Page 49 of Untamed

I sit on the couch and tug my mate into my lap. Breathing deeply into her hair, I inhale her sweet scent, my lips trembling against her. I know she's curious, her golden eyes probably looking around all over the place. Now that I've found my luna, I should probably set up a nicer office, maybe get us both desks, some matching furniture instead of whatever has been tossed aside by someone else.

Her hand rubs my chest, petting me the way I typically stroke her. The soft rumble starts up again, the purr of my cat for her mate.

I let it sink into my body, my flesh, and bones, all the way to my soul.

We're still on the couch an hour later, our mouths just almost touching, our mingled breaths somehow more intimate than a kiss itself.

The knock bringsQitsuk'shead up and around, Asher's kindergarten scent wafting in under the door.

"Asher?" I call out.

"They're here, In," comes the grim reply.

---

15 - Who’s the Imposter

Willa

They are not kind wolves. Is thisthePackthat Mama warned me about? Their eyes are too sharp, greedy, with a hungry sheen when they look at Mactiir.

It makes me worry for him. He is broad, tall, and strong, but these five wolves, three males, and two females, are shifty. The older male and female have furtive gazes that dart here and there, like weasels looking for a meal to rob. The young male acts as though he has already won his loot, strutting out of the vehicle they came in as if he owns the ground his feet step on.

And the two young females... They are eyeing Mactiir as if he's the meal they are trying to steal.

Mactiir let my chain go lax so that he could tuck me behind the big Dark Male, who is standing just behind him, on his right. Blue-Star stands shoulder to shoulder on his right, Mactiir just a hairsbreadth in front. It feels odd to me… as if we are a puzzle with pieces missing. My she-wolf is clawing to get to the front of the group so that those young females can see her teeth, nice and sharp.

The Weasels spread themselves out, looking for weaknesses without realizing that they appear weak themselves. Does the young, puffed-up rooster of a male think he can win against Mactiir? I can see his stomach with a slight pudge under his thick chest, the musculature showing through the tight, thin material. His bare arms show dark lines painted on his skin, swirls, circles, and letters. They are beefy, but his shoulders curl inward as if he spends hours lifting heavy things with just his arms and chest, leaving his back weaker. The same thing happens with his legs, with thick thighs and buttocks, but too-thin calves and puny ankles, just like a rooster.

Mactiir is nothing like that. The goddess sculpted his every inch to be a natural weapon. Like the predators of the forest, nothing that isn't needed and everything there is honed into the perfect killer.

I trace his form with my eyes as if I can see through his leather pants and woven shirt to see the skin underneath. Swallowing, I force my eyes away. It's not good to stare at just one predator when they surround you.

"Inuit!" the older female spreads out her arms as if to embrace my- no, Willa! -Mactiir. Just Mactiir.

I look at his profile, his muscular back. He is a stalwart tree, like my favorite, the oak. His face is stoic, but there is something about his stance, his eyes. He doesn't want this female to touch him.

We shouldn't claw her eyes; I tell my salivating she-wolf. We should leave her be, not like the other female who tried to touch what is ours - not ours, Willa! I bite my lip to keep my noise of disgust with myself inside my body where it belongs.

Mactiir stiffly greets the female he calls "Ant." Hmm... Weasel fits her better, but I'll call the older male 'Weasel' and the female 'Ant.' There, less confusion.

Mactiir's back stiffens just slightly as Ant goes to touch him. I dart out from behind the Dark Male, ignoring the foul word he says. Oh, Mama would wash his mouth out with soap. It's not pleasant; I can tell him that much.

When I try to step in front of Mactiir, he catches me, gently tucking me to his side. I bare my canines at Ant. Maybe for a touch too long, because she gasps and withdraws from her assault on my - on Mactiir.

"What is this?" she spits out, eyes narrowing dangerously. I glare right back at her. She smellsfalse. Like the stench Mama always says would waft from me when I told her that I wasn't fishing near the rapids.

"Sheis my Luna," Mactiir says proudly.

"She's awild," Weasel says dumbly.

I am not a wild. I turn my glare on him.

"This is the next luna to my Father's pack?" Ant says faintly. Her pale blue eyes travel up and down my body with scorn clear on her face. "This little pup?"

"Inuit is twenty-two," Blue-Star points out in a wry tone. "It's a perfect match, age-wise."

Ant stiffens her spine. "Is the intention of my brother still to allow an imposter to take RustClaw? And with some wild pup as his mate?"

---