Page 7 of Untamed

"You found what? Fuck!" A finger pokes my cheek. I growl, my eyes blinking open to see a green-eyed male with concern and humor shining in his eyes.

He laughs at me. "He looks like one of those northern pack wolves. What's his name?"

"Hasn't spoken much. The little guy's name is Sarg. All this one's said."

"Sarg?" I can hear the doubt in the green-eyed male's voice. "Is that some sort of Eskimo language? He looks like he speaks Eskimo."

I feel a stirring of anger in my gut. Eskimo? I hope he pokes my cheek again so I can bite him. "Inuit," I rasp out. Idiot.

"That's your name?" the male asks.

"Language," I try to say, but it comes out garbled.

"Inuit, odd name. Like 'Sarg,'" the idiot male says, thoughtfully.

"You're an idiot," the big male says. Thank the goddess someone else notices.

"Well, what's his name, then?" the idiot male huffs.

There's a pause, and I realize that they are waiting for me to answer. In my pack, when we shift, we're given a new name. Sometimes, when someone loses a mate, they are given a new name, too. Any significant loss or change of life means a new name.

So, I say the first word that comes to mind, "Inuit."

"Told you, Thjis," the idiot says proudly.

The dark-skinned male snorts. "Sleep, Inuit. You and Sarg are safe, now."

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3 - Hard Change

Eleven years later

Inuit - 22 years old

The three she-wolves posture puresextowards me, breasts thrust high. Hips cocked to one side. Curves on display, prime, ripe for the picking. Eyes bright and shining under long, fluttering eyelashes. Tongues dart out, licking flush, full lips that glisten and gleam over smiling, white teeth.

I curl my lip at the she-wolves sending me glances filled with lust. My wolf growls, low, a warning toback the fuck off.

Shining eyes fall. Lips colored red and pink, shiny and glossy, pout as their Alphason rejects their advances.

A sharp elbow catches in my side. "Ow, Penny," I tell my best friend sarcastically. "What was that for?"

"Stop glaring at them," she hisses fiercely. I give her a slight smirk. None of them are as scary as my friend. None of them is my mate, either.

"They should stop flirting with males who aren't theirs," I tell Penny quietly.

She rolls her eyes at me. "They aren't mated. Not that you would understand, you're a monk, just saying'."

I wrinkle my nose at her. "Do you want me to be one ofthosemales? Fucking every bitch who spreads her legs for him?"

"Inuit!" she hisses again. "Language!"

I shrug. "It's true." I grew up surrounded by males, so sue me. "And if I'm a monk, then what the hell are you? What's that word?" I prod her teasingly.

"A nun, and just because Ilian chooses not to mate me until I've been through the KilClawlunaceremony," she grumbles under her breath.

My lips quirk. I know that Ilian would have Marked and Mated Penny by now...ifhe was allowed to. His Father and uncles frown pretty heavily on pre-mated sex. Traditions run deep in the mountain packs. As their future Luna, Penny has to adhere to those to keep the she-wolves of her future pack from revolting.

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