Page 27 of Untamed

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9 - Starving

Willa

"I'll bet you she bites him when he lets her off," the old male chortles, rubbing his hands together.

"We should be betting on how many times she bites him," one of the other males muses thoughtfully.

"Nah, the Alphason won't let her bite him," another male offers.

I just watch the odd assortment of males from my perch. They haven't tried to touch me. They barely even look at me. A fact that makes me eternally thankful. When they do look at me, they stare at my shoulder. Odd. Maybe all males are as crazy as Mactiir?

Who left me here. Chained me to a dead tree and left. Mama was right; males from The Pack can't be trusted. And after he stared at me with those horrible, toxic walnut-eyes in that... that... gentle way. Shows how much I know. Well, granted, I don't know much. Mactiir's the only male other than Father who has ever touched me orlookedat me, and comparing my Father to Mactiir makes my wolf and I cringe.

My legs are tired. 'When the moon rises' is what that Ogre said. So... judging by the sun, it's not that long before night falls. I can make it.

"Beta, do you think the Luna will be angry?" a nervous-looking thin male who twitches a lot and smells funny asks the starry-sky-scent male with the sharp blue eyes.

Blue-Star glowers even more deeply, leaning against a building with smooth walls of white stone that fascinates me. I want to touch it and see if it's a hard as it looks, or is it like a sponge? It must be hard. Why build things from sponges?

"Ask her if she's cold," he snaps out. "It's getting colder."

One of the males, his back to Blue-Star, rolls his eyes. "Are you cold, Luna?" he repeats. His voice is strange. Softer than Father's ever was when talking to me. It's a little like a buck, quiet and delicate but proud and robust all at once.

Why doesn't Blue-Star ask me himself? I feel a slight fear tingle in my brain. How can I be so alone but surrounded by wolves all at once? I'd rather hear Mactiir babble on and on about everything and anything. He talks to me, but these males barely do. This question about being cold is only the third time they've spoken directly to me.

"She didn't answer," the male calls out. "Again," he mutters.

"She's a smart one," offers another male. "You can tell just by the way she watches us."

"And tough," adds another.

These are strange males.

Not as strange as Mactiir, of course. The way he... he...touchesme, his hands skimming all over my nearly-naked body, touching all of my parts except the ones that are covered. I never thought about my skin being pleasant to touch. It's just skin.

Yes, he is an odd one.

I am not used to nudity in front of anyone else. My Mama, and occasionally Father if he felt particularly mean and wanted me to be cold in the forest, but no one else.

Of course, I am unused tosomeone-else, aren't I? There are so many wolves here, in The Pack. Mama told me about them, but there is nothing like seeing it firsthand.

Idon'tmiss Mactiir's presence. I do not.

I watch wolves watch me. Not the males, who are now talking about refinishing furniture for this 'bet' on how many times I will bite Mactiir. No, the males still won't look at me in the eyes. The females are standing further away... they are staring out of the corners of their eyes at me. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

It makes mefretful; uneasy, tense, troubled.

I turn my attention back to examining the males. One of them looks like he's swallowed a bee. Maybe he did... oops.

Well, anyway, he'ssour; bitter, peppery, salty. His arms are crossed over his chest, and I notice that some of the other males are always edging him back with their bodies, making sure he can't come close to my dead tree.

"She'll bite him once. Then he'll teach her a lesson, and she'll stop. She's just a frightened little rabbit," he says when he sees me staring at him.

I'll bitehim. Sour-puss.

"You're an idiot, Joey," another snaps.

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