Untamed (Dark Moon Shifters #2)

by Bella Jacobs

  But Sierra just shakes her head. “I didn’t have to say anything. It wasn’t even a person who picked up. It was some sort of answering service. I had to punch in a code and that was it.”

  “Carrie Ann had no reason to lie. I trust that she was telling the truth about the Atlas-Highborn connection,” Wren says, her voice rough with lack of sleep. She was up all night writing Carrie Ann’s story and a carefully worded letter to her own parents, warning them not to trust anyone connected with her old friend, without giving too much away in case the message is intercepted.

  I’ve promised to mail it the next time I fly to town, but who knows when that will be. There’s no sick girl to arrange transport for now, we’re well stocked with supplies, and I’ve gotten as much information as I’m going to get on Luke. There’s only one high-ranking member of the resistance still alive. I finally contacted Bill yesterday, and he had nothing on Lucas, aka Luke, and the L.A. pack hasn’t been forthcoming, either.

  I have to get Wren alone and tell her we’ve hit a brick wall with him, preferably before she heads back into the woods alone with a man we still know so little about aside from the fact that he’s a liar.

  “But why?” Kite squints into the sun peeking out from behind the mountains to the east. “I get why Highborn wants to drive shifters to extinction, but what does Atlas have to gain from it? He’s still taking marked mates, right? Those will be hard to come by if there aren’t any shifters left in the world.”

  Sierra crosses her arms, cupping her hand around the stump at the end of her elbow in a self-conscious way that makes me ache for what she’s lost—not just part of her body, but the confidence that made her a force to be reckoned with. “I don’t know. He’s got a dungeon full of women at his stronghold, but you’re right—sooner or later, he’ll run out. We’ve got longer lifespans than humans, but we don’t live forever.”

  Especially when you have a habit of eating the people you marry, I add silently. But I keep that to myself.

  No need for this conversation to take a turn for the truly gruesome.

  “That’s another thing I don’t understand. About the mate-bond process…” Wren stops in front of the camper, turning to face us with her hands propped low on her hips, drawing my attention to her newly broadened shoulders. She’s getting stronger with a speed that’s mind-blowing. Luke is good at what he does, which is the only reason I’m even considering letting him stay.

  That and the fact that I’m hoping the dirt I have on him will give me the leverage I need to force him to take his commitment to the next level. He’s a canine shifter with the mark. Like it or not, we need him.

  It makes me sick to my stomach that I’ve been forced into the position of coercing a man I don’t trust into forming a mate bond with the girl I love. But I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Wren, even nudge her into the arms of another man.

  “Creedence told me the other day that you have to consciously choose to form a bond. Either that or be so in love with the person that your heart makes the choice for you.” Her cheeks go pink, but she keeps her head up, making eye contact with each of us as she continues, “So how does Atlas force these women into the bond? Is it like Sierra said? Some kind of mind control? And if so, does that count as a conscious choice?”

  “It must,” I say. “He’s thousands of years old and gets stronger with every passing decade. Whatever he’s doing, it’s getting the job done. But that doesn’t explain why he’s helping Highborn.”

  “He’s not helping Highborn.” Wren paces, one finger tapping her lips. “Atlas is a megalomaniac. He considers himself a god. He doesn’t help humans. Humans serve him. Whatever the cause, it’s his cause.”

  “She’s right.” Sierra lifts anxious eyes to the sky. “But right now, my cause is getting inside. Daylight makes me nervous. I’ll start water for oatmeal.”

  “Thanks, Sierra.” Wren stops beside me, plucking a small white feather from the sleeve of my shirt. She lifts it to her face, studying the architecture of the fluff and bone through narrowed eyes. “I need a flight form. And it needs to be bigger than a breadbox. You can carry two people. If I can lock down a form big enough to carry two, then we’ve got an emergency exit strategy off the mountain. Just in case.”

