Page 35 of Untamed

But where is here?

I fight through the fog of tiredness in my head. I'm typically so alert when I wake up, but his heat and the rumble of his chest lulled me into sleeping more deeply than I have in any memory.

Metal, warmed by my skin, shifts and moves away from my wrists. "There we go," Mactiir murmurs.

I glance down, my excitement at being free turning into disappointment when I see that the thick chain has merely been replaced with a delicate-looking chain of gold. Round balls dangle off of the braided rope of metal. As I watch, Mactiir secures one end tightly around my waist. He holds his end firmly in his fist, and I know without trying that nothing would pry open his fingers.

Maybe if I crush his hand with an ax...

As if he hears my thoughts, Mactiir laughs lowly. "The bells stay, for now," he tells me mildly.

I turn my gaze away from him. If I need to act wild, I should hide the anger I feel for him. I don't want him to know I understand his words mostly because I don't want to talk to him.

I'm afraid. Part of me wishes I was some feral creature that needed to be chained to dead trees. Consciousness is a curse sometimes. This male has changedeverything.

"Look, my Luna," he points.

The cottage is perfect. My anger leaves me in a whoosh when I see it. It looks like something from a fairytale, made of dark wood, polished to a soft sheen, and blue-painted planks. Lamps swing from a covered porch with the last of summer's wisteria winding around the white banisters. A small rocking chair is in the corner. The door is painted a deep purple. Everywhere I look is drenched in color, even by lamplight; it's beautiful. White-trimmed windows with yellow shutters to either side of the porch glow softly with light from within the cottage.

It looks like the face of a sweet elderly female, smiling to welcome me home.

Squirming, I wriggle in Mactiir's arms for freedom to explore. The sound of music makes me go still.

Mactiir brushes his mouth on the top of my head and carefully sets me on my feet. I hold my breath, waiting for the music to start again. When I hear nothing, I take a step, only to halt immediately until the soft chiming sounds die down.

My eyes seek Mactiir's for an answer.

"Bells,Qitsuk. You've never seen them before?" he gently flicks one of the round balls at my waist. It rings its soft melody.

I feel a little sick. Bells. I've only heard of them before, and those were huge things hung from buildings. These are tiny. They look like I could crush them between two fingers, but they are hard as a rock when I touch them.

"Come,Qitsuk. Bathroom first. Then, let me show you our home."

At least he understands basic needs. Feeling off-balance, I let him tug me toward the front door. I push the thought of the bells from my mind. He'll take them off, right?

Thankfully, the cottage distracts me from this new indignity and my thoughts.

"Do you like it, my Bliss?"

Mactiir doesn't seem offended by my lack of response. He keeps grinning and walks with me, chain in his hand, as I take my time to examine the wisteria. Four solid, old-growth shoots wind from each plant, but the new shoots need trimming. The rocking chair sits empty. It should have a cushion and a small table for tea and books next to it. The door has no mat, and it's simple enough to weave one from the reeds that grow along the riverbanks.

Someone took care of this cottage lovingly for years, but it's been neglected recently.

I eye Mactiir out of the corner of my eye. My she-wolf flashes a thought to me. Was there another female here before us? Are we not the first female Ogre has brought back to this place?

For some reason, the thought of that makes usirate; annoyed, indignant, furious.

"Anything you want to change is fine,Qitsuk. I've only lived here for a couple of years. It belonged to Luna Gloria. She left it to me."

Mactiir keeps talking, but once again, my attention is caught firm in the trap of the cottage. So pretty. It's all so soft and feminine.

Part of my heart aches. Mama would have loved this place. Cabbage roses. There are dusky-pink cabbage roses on the soft... what is it called? A softie? No, that's not it. Well, whatever it is, it's soft-looking, in muted light blue and grey, with those beautiful cabbage roses all over it.

"You like it,Qitsuk?"

I love it. We were never allowed to have these sorts of things in the cabin. Father would have dragged the... sofa! He would have tossed it in a fire pit. All we had that was soft in our lives was each other.

"Don't cry, my Bliss," Mactiir's hands are wiping away my falling tears. "My sweet cat, you're exhausted, aren't you? Let's get you in bed."

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