Page 82 of Untamed

I feel that if Mactiir wasn't so tired, I wouldn't be able to move from the bed without waking him. But, it's easy to slip away, especially now, without the bells chiming.

Silent feet climb back down the grand ladder and across the cavernous room with the massive fireplace. The windows show the stars and moon, a bright night, perfect to see by. I check on the plants in the window-room, ensuring they are still healthy and watered adequately. The door to the outside isn't locked, and the slight creak it lets out can't be heard inside the house.

The air is cooler out here than inside. Autumn is right around the corner. I lift my face to the sky, feeling the night's breeze on my skin. I take off my dress lay it carefully over the fence, so the rough wood doesn't snag the fabric.

Then I shift. My wolf is ecstatic. Our run earlier was interrupted by Other female and her two companions.

We take off for the forest, cataloging what we see and scent as we travel deeper into the trees. We can smell the sky-males and the Moon. Their aromas intertwine magically through the well-worn paths. We can smell the Pup, too, although he hasn't shifted yet, so his scent is fainter. We sense Mactiir, but that may be his scent on us, not the forest. It's hard to tell with the way his scent wraps around us like the tightest embrace.

We smell other wolves. This is apack, we realize. Wolves are living together, running together. Some of Mactiir's earlier words are starting to make sense. His pack, but these wolves weren't always his.

We do a tight circle around the forest, getting our bearings. The trees carry their stories to us. Closest to us is the peace of this place, the cows and other animals. Farther are stories of fire and the paws of wolves who run from the inferno. Of rubber wheels over roots and cries of newborns. Of warriors crashing through the underbrush and more warriors silently stalking them.

And... closer... wolves having fun.Fun; enjoyment, merrymaking, zest.

We race towards the feelings of contentment and celebration, excitement, and fun. This is a pack, and this is what pack wolves do. Be with other wolves and have fun. Our paws fly over the ground towards the fun.

It's a bit... bright. And noisy. And very, truly stinky. The smell reminds us of Father. Not precisely a wolf that we would ever say isfun. The opposite of fun, in fact.

But the lights and the sounds of music, just like Pup let us listen to, tumble through the doors to the dismal-looking building. My she-wolf retreats, letting me take back the reins of our steps. She is not comfortable with this place.

I wander up to the open doorway on feet cautiously. The building is a low, squat frame of a bit of wood and metal. In the yellow lights hanging from the roof, I can see that the walls were once painted green or blue, but most of the color is faded or scraped away.

A string of lights in five different colors dangles precariously over the doorway. The light from those is almost eclipsed by the blinking sign in orange and yellow that declares 'ate ing Ho e.'

I walk through, and the din of voices abruptly ceases. The music keeps playing, but the wolves are silent.

"L-luna?" I turn to see a young female blinking at me in astonishment with pretty red-brown hair and soft brown eyes. Behind her is a male with dark hair, almost black, who is staring determinedly at his boots.

"You... um... do you need help?" she asks me, her eyes darting around frantically. I wonder what she is searching for?

I look at her, not understanding. A sandy-haired, older male rushes around a long wooden table to my left and approaches me, taking off his shirt. I feel my claws distend. Why is he undressing?

"Here, please, luna. Put this on?" he extends the shirt out to me, his eyes fixed on something past my shoulder.

"Don't Owen!" the female hisses at the male. "The alphason will kill you if he scents you on her!"

I am naked, but I thought these pack wolves didn't care about that? My goodness, I was practically falling out of my rags when Mactiir chained me to the Dead Tree. And, I've been naked lots of times since then. Although... I don't think I was ever really nude in front of anyone but Mactiir. Still, isn't it normal? I couldn't bring clothes with me if I shifted, right?

"Here, luna," the female is shoving something into my hands. I look down and sigh forlornly. Another dress. Pack wolves are weird.

I pull it over my head with not a little bit of difficulty. It's tight, as red as berries, and very, very short. Frowning, I tug at the top, where it plunges deep past my breasts. That just makes the skirt rise higher until I'm pretty sure my secret spot isn't going to be secret. Apparently, that's important to these wolves. I tug the skirt back down and figure this is as much cover as I need.

"Maybe the shirt, too?" the sandy-haired male says in a choked whisper to the female.

"No, Owen," she warns. Then, she forces a smile at me. "Do you need something, luna? Are you... are you here to dance?"

Is that what these wolves are doing for fun? Dancing? Mama and I used to dance, mostly outside in the fields, but maybe the pack likes to dance in thisateing Hoe?

The music is still playing, and the hum of voices has started back up again. With the noise level returning to what it was, I feel the unease slide away from the wolves in the room.

"She don't have shoes," the dark-haired male mutters to the female under his breath. "She's not here to dance."

"Here, luna, sit here and drink, if you want," the sandy-haired male steers me toward the long table. It's high. Higher than the other tables in the room. Behind the table, on the wall, are bottles. Bottle after bottle after bottle.

I climb onto the tall stool and feel the skirt ride up my thighs dangerously. My butt is touching the seat, the smooth wood cool against my cheeks. The sandy-haired male takes a bottle that is frosted cold and places it on the counter in front of me. I like that he knows not to try to hand it to me himself. I sip the dark liquid and choke a little at the bubbly taste.

"Maybe this is more your style?" the sandy-haired male hands me a glass. I recognize this one from the cowhouse. Orange juice. I wrinkle my nose. It's not my favorite. "This?" the sandy-haired male is grinning now. He hands me water, but he squeezes a lemon into it first.

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