  “I may have something that will help with that,” I say, seeing the perfect excuse to get her away from the others. I motion to the coin around her neck. “I spoke with Jasper yesterday, my parents’ advisor. He walked me through the life-fast process. It’s allegedly easier with a charm to help keep both parties grounded in the real world. If you’re up for it, we can give it a try later. If all goes well, you’ll be able to experience what’s it’s like to shift into a larger form. It should give you guidance at the very least. But if we’re lucky…”

  Wren’s gaze sharpens. “I might have a griffin shape by the end of the day.” She nods. “Let’s do it. The sooner we have a backup plan, the better I’ll feel. Obviously, Carrie Ann didn’t place any calls to Highborn from her cage, but he got too close.”

  “And we were too clueless,” Luke adds.

  “Speaking of close and clueless.” Creedence scrubs a hand across his unshaven jaw. “I tracked the howling we heard to the source. It’s just a normal pack of wolves. But they’ve been a few miles away all this time, and it took days for us to realize we were in wolf territory.” He shifts his gaze to Luke. “Care to explain how you missed that, Bucko? I thought you were supposed to be our canine-sensing secret weapon.”

  “I was in prison for almost a decade,” Luke shoots back without missing a beat. “If I hadn’t found a way to dull my instincts, I would have lost my mind in close quarters with that many humans. And I’ve only been out a few months. I’ll work on getting my senses back in shape, but I can’t make any promises. If you’re that worried about pack movement, you and Kite should start swapping out surveillance shifts.”

  “Aren’t you worried about it?” Creedence asks. “And are your legs broken? Why are Kite and I the ones in charge of taking up your slack?”

  “Because Dust is the only one who can fly to get supplies and I have to save my energy to get my girl in shape,” Luke says, lips curving in a deliberate taunt.

  As expected, Cree’s eyes flash and his jaw clenches tight. “She’s not your girl. She’s not your anything. You’re on your way out of this happy family, remember?”

  “It’s never more than a second from my thoughts,” Luke says.

  “Enough.” Wren steps between them. “Luke, see if you can help Kite and Creedence figure out where and how far they need to patrol. Your instincts may be dulled, but you still know more about pack movement and habits than the rest of us. I need the day off from training. Dust and I have other work to do.”

  “Whatever it takes to get you airborne, Princess.” Luke glances up at the pale blue sky. “Having another route off this mountain would help me sleep better at night.” He jerks his head toward the camper. “I’ll help Sierra with breakfast. I want you to double up on protein, even if you are taking the day off. Nuts on your oatmeal, and a protein shake.”

  “All right. Thanks.” She smiles tightly as Luke heads inside, waiting to roll her eyes until he’s out of sight. “I thought I was going to get a day off from the chalk dust. I swear, they must try to make that protein powder taste awful. There’s no other explanation for how bad it is.”

  “I’ll grab another brand next time I’m in town,” I say, casting a pointed glance toward her increasingly chiseled arms. “But Luke’s regimen is definitely working. I wouldn’t want to meet you in an alley after dark.”

  Wren smiles—a real one this time—and nudges my booted foot with hers. “Right? I might turn into a bunny rabbit and jump out of a hat. Scare you half to death.”

  “Or a griffin,” I remind her. “If the life fast works.”

  “I want to stay with you two today,” Kite says, his brow furrowed. “Life-fasting can be dangerous. I want to be there to help if I can. Offer backup.”


  “I think it’s best done in private,” I say. “Every secret we’ve ever had will be laid bare. We’re both going to feel vulnerable enough without an audience.” I know Kite is concerned for his mate, but Wren will most likely be my mate someday, too. I can be trusted to do everything in my power to keep her safe.

  At least, I hope she’ll still consider me mate material after she’s seen every dark, shadowy corner of my soul.

  “Dust’s right.” Wren takes Kite’s hand. “But we’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “You can’t make promises like that,” Kite says before adding in a softer voice, “and I’m sorry if you felt deceived about the mate-bond process. There wasn’t a choice for me. I was already in love with you. And I knew you were in the same place. I could feel it. It wasn’t going to be a one-sided thing, so I didn’t even think to talk about that.”

  “No, it’s fine. I don’t feel deceived,” Wren says, clearly uncomfortable.

