Untamed (Dark Moon Shifters #2)

by Bella Jacobs

  We are incredible and terrible creatures, we humans—a beautiful disaster I can’t help but think the world might have been better off without.

  Chapter 13

  Luke

  Never let them see you sweat.

  Better yet, don’t sweat. Don’t even think about sweating.

  Sweat is weakness, and weakness is death, and even after all the shit I’ve been through in my life, I don’t want to die. Not yet. Not until I’ve had a taste of that freedom everyone is always talking about.

  Slave to my crazy fucking family, slave to my body turned traitor, slave to the street gang that promised to make me a king only to take everything good in my life and flush it down the toilet, slave to the cell block and the rules of the iron jungle and all those hundreds of days waiting to be crossed out in red…

  It’s my turn to be free. It’s time to lift two middle fingers to the rest of the world and leave the fucking building.

  Instead, I’m still here, standing in a circle in the shade with people who have no idea who I am, what I’ve done, or how dangerous I could be if…

  I clench my jaw, shutting down the thought.

  There is no if.

  There is no when.

  I haven’t shifted in nearly seven years, and I’m not going to start now. No fur, no fury—that’s my creed and I’m fucking sticking to it.

  Especially now…

  “The guy wasn’t just genetically modified to shift into whatever that monster thing was, he had also had tech implants. A camera in both eyes and a mod in his ear canal that we’re guessing provided audio,” Leda continues, her almond-shaped eyes scanning the circle of faces surrounding her. “But the wildest thing is the chip the team found in his brain.”

  She’s short, forcing her to look up to all of us—even the princess—but she demands attention, respect. She reminds me of my favorite guard at the prison, a tiny Italian mama who commanded obedience from every man in her block with nothing but a hard look and the respectful way she said an inmate’s last name.

  It’s about respect—you have to give it to get it.

  That’s what the rest of these people don’t understand. You can’t kidnap a man, jab a finger at the mark on his shoulder, and expect him to jump at the chance to risk his life to save a world that’s been trying to chew him up and spit him out since the day he was born.

  You can’t demand loyalty, not the real stuff. That has to be earned.

  So I keep my mouth shut, not offering contribution or commentary as Leda adds, “It was equipped to receive radio signals, and our doctors are ninety percent sure it was used to force the kid to shift. They don’t know how yet, but apparently this is something the Frankenstein doctors have been working on for a while now.”

  “And one of them succeeded,” Dust mutters darkly.

  “Looks like it. And since this guy came from Highborn’s lab, we can assume the U.S. Government is either on board with this shit or turning a blind eye while they wait to see what Highborn will be able to deliver down the line. I don’t know about you guys, but remote-control shifter soldiers sound like the kind of thing the people in charge of this great nation would get hot under the collar about,” Leda says, wrapping up her report on the body at the reservation.

  The body of the man I killed.

  The man who, if Leda is right, was as innocent as Wren has been insisting since the second my bullet punched a hole through his skull.

  I suppose I should feel guilty about how things went down, but I don’t.

  That kid’s life was over. He was a Gen Mod monster. There’s no going back to being anything close to human, or shifter, after your DNA has been scrambled like that. The kindest thing for him was to put him out of his misery.

  But somehow I doubt the princess is going to see things that way.

  I cut my glance her direction, but her sharp blue gaze is fixed on Leda’s face. “That would check out with what he said to me before he died.”

  Died, not killed. Not murdered.

  It’s a telling choice of words.

  I’m damned sure it’s a deliberate one, too. Wren is careful in her thoughts and deeds. She’s a thinker and a feeler, always weighing the pros and cons and evaluating the emotional impact of her choices. She would be a great politician—truly great in a way our country hasn’t been lucky enough to experience in decades—but all that thinking and heart-bleeding isn’t going to keep her alive.

  She needs to trust her gut, that slimy shit deep down in her core, the primordial ooze that wants to stay alive at any cost.

  “He said he couldn’t control it,” she continues, “that they couldn’t control it, and begged me to help him make it stop.”

