Pride's Run (8 page)

The crowd is young like me. But unlike me
they’re loud, rambunctious, and despite their barely-legal drinking
age, a vast amount of alcohol is being consumed. A plume of
cigarette smoke curls in front of me and the pungent scent mingles
with a mixed bouquet of perfumes and assaults my sensitive
nostrils.

I crinkle my nose as I cut through the
throngs of people and the sound of balls breaking, followed by a
woman’s laughter, filters in from the back room. I shoot a glance
to my left and wonder if there is an exit back there as well.

With my bodyguard at my back, I make my way
to the bar. When I take a seat on the hard wooden stool, I scan the
area behind the counter and take note of the glass shelves filled
with liquor bottles and the floor-to-ceiling mirror that allows me
to see behind my back without having to turn. The elderly gentleman
working the counter moves in front of me, blocking my view of the
mirror. He eyes me skeptically and I wonder if he’s about to card
me.

“I’ll have a coke,” I say before he gets a
chance, then I shoot an innocent look over my shoulder. “My mom’s
checking in. I’m waiting for her.”

As I sit there blinking up at him, he nods
and pours me a soda before moving on to the next client. I take a
small sip of my drink and spin on my stool.

That’s when my glance lands on him.

At first sight air hisses from my lungs and I
don’t need to weed through the smells clouding the air to know it’s
the boy I was sent to hunt.

My hackles twitch as I watch the way he turns
toward me. He shifts in his seat, each movement careful,
purposeful.

Dangerous.

There is an intensity about him that I’ve
never seen before, one that has my wolf stirring in the most
bizarre ways.

From across the room our gazes collide and
lock and, oddly enough, as we continue to stare at one another I
feel a little disoriented, a little thrown off my game. The rest of
the crowd seems to fade away and when my pulse kicks up a notch and
pounds at the base of my throat I get the feeling there is more to
this boy than meets the eye.

Carrying himself like a skilled predator, he
has his back to the wall, keeping one eye on me and the other on
the door. He looks at me long and hard, and his gaze is so
unwavering and so penetrating that it practically robs me of my
next breath.

Feeling a little peculiar inside, my glance
trails over him, and I can’t help but notice how strikingly
handsome he is. Dressed in a navy t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans
it should be easy for him to blend and lose himself into the crowd.
But he doesn’t. At least not to me.

When my body reacts strangely, I give a quick
shake of my head to clear it, hardly able to believe my reaction to
this boy.

This mark.

My gaze travels back to his face and haunted
eyes with a lifetime of secrets lock back on mine. Foreign
sensations erupt in my stomach when he blinks dark lashes over
liquid blue eyes. I swallow. Hard. Because there is something about
those vibrant blue eyes of his that remind me of the Pacific
Ocean—remind me of freedom.

I sit there and try to still my heart, and
despite everything warning me to, I can’t seem to pull my glance
away, can’t seem to turn from him. What is it about this boy that
holds my attention and fills me with curiosity, fear?

I take a moment and wonder what he sees when
he looks at me. Does he see a young runt, eyes too big, lips too
full and skin too pale? Or does he see a girl? One, who, under
different circumstances he might approach and ask to buy a soda.
One he’d consider bringing home to meet his parents.

My heart beats faster and I can feel my chest
rising and falling as I get lost in that girlish thought. For a
moment I forget who I really am. For a moment I allow myself to
dream. But when reality comes creeping back, like it always does. I
fist my hands until my nails penetrate flesh. I’m not a normal girl
and I can never have a normal life.

Get your head back in the game, Pride.

Rattled, I work to harden myself, to focus,
but when his lips turn up at the corner, the hairs on my nape
tingle, like they always do when my wolf senses danger. Then it
suddenly occurs to me—he knows.
He knows what I am!
And he
knows why I’m here. My blood rushes and my animal instincts go on
high alert.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously and study him
harder. He, in turn, lazily drums his fingers on the scarred
tabletop and inspects me. His glance is tentative, searching,
deeply probing and I don’t miss the curious lift of his dark brow
as we size one another up.

