Page 130 of Untamed

Walnut-browns stare back at me, already fuzzy. I don't recognize whatever Mactiir and Blue-Eyes slipped into my drink, but I knowwhy. Terrible, sneaky males.

"Sleep, kitten." Mactiir kisses me gently, cuddling my body into his. I try to speak, to beg him to stay with me and not go into the bright, wicked night.

But my eyes slip closed anyway.

---

Inuit

I scrub to wash my mate's scent from my skin reluctantly. I wish I could keep it on me, but if I'm hunting Orion Ferax, then I need to scent of nothing but the forest. The smell of pine needles fills the air. Old Spice does a reasonably good job covering up just about any other smell. A quick roll in the mud, and I'll be ready to hunt down that bastard dog.

My cat's words from earlier play in my head. Why would she think she's 'wrong?' Who has been filling her head with that shit? What did the Mauja tell her when they took her? What did Diego say?

Diego. Another wolf who needs to die. I leave the bathroom with a huff and cross over to look at my sleeping mate.

Even drugged and sleeping, she looks dangerous. She's not a snorer or a drooler. She sleeps lightly, still, and silent. No wonder she could stay up in the trees for days. My cat is a beautiful huntress. My alpha-beast preens in pleasure at the sight of his deadly little mate curled into clean, white blankets that scent so strongly of us.

Reaching out, I skim her cheek with the back of my fingers. Just a touch to reassure both my wolf and me that she's real, here and whole. Ours.

Orion Ferax had better enjoy his last night of freedom. I have no intention of letting this hunt last more than this one night. I want to be back before my mate wakes up.

The thought of her anger with me makes my cock twitch in readiness again. Fuck, who would have thought that even the idea of my mate's anger would turn me on?

Leaving the bedroom, I don't bother to get dressed. Devel is waiting in the living room, dressed in fatigues and covered from head-to-toe in silver blades. I look around for my own fatigues and frown when I don't see anything.

"I have my team in position, now," he tells me without looking up. "Your wolves are supporting. We have a decent idea of where this fucker is hiding."

"My shit?" I ask him, still looking around as if my clothes and weapons will magically appear draped over the back of a chair.

He looks up, a wry smirk crossing his face. "Inuit, do you think you'll last in clothes? You're the bait, anyway. Better you look innocent and helpless."

Every single wolf in the room roars in laughter. I just smirk back at Devel, crossing my arms over my chest and making sure that I stand to my full height. I'm the tallest, broadest fucker in here, so there. I have no reason to feel shy.

"I'm the bait?" I ask when the laughter dies down.

"The Ferax wolves you have here claim that Orion has a real hard-on for you. Been hunting you down."

"I'm his target?" I ask, dropping my arms to my sides. "I was told he was after Willa."

"You and Willa," Devel returns. "But mostly you. I think that Willa was going to be used to draw you out."

"You think he knows who I am? My birth pack?" My head is spinning with information. Orion Ferax is the alpha of the pack that should have been my mate's. That doesn't explain why I'm his target. Our packs were at war years ago, but Orion can't be much older than me. Why am I his enemy, then?

"This is the plan," Devel shows me the map he's pulled up on his laptop. "This is the last known location of Orion. His wolves are bunched together here. These yellow dots are us. You approach from this location. On paws. Make it look like you're going for a run or you lost your shit or something." He gives me a knowing look.

I grit my teeth and nod. Make it look like I've lost my marbles. A crazed wolf is dangerous but vulnerable. Good bait.

"Then, he either chases you here," Devel points to a location laden with yellow dots, "or he runs from you and you herd him here," another site is highlighted.

"Got it," I tell him. "It's go time."

---

Mactiir

This little pissantalphachases. Fool. We are Mactiir. Our little treasure calls us this. We are her hunter, her male, her beast.

It is against our instinct to run from this little wolf.Pissant. Lower than us. Pathetic. Our paws eat up the ground, anyway. Paws, not our vicious, monstrous claws. We hold back our truth... for now. Soon. Soon we will make him see the truth of hisprey.

---