Page 39 of Untamed

A soft whine escapes from my mouth. I wince. I sound like a pup again.

"Poor sweetheart," he murmurs huskily. "Let's go have some breakfast at the ranch, yeah? You'll love it. Ezra taught Sarj and me how to cook."

I reluctantly leave my nest. My legs are trembling a bit, an effect of being in the trees for so long. My muscles are finally letting me know how overworked they are. My she-wolf decides to be lazy and rolls over on her back, legs straight up in the air, pretending to sleep. I sigh to myself. She's no help.

Mactiir climbs down right after me. He can move as silently as a ghost. My she-wolf is very reluctantly impressed as she opens one eye to watch him. He's most likely a good hunter. A good provider.

And, he hasn't tried to hurt us yet. That's... unexpected. My she-wolf’s eyes drift shut again.

"Bathroom?" he asks.

I brighten, and he chuckles. I can't help it, though. The bathroom isfantastic; astonishing, incredible, marvelous.

We leave the house with our hands clasped together. I keep looking down, wondering why he needs to capture my hand if I'm still chained to his waist? His warm hand feels nice, but why does he want to hold mine?

We walk at a leisurely pace, our steps careful along what looks like a well-trod path. The trees are a little taller than what I'm used to. But the leaves are the same dark green. My fingers tighten on Mactiir's fingers, unbidden. I don't notice what I'm doing until he squeezes my hand back, giving me a smile over his shoulder.

"We'll have time to explore a little later, yeah?" his smile changes into something that makes him look... mischievous? No, that's not quite right. "Then again, do you need to explore my forest,Qitsuk? You evaded me for days," he shakes his head. "I didn't know where you were," he mutters to himself.

Rueful, that's the word; mournful, sad, worried. Mama was rueful a few times, mostly when Father broke something of hers or took our herbs and little mushrooms to sell, leaving us with nothing for our own hard winters.

Why is Mactiir rueful? I squeeze his fingers, and, like magic, his smile becomes the easy grin again.

It makes me want to ask him questions, but I'm not ready to speak. Maybe I'm just not eager to hear my voice again. I like the soft silence, filled with Mactiir's chatter.

Still, I have questions. About, for example, the bathroom.

"The cottage is a little further out from the center of packlands than what's probably best," Mactiir is telling me. "I just don't like to be surrounded by so many wolves, but now I wonder if it's you? The goddess works her ways."

He pauses to look at me, his dark walnut-eyes shining softly. "You're finally here."

I bite my lip. Frustration wells up in my chest. I just don't understand. He scents of a content calm. He says things like 'I'm finally here,' but what does that mean? I never meant to be here. Why would he think the goddess meant for me to be here?

"My Luna. I can see your confusion, you know," he says, abruptly stopping on the path. "Which means I know that you know what I'm saying."

I look away from him, quite deliberately, as my heart starts to race. My she-wolf is snipping at me, angry that my emotions show too easily. I tend to agree with her.

Mactiir pulls, and my feet reluctantly start to move again. He's upset with me, but he doesn't let go of my hand. Knowing he's angry makes my adrenaline start to pump. It's immediately followed by a wave of exhaustion washing over me.

"Qitsuk?" Mactiir turns to me, worry evident in his gaze when my feet stumble a little.

Toughen up, little female.

I use my Father's words to shore up my defenses. Toughen up. Mactiir isn't hitting me. He isn't screaming or yelling at me. He's a beast compared to Father, but he hasn't hurt me yet. He brought me food and built me a nest-box to sleep in. I won't act like a wilting dandelion, ready to fall apart in the slightest breeze.

I stiffen my spine.Unbendable; determined, fixed, implacable. It's the only way I'll survive this.

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Inuit

Our walk to the ranch reminds me of another walk through the woods, bringing a reluctant she-wolf behind me. This time, though, it's my cat's lethargy, not her stubborn reluctance, that is slowing us down. I want to bring her back to the cottage and let her sleep, just cuddle and hold her for days, but I'm the fucking alphason.

Yippee, damnit.

The second-best solution would be to carry her, but I'm not a complete idiot. I'm lucky she's willingly holding my hand. It's most likely due to her exhaustion. Just under my concern for her is a sick satisfaction. By keeping her weak, she clings to me, depending on my strength to keep her going. Even deeper down is a sense of guilt. I don't even know all that my mate has gone through recently, but I assume it's some heavy shit.

My fingers tighten on hers again. I won't let her hand go. Even with the chain, I have a fear that she'll disappear on me. As tired as she is, her steps over the path are near-silent. My little cat is tricky.

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