For some reason I get the distinct impression
that not only does he know what I am, but that he’s been waiting
for me. My ears perk as I listen to the blood in his veins. It’s
slow and steady, a telltale sign that he’s not afraid, at least not
of me.

With confidence oozing off him in waves, he
continues to drum his fingers and I shift on my stool,
uncomfortable under his careful scrutiny and concentrate on the one
question that keeps circling around inside my head.

Who is this boy?

I take in his face, his brown,
shoulder-length hair, the pretty flecks of pewter in his blue
eyes—tiny flecks of pewter that weren’t there a moment ago.

Oh no!

My body tenses and it takes every ounce of
strength I have to keep from flying out of my chair, shifting
mid-air, and pouncing on the boy who is studying me with intimate
recognition. Because this boy isn’t a boy at all.

He’s a wolf.

A shifter, like me!

But he’s not just any shifter. He’s an alpha.
One who is dark and dangerous and could tear my head clear off my
shoulders before I could even think about bolting.

My heart drums in my ears and as I tear my
gaze away my survival instincts kick into high gear. I need to
move. I need to run. I need to do something.

My glance flutters around the room to catch
sight of my bodyguard. He’s watching me, but he’s also watching the
cute brunette two tables over. My pulse pounds so hard in my neck I
fear some vital organ in my body might explode. But I can’t think
about that right now. Because right now, with my guard’s attention
diverted, this might be my only opportunity to run. I wet my dry
lips and swivel on my chair, calculating how long it will take for
me to reach the back exit. I’m fast, but my mark looks faster.

Moments before I’m ready to bolt I steal one
last look at the boy, but when I notice something on his neck it
stills me and has warning bells clanging in my head.

I look closer, to make sure, but there is no
denying what I see. The boy has chafe marks on his neck.

Chafe marks where a collar used to be!

As the room spins before me, my hackles
bristle, and I falter on my stool. When my feet hit the floor, my
shaky legs almost give out beneath me because it suddenly becomes
glaringly obvious that boy is not just a shifter.

He’s a tracker!

As my brain works through various scenarios,
my throat closes over. Is it possible that
I’m
the mark?
That the master has finally grown tired of my disobedience and has
driven me out here to a place where I can never be traced back to
him, to dispose of me swiftly and cleanly.

Desperate to understand who this tracker is,
where he’s come from and what he wants I try to read his thoughts,
to see if I can speak to him telepathically in human form. As I
struggle to communicate, my gaze focuses back in on his neck, and
that’s when I see the tiny scar below his jugular.

Taken aback by that discovery, my blood
rushes faster and a million questions race through my mind. Mainly,
how did he remove his microchip? And how did the handlers find him
without it?

Before I can seek answers to those questions
the heavy front door pounds open and a hush seems to fall over the
crowd. I turn and bite down a strangled cry when my glance lands on
two officers, but I instantly know they’re not any old
run-of-the-mill officers. From the way they are sniffing the air
and carefully scanning the establishment, my gut warns that I’ve
come face to face with members of the Paranormal Task Force.

And they’re on the hunt.

I slide back on my stool and turn from them
to face the bar. My stomach plummets when I catch my reflection in
the mirror. I can see undisguised shock and fear spreading across
my face. I try to wipe it off, try to pull off casual, and try to
act like I’m nothing more than a normal girl out looking to hook up
with a normal boy.

From my peripheral vision I spot the alpha.
He looks worried, afraid, and just as surprised by this turn of
events as I am. His blood rushes faster and his hands are fisted so
hard I can see the whitening of his knuckles. His fear fuels my
wolf and I can feel her stirring, itching to come out of hiding.
But I must keep her leashed. If I don’t I’ll never make it out of
here alive.

Breathe, Pride, breathe.

But I don’t breathe, instead my blood runs
cold and I make the mistake of catching the PTF officer’s eye in
the mirror. The look on his face is beyond frightening, and I
instantly know when my act failed, when those deadly men who’ve
been trained to shoot first and ask questions later have made me
for what I really am. A wolf in girls’ clothes.

