Page 146 of Untamed

I turn to see the pack. My pack... or the Mauja... who are my pack too. "Fuck me," I sigh. The last of the rage dies down. These are my wolves, king or Alpha or whatever the fuck Orion Ferax calls me. Mine and Willa's. And she's right, they're terrified.

"Get him," I point to Cullen Grim, "off my territory. Go back to GriMaw and tell your pack who is in charge here, Grim," I warn the male, my wolf posturing the promise of destruction to him.

He turns and walks away without another word. An enemy, maybe.

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Willa

I leave Mactiir alone with his pack as he gives orders left and right. Mama is inside the Too-Large house, hiding from the Blood Moon that is already peeking over the trees, that bitch.

I can't walk inside just yet, though. There is too much swirling inside, too many questions, too many fears. The other male, that Grim one, called me a 'witch,' with more disgust than I have ever felt before.

They'll all be after her, trying to destroy her.

Did Father know? Did Mama? Why did neither of them ever mention this word – witch - before? Is that why Father was so convinced that all wolves would want to kill me?

For the first time, I wish Father was still alive. Despite Mactiir spending hours and hours questioning wolves, I don't think he has his answers. I certainly don't know.

I see the flames begin, the old wolves on the pyre as the pack mills about. Sorrow is sharp in the air. I can taste it, even from across the big field. In the shadows of the trees, eyes glint, glowing from the flames. Every so often, a mournful howl echoes in the forest.

Old Alpha stands alone by the fire, his face set in lines of grief, but his eyes are dry. I overheard the Blue-Star saying that Old Alpha can't even grieve his parents properly. There is no time. This is war.

I brave the night, the eyes of the Blood Moon making my skin crawl. Creeping closer, I find comfort in the grieving wolves. The night is not silent, not still. The Blood Moon would have to fight the entire pack to get to me tonight.

At least, that's what I tell myself as I make my way to Old Alpha's side.

"Were they good wolves?" I ask him.

His eyes don't leave the flames. "The best," he replies simply.

A few wolves approach, murmuring their condolences. Old Alpha nods, accepting their 'sorries' without saying a word. I watch him, this odd, powerful male with his secrets and pain. He is...stoic; emotionless, resigned, unfeeling. Except I have seen him show his feelings for my Mama and Mactiir and some of the others.

"Are you sad?" I ask him abruptly.

"Yes," he replies just as shortly. "They are - were- my parents. I'm very sad." He looks at me, then, "why do you ask, Little Luna?"

"You are stoic."

A hint of a smile curves around his lips. "I am alpha."

"Does that mean you can't be sad?" I ask, edging closer. Mactiir is alsoalpha, but he has many, many emotions. I glance at him, my male, across the field, still barking orders with a stern, cold look on his face. Maybe, to others, Mactiir isn't filled with feelings?

"I just hide my sorrow, little one," Old Alpha replies belatedly. "So the pack feels as though their leaders are strong."

Don't cry, stupid female. Crying is weak.

"Father told me crying is weak, but I don't think it is," I tell him.

He nods. "My Father, also, didn't like tears. He was trying to teach me to act tough and pretend to be stronger even when I felt weak."

"Why?" I ask, frustrated with these odd males and their odd ways. "Why was Father so cruel?"

Old Alpha turns his head to look at me. The flames are higher than our heads. The gold and red dance off of his face, casting his face in light and shadow, hiding the sorrow I can feel from his proud wolf.

"Maybe he was just doing his best, Little Luna. To prepare you for a harsh world. So that you would survive."

I think about it. All of the times Father was cold and mean and unfair. The fear that I had when I was younger, the fear Mama had. Was he just trying to make me strong? Did he think that these wolves would try to harm me? I never thought about it before, but the words the Grim male spewed at me, "evil witch," keep dancing through my thoughts.

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