  “Unfortunately, according to the doctors, we have no way to do that yet,” Leda says. “It’s going to take time to reverse engineer biotech this sophisticated. And until we figure out how it works, there’s no way to make it un-work.”

  “And even then, we wouldn’t have been able to put him back the way he was. Not after a genetic modification that severe,” Kite offers, saying what I’m sure most of us are thinking.

  All of us except Princess, who’s been kept so ignorant of our world she might as well be an infant. A baby, toddling around, headed for the nearest cliff the second we handlers turn our backs.

  She’s dangerous. Foolishly unpredictable.

  Flat-out fucking terrifying, because as much as she pisses me off, I don’t want to watch her tumble over the edge. It would be a waste of a decent person’s life, and that’s not okay. Not even my ice-cold heart can look into Wren’s kind, innocent, I-want-to-save-the-world eyes and say she’s better off dead.

  She’s better off back where she came from, sheltered and protected, loved and coddled. Sure, she was slowly dying, but aren’t we all?

  Some of us not so slowly. The chances of getting over the border and getting my walking papers before one of the many people out to kill this girl catch up with us are slim to fucking none.

  I know that, even before Leda pipes up with another piece of encouraging news, “And in unrelated bullshit, the Kin Born Forces have deployed packs to the woods along the border. Cascadia and Cheyenne packs for sure—our spies saw them heading out a few days ago.”

  “Fucking wolves,” Creedence grumbles, shooting a narrow look my way. “Why do your people have to be such narrow-minded fuck-heads, Luke?”

  I hold his gaze, my face expressionless until he finally looks away.

  Those wolves aren’t my people. I don’t have people, but I’m not about to share that with a suspicious, know-it-all cat who thinks he’s got my number.

  “Don’t,” Dust warns. “Luke isn’t responsible for this, and not all wolves agree with the Kin Born. They’re not all out to destroy lab-made shifters.”

  “Just ninety percent of them.” Creedence grins, and Dust rolls his eyes, but my features are made of stone. He’s going to have to work a hell of a lot harder to get a rise out of me. I don’t give my power away that easily.

  Not to him, not to anyone.

  “This is why it’s going to be so hard to find another canine kin who bears the mark, isn’t it?” Wren asks. “Because most of them consider me the enemy?”

  “They consider us the enemy,” Kite says. “Dust and I have been working with the resistance for years, standing up for lab-made shifters they want dead. You’re guilty of associating with us, that’s it. They couldn’t care less that you’re the Fata Morgana or what that means for the planet or the future.”

  “Most of them don’t believe it means anything,” Dust seconds. “Like other fundamentalists, they have a great gift for ignoring facts that don’t support their insanity.” He glances my way. “Which is one of the reasons you’re so valuable to us, Luke. It’s not just that you bear the mark. It’s that you’ve got a level head on your shoulders.”

  “Yeah, the rest of us had to have special skills, Wolf Boy,” Creedence says. “All you had to do was have a pulse and not be bat-s
hit crazy.”

  I smile, hoping he can read the unspoken “fuck you” in my eyes.

  I don’t know where he got the idea that I’m not crazy, but he’s going to regret making assumptions. One day he’s going to push me too far, wake up with his pretty nose smashed through to the other side of his face, and realize just how crazy I am.

  “Cut the shit, kitty,” Leda says with a sigh. “You need the wolf. He’s going to be able to sense the packs’ movements better than any tech or spy network. If I were you, I’d stay on his good side. At least until you get across the border.”

  Jaw clenching, I pretend to be engrossed in study of the grass and dirt beneath our feet. I will my mind to remain empty, refusing entry to the dangerous confessions lurking at the back of my thoughts.

  Never let them see you sweat.

  Never let them smell your lies.

  Never let them know you aren’t what they think you are.

  If they get wind of the truth, they’ll dump me by the road so fast my head will swim. They’re my only shot at a fresh start. They owe me that much for having me kidnapped and delivered in chains to their basement, breaking my parole in the process. You can’t order a person like a fucking pizza and expect his unfailing loyalty in return.