  Kite’s brows arch, and Wren’s jaw tenses in response as energy Creedence and I can’t sense flows back and forth between them.

  Sometimes I envy their empathic connection.

  Other times, I do not.

  There are occasions when it’s nice to be able to soften the truth for the one you love, and when feelings are best kept close to the chest.

  “I’m not angry or resentful,” Wren insists. “Truly, I’m not. I love you so much. I just would have liked to be in possession of all the facts from the beginning. Like what you just said…” Wren lifts a hand, motioning to Kite’s chest. “Is it possible to form a one-sided bond? Could it happen for one person, and not the other?”

  “That’s an attachment—one person hooked for life, but not vice versa,” Creedence offers, casting a longing look toward the door to the camper, where breakfast and coffee are waiting. “A bond requires two invested parties.”

  “My people don’t see it that way.” Kite’s eyes narrow on the other man’s face. “Neither do the wolves or other forest kin. There are cultural differences between people who have lived in close-knit communities for millennia and lone cats who would sell their own children for the right price.”

  Creedence laughs. “Don’t pick a fight with me, Pooh-bie. It’s not my fault you’re in the doghouse with your old lady. I’m an innocent bystander.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “And I don’t fight this early in the morning. Or before breakfast. Or after funerals.”

  He turns, climbing into the camper as a pall settles over the three of us who remain.

  “I know she’s still alive,” Wren whispers, hugging her arms around her chest. “Out there in the woods somewhere. But…”

  “But her human spirit is gone,” Kite says, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “And it hurts.”

  “Yes. That.” Wren leans into him, resting her forehead on his chest, their brief squabble apparently forgotten.

  “I’ll make tea for anyone who wants some. See you inside.” I back away, for once not the slightest bit jealous of Wren and Kite’s closeness.

  If things go well today, Wren and I will be as close as two souls can get.

  And if they go badly…

  Well, if that happens, I won’t be lucid enough to fret about it. I’m physically bigger and stronger than Wren, but her will is a force to be reckoned with. Her mind might very well crush mine like a bug.

  It’s a chance I’m willing to take.

  I will do anything for her. Absolutely anything.

  Chapter 20

  Wren

  Dust and I sit cross-legged across from each other on the floor in the center of the cabin, the gold coin on the boards between us and potential energy thick in the air.

  By the end of this, we could have the answers we’ve been looking for. Or, if it goes badly, one of our minds will be broken, maybe beyond repair.

  Maybe forever.

  “You’re sure?” I ask, meeting his gaze in the hazy light filtering through the curtains Kite hung yesterday, giving our compound a homey feel.

  “I’m sure.” He holds out his palms, face up. “But if I don’t come out all right on the other side, I want you to know something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t regret any of it,” he says, his gray eyes steady and true. “Not a single sad, ugly, difficult step. Because every one brought me back to you.”

  Emotion tightens my throat. “You’re going to make it out. We both are.” I slip my hands into his, shivering as electricity dances across my skin and that increasingly familiar ache curls low in my body. I’m crazy attracted to Dust, a fact he’s going to know when he has a front row seat to every detail of my entire life.

  But I’m not nervous about that part of the life fast.

  Even now, with our breath coming faster simply from holding hands and looking deep into each other’s eyes, I think it’s clear that we’re not just childhood friends anymore. We’re grown-up friends on the verge of becoming something greater.

  “We’ll start by focusing on the coin, breathing deep and keeping our hands pressed lightly together,” Dust says. “When the connection is secure, I’ll start counting backward, and at a certain point, the fast will take over.”

  “How will you know the connection is secure?”

  “I’ll just know.” A lopsided grin lilts across his face, reminding me of all the times we got in trouble together as kids and how often that grin got us out of it. “Some things you just…know.”

  “True,” I whisper. Like the way I know I’m not going to regret letting Dust this close. He’s already a part of me. I’m ready for this, for whatever comes next in the adventures of Dust and Wren. “I’m glad you’re back in my life,” I say, curling my fingers lightly into his palms.

