to
his and my muscles tense in response to his expression.

A deadly mixture of surprise and anger
registers on his face, and the pain in his gaze has me leaning
forward to let a long curtain of blond hair cover my bare, damaged
flesh—for both our sakes.

His eyes search mine, and while he’s a
dangerous alpha something in his soft whisper reminds me that he’s
still just a boy, “I’m sorry, Pride. My master wasn’t so
cruel.”

Before I can tell him that I don’t want his
pity, he turns from me, and I get the impression that he’s offering
me his back not because he can’t stand to see my scars, but because
he’s gifting me with a measure of privacy.

Shocked, I don’t know what to make of it—or
him. No one has ever treated me like a human girl before, but I
have no time to think about it. I hear twigs crunch and quickly
scent the air, only to discover that a hunter is merely a few feet
away from discovering us.

Logan drops to the ground and I quickly peel
off the rest of my clothes and let my animal instincts take over.
When I finish transforming, I seek him out. Looking fierce and
deadly, he’s already on all fours, waiting for me, his pewter eyes
glistening like precious gemstones in the dark.

“
Ready?”
he asks
.

Since he seems to know more about where we
need to go than I do, I make the quick decision to follow him, for
the time being. Then I’ll make a clean break after the PTF and
handlers lose our trail. I nod my head and lope toward him.

“
Stay close.”

With a flick of his tail, he takes off ahead
of me, and as I follow behind I can’t help but think he is the most
powerful wolf I’ve ever seen. Long lean legs flex as he runs,
jumping branches and negotiating the dark forest with practiced
ease. Wind rushes through the trees and washes over his streamlined
frame, matting his thick brownish-black fur to his body.

We run long, hard and well into the night and
his speed, strength and stamina impresses me as we cut across the
rough terrain. I continue to keep pace as the moon rises higher and
higher in the sky. Soon I find myself so deep in unknown territory
that I fear it could take me days to scent my way out. The air
grows colder and grass turns to snow as we continue our ascent up
the side of a mountain. I paw at the white flakes, and marvel at
the way they feel beneath my rough pads.

After running for what could very well be
hours, Logan slows to a trot, and I canter up beside him, keeping a
cautious distance. That’s when I notice how high up we are. Ice
crunches beneath my paws as I move to the cliff’s edge and look out
over the terrain below. I gasp, never having seen anything quite so
incredible.

But I shake my head, unable to think about
that. Instead, I memorize the landscape and work to pinpoint my
coordinates. I recall the large post boards we passed during our
climb, advertising the different hiking trails throughout the park,
not to mention the warning signs, indicating the dangerous animals
that inhabit the sanctuary. I’ve never heard of the Olympic
National Park before, but from my elevation I can see for miles,
and what I see fascinates my wolf. She wants to stay. She wants to
call this home.

“
Nice, isn’t it?”
The sound of Logan’s
voice inside my head startles me, and reminds me that I’m not here
to enjoy the view.

“
Hey…”
he says, coaxing me when I
don’t answer.

He stalks closer, close enough for our
breaths to mingle. As his scent fills my nostrils I can tell he’s
trying to lighten my mood and lift my concerns, but he has no idea
how deep my worries run. Escape from the compound might be the end
for him, but this is the beginning for me. I have a greater
purpose.

With a playful flick, Logan nudges my chin
with his muzzle. I turn from him and his voice is full of youthful
excitement when he says,
“What’s the matter Pride, cat got your
tongue?”

A growl rips from my throat and I turn on
him.
“Don’t say that to me.”

Our gazes clash and he lifts a paw, reacting
like he’d been struck.
“Hey, I didn’t mean…”

I step away and consider the night’s events
as I walk along the jagged edge. In the face of a common enemy
Logan and I might have connected, but that doesn’t mean I trust
him, or want to crack jokes with him as we admire the scenery.

In our world it’s every wolf for himself, and
while this boy is young, I know he’s not innocent. He’s a rogue
alpha, one who is fierce and dangerous. One who could turn on me in
two seconds flat. I can’t forget that.