  As much as I want to kick his teeth in, the cat is the only one of these fools with sense, a fact he proves by being the lone “nay” vote on whether to take Carrie Ann along for whatever comes next. Even Kite comes around, agreeing that keeping her caged should ensure our safety until we can find someone to take her to Dust’s people.

  The rest of them take an unreasonable amount of comfort in the fact that Leda’s wand sweep proved Carrie Ann hasn’t been equipped with audio or video surveillance implants. As if that would prevent her from picking up a phone, calling the fucking doctor, and telling him exactly where we are.

  Even when they’re being cautious, they’re fools.

  I decline the opportunity to vote, not wanting any part in making it easier for the lot of them to have their heads removed from their bodies.

  “You should have your say. You’re part of this for the next few months, at least.” Wren’s gaze is piercing, but not accusing. Apparently, she isn’t going to get up on her “I told you so” soapbox with me. Not here in front of the rest of them, anyway. I don’t know whether to be grateful or to resent her careful handling.

  I’m not a fucking child. I can admit when I’m wrong.

  But I wasn’t wrong. The kid is better off dead, and we might be, too.

  Before I can say something I’ll regret, a thunderous clatter-smash fills the air. Dust flinches, Leda does a swift one-eighty to face the problem, and Wren…disappears.

  One second, she’s standing between Kite and Creedence, calling me out. The next, she’s nothing but a pile of soft cotton clothes.

  A wiggling pile of clothes…

  “Sorry,” a young male voice calls out from near the soda machines behind the office. “Just taking out the recycling. Didn’t mean to scare you guys. So many bottles upstairs today. Someone must have had a party last night, eh?”

  I glance up to see the towheaded twenty-something grinning in our direction, a large blue bin propped on his narrow hip. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Wren’s transformation, but I step in front of her, just in case. Keep what you are a secret—it’s pretty much the only law all the shifter factions can agree on, and one I’ve been happy to embrace from day one.

  Secrets get a bad rap. I like secrets. They’re the most solid defense I’ve found against all the forces out there that like nothing better than destroying the circles that don’t fit into their square holes.

  As the kid heads back up the stairs to the second floor, I crouch down, freeing Wren from her T-shirt. But instead of the fox shape I’m expecting, I uncover a flop-eared rabbit with white paws and a black patch over one startled blue eye.

  I shake my head as I grab her gently by the scruff of the neck, lifting her into my arms while Kite gathers her clothes. “You’re heading in the wrong direction, Princess. You’re supposed to be getting scarier, not fluffier.”

  Wren wiggles her pink nose, clearly irritated, but she’s too cute to be taken seriously.

  “At least the shift was fast.” Kite runs a gentle finger over the fur between her ears. “And you made Luke smile. That’s an accomplishment all on its own.”

  “I’m not smiling,” I say. “Got a cramp in my jaw.”

  “Was that a joke, Wolf Boy?” Creedence huffs. “Not great, but I’ll take it. You could stand to lighten the fuck up once in a while.”

  I grunt in response as I lift Wren to eye level. “Straight to the camper or do you want to go upstairs first? You’ve already packed, right?”

  She nods grudgingly before pointing a tiny arm toward the camper.

  For a beat, I’m possessed by the urge to press my lips to the pink of her paw, to feel the silk of her fur against my cheek, to pull the Wren smell of her into my lungs.

  She always smells the same, no matter what skin she’s wearing, like a sea breeze kissed with citrus, flowers, and a whiff of homemade bread. She smells like…home, though not any home I’ve ever lived in.

  She’s the kind of home I longed for as a tiny kid, back when I thought sitcoms were real and that someday, if I tried hard enough, I would live in a place like that—where there was always enough food, everything was polished and clean, and any problem could be cured with a hug and a laugh track.

  But I figured out a long time ago, I’m never going to have a happy home or a family or a pretty little wife waiting for me with a kiss and a beer when I get off work. Survival as a lone wolf is the best I can hope for.

  So I don’t kiss her paw.

  Of course I don’t. That was never an option.