  “Me too, Snow.”

  I smile. “You have a Snow White fetish.”

  “I have a you, fetish,” he says, making my cheeks go hot and my grin stretch wider. “Now close your eyes. I’m going to start at one hundred. Just in case.”

  As my eyes slide closed, I immediately become more aware of the texture of his hands—warm and dry, with callouses on his right hand from target practice—and his scent—like smoke and forest, like summer nights and the kitchen after a lovely meal prepared and eaten with people you love. Like care. Like love.

  He’s on seventy-eight, and I’m thinking about love, about family and what ours might look like if we live to make a real life together, when the birds chirping outside go silent. My skin warms, and my mind softens as I sink into something deeper and wider than any dream.

  Within a few moments, the memories start to come like waves, rocking me gently as they soak into my soul, undulating in kaleidoscope colors behind my closed eyes.

  At first there doesn’t seem to be any order to what I’m experiencing—I am Dust at six hunting with his father, Dust at seventeen kissing a beautiful girl beneath the mistletoe at Winter Solstice, Dust at two running naked through the castle halls with griffin wings sprouting from his shoulders and laughter bubbling from his chest, Dust at ten, whispering with me in his fort as we planned a water balloon attack on the kids next door with the giant slingshots he’d made.

  I shudder, shaken by the sensation of being in two bodies at once as my side of the same memory ripples through me, swelling my heart with happiness.

  Suddenly, I understand.

  Joy. These are the bliss-filled memories, coming fast and messy and out of order, but connected by a thread of beauty, play, and love.

  I relax into the flow, laughing aloud as I slide down a snow-covered hill on a silver platter Dust snuck out of the kitchen and take to the sky with my mother, my kin form unfurling from deep inside me like a puzzle I’ve always known how to solve.

  Dimly, as if from a great distance, I hear Dust laugh, too, but instinctively I know he isn’t seeing what I’m seeing.

  If I’m in his life, then he must be in mine.

  And he’s finding joy there, too. Even amid all the pain, there was love and happin
ess, a fact I’m grateful for as the waves grow colder and the memories deeper.

  Now I’m Dust as a small boy, screaming as someone snatches him from the woods, carrying him far away from home. I’m Dust in the hospital, fighting for his life, wondering why he can’t remember how he got here or how he came to live with his adopted parents.

  I’m Dust with tears streaming down his cheeks because he can’t keep up with the other kids on the playground, can’t make it across the neighborhood on his bike without calling for help, can’t pick Wren up off the ground and carry her back to their parents after she collapses by the snow cone truck. She’s cut her head, and it’s bleeding so badly it’s scary, but when I touch the red, smearing it away from her eyes, there’s an unexpected shivering sensation, like electricity coursing up my arm.

  Strangely, it makes me feel strong, maybe strong enough to help.

  My chest tightens, fear and love throbbing against my ribs as I bend my knees and lift Wren—lift myself, a tiny, sickly girl, pale and limp on the ground.

  And for a few amazing steps, I’m doing it! Carrying her on that miraculous wave of strength. But all too soon it fades. I fight to hold on, but barely make it two more steps across the grass before I collapse.

  We’re both so weak, so vulnerable it’s terrifying.

  Terrifying….

  Now I’m in a car, racing down a narrow country road with Wren unconscious and suffering from a gunshot wound beside me, and I know I will never forgive myself if she dies. She can’t die. Not when I’ve finally found my way back to her after so many miserable fucking years apart.

  Years of shame and brutality and never being allowed to forget that I failed my family, my people. I allowed myself to be taken, and I failed them all.

  The waves are coming faster now.

  Deeper.

  Colder.

  I’m back at court after my rescue from the cult, but the castle isn’t the vibrant, life- and love-filled place it was before. My mother never fully recovered from the kidnapping. The pain devastated her, so much so that she still holds me at a distance, as if she can’t bear to love me for fear I’ll be stolen away again, taking what’s left of her heart with me. And Father is too busy holding on to the throne by the skin of his teeth to notice the way I’m treated after my return.