Uncaged
Black Hills Wolves
By
Katalina Leon
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Uncaged
Copyright 2015 by Katalina Leon
ISBN:
978-1-61333-883-4
Cover art by Fiona Jayde
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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www.decadentpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Portrait of a Lone Wolf by Katalina Leon
Black Hills Wolves Stories
Wolf’s Return
What a Wolf Wants
Black Hills Desperado
Wolf’s Song
Claiming His Mate
When Hell Freezes
Portrait of a Lone Wolf
Alpha in Disguise
A Wolf’s Promise
Reluctant Mate
Diamond Moon
Wolf on a Leash
Tempting the Wolf
Naming His Mate
A Wolf Awakens
The Wolf and the Butterfly
Infiltrating Her Pack
Omega’s Heart
Rebels Claw
Claiming the She-Wolf
Dangerous by D.L. Jackson
Coming Soon
Worth Fighting For
Promiscuous Wolf
Under a Mating Moon
Wolf’s Holiday
Also by Katalina Leon
Portrait of a Lone Wolf
The Virgin and Her Wolf
A 1Night Stand Story
Uncaged
Mitchell Waya was born to rage in a cage. Every time he competes in a mixed martial arts match, he brings two secret weapons to the ring—a raging heart and the blood of a wolf. When the beast within explodes, no man stands a chance. Scaling the heights of an international career, he’s not prepared for the tragedy and scandal that overtakes him.
At fourteen, Christy was abducted and abused by a brutal cult of survivalist. In a brave act of defiance, she attempts to escape but finds herself facing execution in a dark alley. When Mitchell appears from the shadows like an avenging angel to rescue her, she catches a glimpse of the protective wolf’s fury. They form a brief but intense bond but then Fate pushes them apart.
Four years pass. Fortunes change. Concerned about Mitchell’s welfare, Christy reaches out, but her kind deed puts her squarely in a killer’s sights, and only the courage of a wolf can save her.
Dedication
This story is dedicated to my late sister Christy. I was fortunate enough to have Christy spend her last months in my home. During one of our most poignant conversations, she confessed, “I thought my life would have more romance.” She had a few intense relationships and lots of drama, but never a loving romance with someone who really cared. Within a day of her passing, I started writing
Uncaged
, determined to give Christy the protective, understanding hero she never had in real life. I created Mitchell for Christy, but I hope you’ll love him too, because we all deserve a hero who can love us as we are.
Like a loyal companion, Mitchell’s heartache never took a day off. Every hour tested his ability to keep it together. The man in him endured loss in silence, while his inner Wolf threatened to burst to the surface, snapping and howling with rage. The only way to quell the beast was to exhaust it. At his childhood home near the Black Hills, he’d wolf-shift and go for a strenuous mountain run until the pain numbed. In an urban environment like Sioux Falls, the training floor of Hank’s Hardware Gym provided the perfect option. With his knuckles pressed to the sweat-soaked wrestling mat, he pumped out a brutal set of straight-arm push-ups.
Counting aloud, he fell into trance. “Eighty-seven. Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine.” With his triceps burning and breath heavy, a sheen of sweat built on his skin.
When it came to physical training, he’d become inexhaustible. The harder he worked, the stronger he got. The stronger he got, the harder he needed to work. Among fighters his size, his level of speed and agility remained unmatched. Natural aggression made him fearless. Under professional guidance, he’d developed into a monster of feral intensity waiting to be unleashed on the mixed-martial arts world.
“One hundred sixteen. One hundred seventeen.”
After his arms melted to jelly, he planned to take a night jog to finish himself off before going home to a lonely rented room to gulp down a meal whirred in a blender.
“Hey, Mitch!” Hank lumbered into the room. Except for an Alpine hairline, he still looked like the champion wrestler he’d been thirty years before—a human torpedo of solid muscle.
With his arms straight and body planked, he paused. Only the closest friends called him “Mitch,” and their numbers were few. The previous year, a drunken truck driver on an icy road, took his mother, father, and a kid sister out of the picture. Hank, being the solid Lakota patriarch of the gym community, tried to fill the void.
Mitchell collapsed on the black rubber mat and glowered at him. “What?”
“You’re the only guy in the gym. I want to close early and go home to the missus.”
Standing, he stretched. “I can lock up.”
“But you’d have to drive the keys back to my house so I can open at dawn.”
The boss lived on the outskirts of Sioux Falls. His hopes of getting a private hour of kick-drills on the punching bag dropped like a rock. “Why don’t you make a second set of keys?”
With his bottom lip out-thrust, he frowned. “Third set of keys. Dude, you keep losing them.”
Reaching for a towel, he mopped his face. “You’re right. I’m going to call it a night.”
Hank was the closest thing he had to family in Sioux Falls, but even he didn’t suspect there might be something unusual going on right under his nose.
No way could he risk an admission like,
“I forgot the gym keys were in my pocket when I ran into the river basin to shift by the light of the moon and run around on all fours.”
Dodgy comments were certain to get him kicked out or drug tested. “I need to switch shoes. I’ll let myself out.”
