Page 43 of Untamed

Purple-hair eyes me with hawk-eyes. "Come here, youngling. I think that the alphason needs to see his mate for theyoungbeauty that she is."

I pout as she pulls me to the bathroom. My childish behavior continues, even when the water in the big faucet is turned on. I don't particularly enjoy having these papery-soft hands touching me, pulling at my hair and clothes.

I can bathe myself.

But I don't say anything to these females. In part, because I'm not speaking, but also because they don't seem like vultures so much as hens. They're all clucking at me with fussy tongues and beady eyes.

"Look at this mane," the dark-skinned female with skin the color of Father's bitter drink,coffee, and the shock of white hair, takes my hair in both her hands, scrubbing with soap that scents of apples into the ends. I wrinkle my nose, not fond of the smell. My she-wolf sneezes, fluffing out her coat, eyes cracking open at the brazen females washing us.

"Gorgeous," the one with thinning, too-red hair and very light blue eyes proclaims, but she's cleaning out my fingernails with a scowl on her face, not even looking at my hair. Her voice is short, and she smells bitter, like green apples. Or is that the soap? "Well, at least he hasn't-"

"Hush, Porcsia," Purple-hair scolds the red-haired female who is now wiping my thighs and belly clean of the last remnants of Mactiir.

They rinse me, then wash me all over again.

As they finish, their voices fall silent.

"How old do you think she is?" Coffee asks in a quiet voice. I think I remember her from the dead tree. There were so many wolves. Was that just yesterday?

"Sixteen, seventeen?" Purple-hair speculates. “Maybe she’s eighteen. Maybe.”

"So young to be so powerful," Coffee breathes. "Who would have thought that after everything that's happened, RustClaw would have a luna like this?"

I'm beginning to want to understand these wolves. It's not a comfortable thought. Why should I care about what these wolves think of me?

But it's just so odd how they talk about me. Even the males keep talking about how old I am and that I'm so wild as if I’m not a typical female, like all the others.

At least the cleaning has woken up my she-wolf. She rises to her feet, sniffing at the females, wondering at our new, odd apple scent. She circles, whining a little when she can't find Mactiir or his scent that's been washed away.

Oh, no, she-wolf. We do not miss Mactiir. And we don't want to smell like rotten fish anymore, either. Being clean is a good thing.

"I don't suppose she'll have an easy time of it. We will hold all the contests, correct?" The red-haired female has a look in her eyes.Speculative; measuring, weighing, judging.

"Your granddaughter won't be luna, Porscia. She was never going to be luna, either. Get that thought out of your head," Coffee scoffs.

The red-haired female sniffs in derision. "She'll have to win at least a few contests. Wild things; goddess knows she isn't educated. What are her strengths?"

The shower heats up, and I don't mean from the water. Which is lovely and seems unendingly warm.

"She is the luna, Porscia. Do you really want to play this dangerous game? RustClaw is not holding luna contests. We lost an entire bloodline because of thoughts like that." Purple narrows her eyes at Red. Elder wolves, now I'm beginning to understand. They speak in ways I don't know, but with years and years of life behind their every word.

Years and years andyears.

Coffee laughs softly, her voice crusty like the bread loaves Father would occasionally bring home. "Pit your precious granddaughter against this female, Porscia. Go right ahead. All your family has ever been are Betas. And you're not even that anymore."

Long, thin black claws slide out of Red's bluish fingertips. They look brittle. In the forest, this predator would have been eaten long ago.

But we're not in a forest. We're in a tiny, windowless room, this bathroom. Even worse, in a tiny box in the tiny room. And those claws may cause damage to wrinkled, old leather that I wouldn't know anything about.

Purple snaps her teeth, and Red brings her hands up, only to pause when a low sound of fury vibrates in the tightly enclosed space.

Red falls backward, shock clear on her face. Rheumy, watered-downed blue eyes widen on me. "Her eyes," she gasps before she flees from the room.

I look at the other two females, confused, as the sound dies in my gut. Neither female meet my eyes, the vultures cowed and the hens silenced as if my she-wolf's sound ripped out their throats from their wrinkled necks.

Vultures and hens have wrinkled necks... I'm funny.

Smiling, I step out of the water and dry myself with the soft, fluffy towels that smell faintly of the moon. Purple offers me three dresses, much like the green one they put on me yesterday.

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