Page 36 of Untamed

I stiffen when he gently tugs me into another room. This one is more like what I expected Mactiir's house to look like. Sparse furnishing, no color. It's a bedroom, and the bed itself looks comfortable, but there is nothing fussy or pretty or soft. Everything looks grey, white, some black, and blue as if the actual color was leached out.

I don't want to be in this bed with him. I've only ever slept curled up with Mama, and more often than not, I've slept outside. Fear curdles my stomach, making my recent meal turn over. Bed... where Father wouldmateMama. And she would cry.

At first, I don't feel the tension, the heated anger rising in the dangerous male just behind me. The first sign of trouble is the chain wrapped around my waist. It's shaking, trembling just enough to make the tinny sound of metal links clanking into each other.

The next sign is the wolf. His growl. It penetrates my body. My she-wolf is on her feet, head low, ears tucked back, glowing eyes staring at the threatening male.

I hold still, not brave enough to turn and face Mactiir. Vicious, cruel hunter of children that he is. I'm too cowardly to face him head-on. Not when the chain wrapped around his fist is singing its warning. I just wait for the whoosh of air, the nearly-silent sound of a clawed fist hurtling through the air toward my body.

I'm trapped in this bedroom. There's a window, but one look, and I know that I won't be able to open it quickly enough to escape the beating.

Just like that, his anger deflates. One moment I'm terrified, and the next, the threat evaporates into nothing. "Let's keep touring the cottage, yeah? Then... ah, we'll sleep later," he says. He takes a step backward, pulling me with him.

I finally feel brave enough to look up at him. I stifle my gasp. His walnut eyes are dark, nearly pitch-black. He'slivid; enraged, furious, incensed.

But his hands are gentle as he steers me to the kitchen. I can't take the time to admire the daisy-pattern plates and the beautifully-carved table with no less than four chairs. Luxury abounds in this cottage, but Mactiir hustles me right through a door in the rear of the kitchen. I gasp out loud when I see the garden.

It's magical. Even better than the front of the cottage, not even comparable to the inside. And, even better, this isn't just beautiful; it's useful. I want to stop and investigate all of the herbs and medicinal plants I see, but Mactiir keeps me moving until we reach a shed.

He hauls some wood planks out from the shed and into the house, then returns. All told, we make the trip back and forth nine times with me just following him on the chain, bewildered.

He takes the planks to the central room with the sofa. Large beams across the ceiling. It's much higher than the ceiling in the cabin.

Mactiir wraps my chain around a column and climbs up into the rafters.

I was right. He's crazy. I eye the chain while he hauls the wood up to the ceiling. Maybe there's a leak in the roof?

Even when I scratch my claws over the metal, the chain won't bend. I examine the entire strand, looking for weaknesses, but there is nothing. No chinks, no divots, no rusty parts. It'spristine; intact, untarnished, spotless.

I watch Mactiir hammer the wood planks between the rafters, softly whistling something tuneless under his breath. I feel my muscles slowly relax a bit when it becomes clear he's ignoring me for the time being.

"I'm making you a bed,Qitsuk," he tells me, flashing that white smile at me. "Figure you'll be more comfortable like this," he explains.

I eye him, filled with doubt. A bed? Up there? Is he a bit touched in the head? I know it seems hypocritical, but... why? He has a bed and wants to build me a bird's nest? I usually just tie myself to the tree or string a hammock between some limbs.

I watch him quietly as he finishes laying the planks, then adds sides about a foot high. The result is a box, like a nesting box for chickens, but me-sized.

Mactiir leaps down from the rafters gracefully, landing on the balls of his feet before striding into one of the other rooms. I listen to the sound of him rummaging around before he walks back out with a small, soft-looking mattress.

I look at him sideways. How is he going to lift the mattress up here? He could carry the planks, but this is different. It'sunwieldy; awkward, bulky, too big, the dumb Ogre.

Mactiir grabs a rope and ties it around the mattress in a series of complicated twists and knots. He climbs back into the rafters with the rope in one hand. Then he simply pulls the mattress into place.

Oh, that was easier than I thought.

"Look good,Qiksut?" he smiles at me, pausing to wait for an answer. He always pauses, always waits for me to respond. That's something I've noticed over the last few hours.

I just watch him build the nest-box for me. My wolf is watching him with me, her tail wagging ever so slightly.

I do like it. Goddess, help me.

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Inuit

She knows what a bed is.

I don't know why that surprised me, but I had this image in my head of my mate being grateful to curl up next to me on the luxury of a real mattress, real pillows.

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