“Thanks.” He dug a wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a handful of crinkled bills. “You did a good job changing the belts on the weight machines and cleaning the showers. Why don’t you buy yourself a steak?”
Mitch pulled a dark hoodie over his head, covering the damp T-shirt. As he reached for the money, he grumbled, “My landlady has other plans for my cash. She’s got me on a peanut butter, jelly, and ramen diet.”
“That crap will ruin you!” Hank sputtered with disgust. “Come to dinner on Sunday. We’ll talk shop. I want to introduce you to someone who could be a real career maker, Tex Wilkins—”
“Tex Wilkins the MMA promoter?” Mitch whistled.
“I sent him some video of your last match. Lately, he’s been going around all the best mixed-discipline gyms and competitions, writing contracts and scooping up the cream. You’re young, but you’ve got talent like I’ve never seen. No one in your age group has your mass and speed on the natch. These days everybody’s injecting some sort of witch’s brew, but not you. You’re a freak of nature! Mitch, with the right kind of help, you could have it all. I’m talking big time. International travel. Exhibitions. Even the ultimate payday—televised pay-per-view events in Vegas and Tokyo. For a good-looking kid like you, endorsements are a sure thing.”
“A manager? You think I’m ready to go pro?” A thrill of terror shot through him. Hank had placed his wildest dreams on a platter then set it all within reach. It made sense. The formidable spirit of the wolf in his blood made him bigger, stronger, and a hell of a lot more intimidating than most eighteen-year-olds. “What will you get out of it?”
“Nothing.” Hank’s face sagged. “Except bragging rights. I’ll get to say, ‘Before he was famous, I trained Mitch Waya.’ We gotta think of a catchy name for you. How about ‘Mitch-Hell’?” He paused. “Too obvious? I wish a fairy-fucking-godmother would make me eighteen again and schedule a meeting with Tex Wilkins, but I ain’t complaining. I got a good life. So, are coming on Sunday?”
His heart pounded. “Fuck ya!” Broader horizons beckoned, and he needed to get out of Sioux Falls. “Thanks, man. This means a lot. I want it so bad, I can taste it.”
“It won’t be easy. You’re gonna taste blood in your mouth as well as success.” Hank gave his arm a slap. “You deserve a break. Now leave, so I can go home.” He wandered out of the room turning off lights in the building. “Don’t eat ramen.” His voice rumbled from the main floor of the gym. “Spend some of that cash on fresh food. Treat yourself decent.”
“Yes, Ma!” He laughed and so did Hank. It comforted him to know somebody gave a damn.
Hank made a racket near the front door restacking iron weights. “I’m setting the alarm. Mitch, get moving! I want to go home and get laid.”
He put on his running shoes and laced them. Gathering his towels, socks, and various sweat-soaked items into a duffel bag, he collected at least two loads of laundry. Drawing his hood up, he braced for the shock of a chill October night greeting damp skin. He pushed the rear fire door open, and shouted, “Good night!”
Striding into the dark parking lot, he made a beeline to his car. He opened the trunk and tossed the bag inside. With quick, hopping steps, he forced blood into his legs and jogged away from the downtown business district toward the Big Sioux River. A brisk run along the Yankton Trail would give him a chance to process Hank’s good news.
Could he handle life on the pro circuit?
Running faster, he found his rhythm. The lung-hammering rigors of a hard sprint on a cold night brought him peace. Bursts of moist breath crystalized in the dry air. The scent of the season’s first snow teased his senses.
The man in him fell into pace and zoned out while the Wolf inside awoke. Distractions came easy. Sights, scents, sensations were amplified by his wolf-enhanced senses demanding undivided attention. Even an insignificant flicker of movement across a busy street caught and held his eye. To his keen ears errant words muttered below the breath, possessed the force of a scream. Something as simple as the scent of an aroused woman in a movie theater made him want to give chase. The musky stench of another man’s sweat in a gym provoked territorial instincts. His biggest problem? Isolation. Few outside the shifter community knew the difficulties of straddling two worlds.
Sometimes the longing for one of his own kind grew so strong, he hallucinated the scent of wolf. Even now, in the frigid air, he thought he caught the familiar whiff of a fellow Wolf. Following the ephemeral trail, he veered away from the pavement and took a shortcut along a gravel alleyway bordering on a silent industrial park. All the warehouses were closed. With no moon, only his wolf-enhanced vision made it possible to run safely in the dark. The alternating
crunch
of footfalls on pavement and grit were calming. His thoughts drifted. The Wolf in him enjoyed the freedom of motion, while activity quieted the pain in his heart.
Just as he passed a reeking trash dumpster—
Bam!
The lid flew open. The unexpected movement was so startling he leaped a foot into the air. A grubby-faced boy wearing a knit cap popped his head out.
“Christ!” He swerved away from the dumpster. “You scared the shit out of me!”
The boy appeared to be about twelve, perhaps younger. The downturn of his generous mouth appeared too disdainful to be childlike. Pale and gaunt, the child had large eyes that reflected a haunted quality. Staring in terror, the kid clambered out of the dumpster and dashed into the shadows between two buildings.
“Wait!” he called after the child. “Are you okay?”