As ruthless eyes lock on mine, the officer’s
hand hovers over his gun, his fingers twitching. In an instinctive
reaction my lips peel back to expose sharp teeth, and my snout
begins to elongate.

I spot another officer closing in from my
right and I quickly calculate my odds. My wolf, as fearless as she
might be knows there are too many of them to take on alone.
Fight-or-flight instincts kick in and dictate I run. My heart races
faster and as I prepare to make my move a hand slams down on my
shoulder.

Frantic, I open my mouth but the look on the
boy’s face when my anxious glance searches him out silences me. In
the face of a common enemy we connect on an instinctive level, and
understanding arcs between us. Our eyes lock and we communicate
silently, with only one thought propelling us both on—survival.

The boy begins to move so fast I can barely
keep track of his whereabouts. The next thing I know the mirror
behind the bartender shatters and liquor bottles smash to the
floor. Shrill screams sting my ears as flames ignite and lick up
the walls in a mad rush.

A commotion breaks out around me, and I use
that distraction to break free from the officer’s firm hold.
Dashing around the flurry of people, I dart to the back of the pub,
to where the boy stands waiting. The alpha might be dangerous, but
I’m smart enough to understand that right now, as I face death at
the hands of the PTF, this deadly shifter is the lesser of two
evils. Better the devil you know, as my father used to say. Not
that I know this alpha, I don’t. But I do understand canine
behavior.

“This way.” Moving with confidence, he kicks
open the service door and ushers me outside.

My heart is beating so fast I can barely
breathe, let alone think. I let my wolf instincts take over and
follow the alpha into the dark, wet night. Once outside a rush of
cold air slaps my face, and I turn to watch him secure the door
behind us.

He grabs my hand and his voice is deceptively
calm when he says, “Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Smoke rises from the building and hangs over
the forest like a deadly noose as we rush toward the trees at the
far end of the lot, to where the rain doesn’t reach us. Cloaked in
darkness, we duck low and try to camouflage ourselves beneath the
tall timber.

The sound of someone kicking the door
startles me and I glance over my shoulder. Gnarled roots twist
beneath my sandals and I cringe as the sound saws through the
night. Hinges groan and within seconds the service door breaks
open. Shards of tiny wooden splinters shower through the air and a
moment later I blink against the flashlights aimed my way.

We jump to our feet, run deeper into the
woods and hide behind a towering tree. I press my back against the
thick trunk and the scratchy bark scores my skin as I peer into the
ominous night. Breath ragged, my glance rips from left to right as
I work to devise my next move.

Before I can come up with anything concrete,
the boy tears his shirt from his chest and I catch the scent of his
clean, soapy skin as he undresses. Unable to help myself, my glance
races over his body—one that lacks my scars.

I try to keep my voice level. “What are you
doing?”

“We need to get out of here,” he barks out,
snapping my attention back to his face.

We?

Exercising caution I begin to inch away,
sliding along the massive tree and putting some well-needed
distance between us. My escape plans do not involve running with a
dangerous alpha wolf, one who is wanted by my master. This boy is
simply another obstacle I don’t need.

Once again my gaze goes to the collar marks
and the tiny purple scar near his jugular. He might be a shifter, a
powerful one at that, and while he helped me escape, he’s still a
stranger to me. One I don’t trust.

“I run alone.”

In a move so fast it takes me off guard, he
pulls a knife and presses the cold steel blade to my neck. His
intense, penetrating gaze moves over my face and when he opens his
mouth I can tell he’s trying to choose his next words very
carefully.

Since his actions prove threatening, my wolf
stands at attention, awaiting my command. The shifter looming over
me might be big and deadly, but my primal side isn’t about to back
down. I’m smart enough, however, to keep her leashed for the time
being. At least until I hear what he has to say.

The sharp blade splits my flesh and the
coppery scent of blood reaches my nostrils. Our glances collide and
a dark shiver trickles along my spine. As the air charges, I hold
off my wolf and stand my ground.