Page 77 of Untamed

But when I search his gaze, I just see concern for me. He is young and kind, for now.

I reach over him, take the still-warm mug from the shelf, and smile at him. He grins back with noticeable relief, and I wonder when he will choose a female, and when he does, will he change his mind about her like Mactiir?

"So, In loves you, you know," he tells me. A soft blush colors his cheeks as he looks back down at the box in his hands.

I look at him, once again feeling the frustration.Love. It's not a word that I know very well. Love has so many meanings.Love; affection, appreciation, friendship. Does Mactiir want to be friends? Because if he wants to befriendswith other females, I can't stay. I think I want more than that sort of love. I want...love; devotion, passion, emotion.

"He really fucked this up, didn't he? Some bitch from his past comes here, and he shoves you away," the Pup murmurs. "It's just a stupid mistake, kitty-cat. He loves you. I promise."

I tug the blanket over my head with the Pup crooning soft words of nonsense to me. My fingers play with the chain on my waist. Without Mactiir hovering over me, I may be able to take it off. I need freedom from this chain, from these silly dresses Mactiir likes to put me in. I'm not a doll or a wild thing to be controlled.

I will fight for my male and make it perfectly understandable to him and that other female. He'smine.

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23 - A Grasping Sort of Jealous

Inuit

Panic skitters along my spine, but I force it down. Since I captured her, I haven't been this far from my mate, but she's okay. She's with Thjis and Sarj... absolutely fine. I swallow the panic from not having her in my arms and force myself to concentrate on the refugees in front of me.Goddess.

Seeing Greta here, a face from my past, a female I thought had died in the snows with the rest of the Adlartok , has sent both my wolf and me into a spiral of confusion and shock.

"Tell me,quickly," I add, thinking of getting back to my mate, "how you came to be here."

"We heard rumors that you survived and were the alphason of the RustClaw," Greta tells me. Her eyes are shining with happiness.

"How did you survive?" I ask her, bewildered. The snowstorm that struck the north just hours after my father and uncles died was not easy to navigate. It almost killed Sarj and me. How did anyone else survive? Unless they stayed in the village?

"We ran to the west," she says.

I scowl, my muscles twitching with the urge to race back to my mate's side. West? Towards the GriMaw and the wall of teeth and claws that line their borders? Doubtful.

Clearly, Rhet is suspicious, too. "Where have you been for the last eight years?"

Her smile falters, just the tiniest bit. Guilt stirs. I was supposed to protect her, protect my pack, and I failed. And now I have a new pack, new loyalties. My wolf and I don't know what to do. We are torn in two, and I can't help but wish that Greta never came here. Then, of course, I feel like shit because I feel that way.

"We've been traveling as lone wolves," Greta responds.

"Who?" I shoot out. Faces from my childhood flash in front of my eyes. I took Sarj, who isn't even Adlartok , and ran. I never went back, never tried to see if anyone survived.

"Well," Greta looks at me, pain washing over her features. "Sky died that day. She was..." her voice trails off. "Anyway, Kellan and I escaped. We went west, then south." She names her brother but no one else. How did the two of them survive? And, neither of these other wolves is Kellan, so who the hell are they?

"You were in the north for the last eight years?" Lyri asks.

Golden eyes flit through my head. My mate was living out there, in the wild forest. My wolf scratches my stomach, wanting to leave and find his golden cat.

"Yes," Greta replies.

"You all seem awfully quiet," Rhet mentions. I look at the other wolves, silently eating the stew Ezra had brought them. Their eyes shift down and away, unable to hold the gazes of the RustClaw wolves.

Ezra steps forward, a concentrated look in his light green eyes. I watch him, my light-hearted brother, who typically hides his intensity from the world. He's not hiding now. As the official Gamma, the investigator for the pack, he has every right to interrupt us and interrogate these three wolves.

"You have the look of an Icer, wolf," he tells one of Greta's companions, the lone male in their little party.

I examine the male closely, searching for what Ezra sees. The male is thick around the middle, stocky build, tall for a common wolf. His shoulders are held hunched over, curled up. He's keeping his head down, staring at his soup. Now that I think about it, he's been staring at his feet since I got here. Is he that submissive, or is he hiding?

"Look at me," I grind out. Ezra takes a step back, nodding at me. When the male doesn't move, just freezes with the faintest tremble on his spoon, I surge into his space.

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