Page 88 of Untamed

Devel's face is pale. "Leilani and Sam. They're the only ones trained to move silently," his voice is hoarse.

I scowl as the meager light from the headlights flickers through the dim forest. Dusk hits fast this deep under the tree canopy. The limited sight makes the speed I'm pushing the truck with even more dangerous.

The right wheels hit another deep rut, the truck bouncing into the air, engine rattling from the pressure. The tires hit the ground again in a jarring, teeth-rattling hit slam. I hear the crack of metal and curse.

"Rear axle." Devel proclaims.

"Push it until it snaps completely," I tell him.

The engine is whining, the noise from our truck drowning out the sounds of the trucks behind us hitting the same rut.

"Third truck isn't gonna make it much farther," Devel warns me.

"Just another five minutes," I push the gas even harder. The engine starts to whine, dials on the console flickering as the check-engine light flashes on. I almost snort when I see it.

"Fucking get there," I mutter. Snow is breathing harshly in the back seat, and I curse again. She's probably in pain from the rough ride, scared and hurting. "Just a little further, Dove," I reassure her.

The rock in the road can't be avoided. "Fuck!" I shout. The truck hits the rock, shit more like a boulder, tires spinning uselessly as the entire bed is lifted and the undercarriage scrapes along the bottom. We tilt crazily but don't go all the way over. I hear the screaming brakes of the other trucks, and one goes entirely off the road, hitting the trees and coming to a jarring halt. A thud in the back, and the third truck hits us hard. Screams echo in my ears as the wolves in the bed of our truck tumble and fall.

Swearing, I realize what a mistake I made pushing the trucks too fast. If any of these wolves are injured, they'll slow us down. Looks like we're walking from here on out.

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Willa

Commotion; racket, furor, pandemonium. Annoying if you ask me.

Not that anyone can ask me anything since I don't speak. I really should stop being so stubborn. Mama always told me I could be like a bur seed stuck to a woolen sock.

Right now, however, I don't feel like talking. Not when so many other wolves are snapping at each other, their words harsh and clipped. Sounds punctuated with growls, snarls, and the pounding of feet against the floor as they stomp in and out of the room. The noise is something awful. Worse than that terrible shouting music Drink-Giver has on his black box.

It's the current underneath that makes my she-wolf's ridge fur stick straight up, though. Panic, worry, anger. It's just like the river in the spring, a ferocious surface current and deadly underneath.

"Bring the prisoners here. We'll interrogate them in my office." Mactiir walks across the large doorway between his...officeand the room with all of the wolves. His dark eyes find me, reassuring himself that I'm still here before he moves out of view again.

The window, open behind me, is making him agitated. I can see it in his frequent glances. I wander to the window in question, inhaling the scent of the forest just a little bit away.

The air is crisp, with the slightest bite of a chill. Cold weather always makes my body lethargic. It's going to snow soon. An early storm, brutal to fight the heat of the forest fire raging through my home... what used to be my home.

Melancholy; sadness, gloom, despondency. It weighs me down, stealing that breathe of fresh air I just brought into my lungs. I miss Mama. This world, this pack, seems so large and chaotic.

"Qitsuk?" Mactiir walks into the office, a black box held to his ear like it has been for the past few hours. "What's wrong, Bliss?" His thick arm, the one not holding the black box, wraps around my waist and tugs me to his chest.

I let my head fall onto him, hiding my eyes. He smells like worry, and I hate it. I shouldn't be distracting him from this noisy task he has. He isn't the loudest wolf in the other room, but he is the most forceful. I want to help him, but I don't know how. I had wanted to ask the forest where the missing female is, but he brought me here. Now I feel useless.

This place is suffocating me. It's hard to breathe correctly with these wolves and their erraticfulness. See? I feel so out-of-sorts that I'm making up words. Volatility, that's it.Volatility...I just don't know.

Mactiir shoves his black box into the back pocket of the pants he is wearing and picks me up. I wind myself around him like a wood vine around an oak tree. I can hear the voice, I think one of the Sky-males, talking in the box, even though Mactiir isn't listening anymore. Guilt trickles into me as Mactiir settles me on the couch in the corner.

I shouldn't be distracting him.I don't understand who my Mactiir is, but I know he's important, and I shouldn't be distracting him.

"Shh, Bliss, please. I love you. Don't cry, my cat." Kisses as soft as butterfly wings feather over my wet cheek. His body is hot under mine. I must be cold.

I force my eyes open and reach into his pocket to pull out the black box. I hold it out as he takes it, his walnut-eyes dark with worry about me.

"Yeah," he mutters into his phone, "I'm still here."

He stays crouched down next to me, his hand gently stroking my hair, as he talks to the male in the black box. I close my eyes, feeling the sorrow leach from me to Mactiir, back to me.

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