Pride's Run Read Online Free PDF Page B

down those emotions and replace them
with rage. Someday my master will pay for what he’s done to us.
“I’ll find a way to get us out of here first. I promise.”
    Clover wrings her boney fingers. “You can’t
make that promise.”
    “I can and I will.”
    Worry washes over her once pretty face, now
worn from years of abuse. “But your mother—”
    When I hear a boot scuff on the stairs, I
lean close and try to keep my voice from wavering. “My mother died
trying to save me. Believe me, I hate that she died. I hate that
they killed her, and while she couldn’t give us freedom, she did
give us knowledge. And knowledge is power, Clover. Her death won’t
be in vain. I can’t let that happen.”
    “But the PTF…” she said, the fear in her
voice reminding me we had more than our master to worry about.
    As I think more about the PTF, I remember
the one rule they are governed by: shoot first and ask questions
later. Like other wolves, my mother used to be a productive member
of society, secretly working side-by-side with humans, living a
normal life in a small community and taking to the woods on shift
night to avoid killing anyone. But to the PTF werewolves are still
monsters that need to be killed.
    My mother and her pack gained a lot of
knowledge before their capture some twenty years ago, and from what
she explained, the PTF are specially trained to spot a wolf in
human form. They are educated at the best graduate schools, where
they obtain master’s degrees in sociology, studying everything from
social relationships to species interactions and deviances. The
officers are also trained by canine-behavior specialists. Detecting
any wolf masquerading as a human is second nature to them.
    “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” I
say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.
    The lines on Clover’s face soften and I’m not
sure if she’s placating me or not when she says, “If anyone can do
it Pride, it’s you.”
    When Mario clears his throat, I step back. My
chain clangs on the stairs as I take them two at a time to reach
him. He doesn’t speak. Instead he just grabs my leash and leads me
to Miss Kara’s suite on the second floor of the estate. Once there,
he pushes open the double doors and the sharp tang of floral
perfume assaults my sensitive nose.
    Dressed in a fitted business suit, Miss Kara
rises from her plush recliner, spreads her arms wide and starts
toward me. “Pride, come in, come in.”
    I step inside and Mario moves in with me. He
closes the door behind him and widens his stance to stand guard.
Even though I’ve been in the suite hundreds of times, instincts
dictate that I take a quick glance around and observe it
anyway.
    Warm rays of sunlight stream in through the
large window and fall over the massive mahogany desk, and the piles
of paper strewn across the top. A grooming station—or at least
that’s what I like to call it—complete with enough makeup and
brushes to supply an entire town, fills the space on the opposite
wall. A colonial door to my left leads into the bathroom. Miss
Kara’s suite looks more like an office/beauty salon than an estate
bedroom. This is where she educates us, and teaches us all about
manners and good grace. I often wonder if she came to this country
to be a cosmetician. I’m sure, however, she wanted a better life
than this.
    She stands in front of me for a closer
examination. Even without her two inch heels, Miss Kara is much
taller than me, although I must say her lithe body seems equally as
thin as mine. Unlike me, however, clothes don’t seem to hang on her
in the most unflattering ways. She dips her head and her big brown
eyes scrutinize my curves, or lack thereof. Her nose crinkles in
distaste and her painted lips pucker as she makes a tsking
sound.
    “We have so much work to do.” She efficiently
claps her hands, then points to the bathroom. “First let’s get you
showered. Now hurry.”
    I do as I’m told, but enjoy a few