Page 2 of The Untamed

“Give me my knife back,” Ryder growls, blue eyes burning bright with rage.

Since he won’t let me spit—or speak—I glower at him, my nostrils flaring. His body, tight with fury, is substantial against mine and we both breathe heavily from our jaunt through the woods.

It was my knife first.

If he’d let me speak, I’d remind him of that. This battle has been going on between us for two straight years. Ever since Uncle Atticus brought it to us. The hilt is made of elk bone and has stars carved into it. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. But, before I could claim it, Ryder snatched it up. He stole it from me.

To punish him for taking what was supposed to be mine, I spend a good portion of my days stealing it back. Some days, I win and have it in my possession before Ryder discovers it’s missing. Other days, he catches me in the act and chases me down until he gets it back.

It’s an infuriating game between us.

If he’d just hand it over for good, I’d leave him alone.

I mumble words that don’t escape the confines of my mouth, hoping he’ll relent on his hold on me. He narrows his eyes but eases up his hand that covers my lips.

No gloves.

His hand should feel like ice, but it’s surprisingly warm. He’d been inside the big house, helping Mom with Declan, when I’d seen he’d leftmyknife on the kitchen table. Pouncing on the opportunity, without much thought, is what makes me a good hunter.

I just wish he weren’t a better hunter.

I’m tempted to bite my brother’s hand, but that’ll only anger him further. At this point, I have to accept defeat. Our eyes lock and his expression, contorted into one of fury and exasperation, softens slightly. When he’s not fired up and pissed off, he typically wears an easy smile that lights up his blue eyes.

I lick his hand to see if his boyish grin will make an appearance, forgiving me long enough for him to release me.

He doesn’t smile.

His body tenses and his lips tug into a frown. Something hardens between us. My eyes widen as crimson floods his cheeks.

“Fuck,” he snarls, pushing away from me as though I’m diseased.

I sit up on my elbows, amused by the way his penis makes his jeans bulge. Just wait until I tell Ronan about this.

“You got hard,” I say with a laugh. “What’s wrong with your penis?”

He winces, turning his back to me. “Shut up, Rae.”

“Why is it hard?” I demand, amused at his unusual behavior. “Is it broken?”

“I said be quiet!” His angrily spat out words echo in the forest.

“Does Dad know your penis is broken? Maybe he’ll take you into town to a penis doctor!” I crack up laughing, enjoying the way he shudders in horror. “Is it contagious?”

“Stop being a bitch.”

His words are a punch to the gut. Usually, he waits around to see my response whenever he says something mean, because he obviously enjoys taunting me. Not today. He storms through the thick brush away from me as though I’m the one carrying the broken penis disease.

“Come on, Ryder,” I call after him. “I was kidding. Don’t be a baby.”

He doesn’t respond. I sit up and turn the elk bone knife over in my hand. If he left his knife without any more fight, it means I won this battle. For some reason, I don’t feel like it was a fair fight, though. Like my teasing words had more of an impact than I realized.

Maybe his penis is broken.

What if he really is sick?

My stomach tightens. Once, Mom got sick with pneumonia when she was pregnant with Destiny. I thought she was going to die. Where we live, there aren’t any doctors. Luckily, both she and Destiny pulled through.

What if Ryder doesn’t?

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