  I tuck her against my chest and start toward the camper, trying not to enjoy the feel of her warm and close. It feels so damned good to touch her, but that feeling is a lie, too, just like everything else.

  I am a lie.

  And I always will be.

  Chapter 14

  Wren

  I wake up groggy, disorientated, and naked, and it all comes rushing back.

  A bunny. I terror-shifted into a flop-eared rabbit over the sound of bottles being dropped into a bin.

  Worst. World saver. Ever.

  I sit up on the gently rocking bed, dragging a weary hand through my tangled hair as I draw the sheet up around my chest. Blinking into the semi-darkness, I see the interior of the camper, bathed in the faint red glow of an ancient nightlight plugged in near the bathroom. Carrie Ann’s cage is strapped into a bucket seat near the lavatory and it looks like she’s still asleep, curled up in the cedar shavings.

  Faint snoring from the top bunk of the built-in bed across from the kitchen area makes me think Kite must be sacked out there—my big bear is the only one of us who snores, a fact I find oddly charming when it isn’t loud enough to wake me from my few stolen hours of sleep—and the curled fingers dangling off the lower mattress give Luke’s location.

  Even in sleep, he keeps his hand in a fist. Just in case.

  He’s a violent man. A convicted murderer, who has made it clear he has no qualms about killing again. I should be afraid of him. But I’m not.

  In fact, I’m pretty sure I enjoyed being cradled against his strong chest in fluffy-bunny form way too much.

  “What is wrong with you,” I grumble softly, my voice scratchy with thirst.

  “Tough question, but your clothes are by your pillow if you’d like to get dressed.” The lightly accented words come from outside the entrance to my lofted full-size mattress. “I think we should talk.”

  Scooting forward, I poke my head out to find Dust leaning against the closest part of the kitchen counter. The clock on the microwave mounted behind his head reads two ten a.m., making it clear whatever he wants to talk about is serious.

  But isn’t it always?

  We’re serious together these days, Dust and me, a
nd I have things I’d like to talk to him about, too.

  “Give me a minute, then come on up,” I whisper. “And bring some water with you, please? Shifting makes me so thirsty.”

  He smiles and gives a two-fingered salute in agreement.

  Drawing the homemade privacy curtains—tent-patterned fabric that’s stiff with dust and age—I crawl back to the top of the mattress, flick on the small reading light set into the roof, and dress in the cramped space, doing my best to be quiet.

  Creedence volunteered to take the first driving shift, which means Sierra must be in the bed beneath me. I don’t want to wake her, or any of the others. They need their rest and Dust and I need privacy, or as close as we can get to it considering we’re all literally sleeping on top of each other.

  Once I’ve pulled on a fresh pair of navy leggings, socks to ward off the chill, and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, I scoot to sit cross-legged on one side of the mattress. A few moments later, Dust appears with two water bottles and a plate, which he sets between us as he settles in across from me.

  I squint at the selection of snacks and lift narrowed eyes to his face. “Carrots?”

  He grins, instantly taking five years off his face. “I couldn’t resist. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry, not even a little bit.” I grab a carrot stick, biting into it and chewing with a mock glare.

  “No, I’m not,” he says, his eyes dancing. “It felt like an appropriate celebration. And I brought cheese slices and raisins, too.”

  “A celebration? Of what? The fact that I excel at shifting into tiny furry things no one in their right mind would be scared of?”

  Dust’s lips settle into a soft line. “Yes. You’ve found three forms in less than two weeks. That’s incredible, Wren. You should be proud.”

  I shake my head. “But I didn’t choose to shift. Or what I was going to shift into.”

  He shrugs. “So you’ve got good instincts. A rabbit was as good a choice as any for running from sudden danger.”

  I arch a dubious brow. “Like I said, it wasn’t a choice. And I think the fact that Kite had just gotten back from buying a rabbit cage deserves as much credit as any instincts on my part. It was just fresh in my mind.” I take a cheese slice from the plate, breaking it in half and holding the pieces up between us. “So, if I eat this cheese and think of mice, maybe that will be next?”