Page 30 of Untamed

Orion gives me a tired look and squeezes the back of my neck once. I press one last kiss over the swollen mark before easing back as the knot finally begins to soften. When we can separate, neither of us gets up, and Orion’s hand finds mine on the kitchen floor and closes around it.

Chapter Seventeen

Orion

Saturday morning, I put on the dark trousers Arlo bought me and immediately regret it. The fabric catches behind my knees when I bend to fix the cuff, and the waistband sits too close against skin that still feels wrong after shifting. I hook two fingers under it and pull until Arlo comes into the hall carrying the sweatpants I usually wear outside. He looks at the trousers, then at my hand fighting the waistband. "You sure?"

"I put them on, didn't I?"

"That wasn't the question."

I let the waistband snap back against my stomach. "I want to wear them."

Arlo puts the sweatpants over the arm of the couch without arguing. He already has his coat on, passes tucked into one pocket, market bag hanging from his hand. I should be ready to follow him out the door, but boots scrape somewhere beyond the front window and my shoulders tighten before I can stop them. The checkpoint sits between us and the market no matter which route we take. I stop beside him. "Wait. I need grounding first."

He sets the bag down and holds out his hand. I step close enough to put my forehead against his shoulder, and his palm settles at the back of my neck. His fingers move slowly into my curls, the same path from my temple to the back of my head while the boots outside keep going. By the time I step back, my jaw has stopped aching. Arlo lets his hand fall. "Ready now?"

"Yeah." I straighten the waistband once. "Before I change my mind about these fucking pants."

The market is loud enough that I feel it in my teeth. A cart wheel catches on a rut near the entrance, somebody shouts over the price of apples, and two people cut between Arlo and me before I realize I haven't turned to check where he went. I can still feel him somewhere behind my left shoulder, steady through the bond, so I keep walking until he comes back into view beside the butcher's stall.

The butcher wraps our order, then holds out a strip of dried beef with two fingers. His hand comes closer than I expect, and every muscle across my shoulders locks. I take it anyway. He lets go without touching me and turns back to his knife as if nothing happened. Arlo says nothing. I chew half the strip before we leave the stall and shove the rest into my pocket for later.

We hit the residential checkpoint on the way home. A senior guard scans our passes, looks at Arlo's name, and smiles without anything friendly in it. "Maddox. Heard the Council is reviewing whether murderers with experimental value still deserve private housing."

Arlo goes still beside me. Anger hits the bond hard enough that my own pulse jumps, but there is no fear under it and nothing in his body says he is hurt. "Finish the scan," he says. "Then get out of our way."

The guard looks at me, then back at Arlo. "Private house, private mate, all these little privileges. Easy to forget who owns the compound." He steps closer. "Would be a shame if somebody decided you weren't worth the trouble."

Arlo's anger sharpens. Still no fear. Still no pain. The guard takes another step toward him. I hit him.

My shoulder drives into his chest hard enough to slam him into the checkpoint rail. Metal rings under the impact. He grabs for me, and I catch his arm, twist, and put him face-down before anyone around us has time to react. My knee lands between his shoulder blades. Claws punch through my fingertips while his wrist strains in my hand.

He curses into the dirt. I tighten my grip until he makes a sound through his teeth. Arlo isn't hurt. Nobody touched him. I knew that before I put this man on the ground, and my claws are still coming through anyway.

"Orion."

Arlo's voice cuts through the bond and the air at the same time. I look up. He is standing exactly where I left him, coat still buttoned, market bag hanging from one hand. No blood. No fear. Just anger and the hard line of his mouth while he waits for me to listen.

I wrench myself backward and force my hands open against the dirt. The guard jerks his arm under him as soon as I let go, but I am already moving away. My claws scrape the ground once before they begin to recede.

Arlo steps into my line of sight without touching me. "Come back."

I look at him instead of the guard. The last of the shift drags painfully through my hands, leaving blood around two cuticles where the claws broke skin. The guard is shouting behind us about reports and consequences, but another man at the checkpoint finishes the scan and shoves our passes back at Arlo. We leave before anybody decides they need rifles involved.

Arlo keeps his hands to himself the whole walk home. I don't ask him to do otherwise. The dried blood around my nails turns dark before we reach the house, and by the time the door shuts behind us I have picked one cuticle raw again.

Arlo sets the groceries on the kitchen counter. I stay near the wall with both hands hanging at my sides. "I knew," I say before he can start. My thumb catches another flake of dried blood. "You weren't scared. He hadn't touched you. I knew."

"Yeah." Arlo turns toward me. His anger is still there, clean enough through the bond that I don't have to guess at it. "You knew, and you put him on the ground anyway. So next time I'm pissed at somebody, don't decide that means I need you to break him for me."

I slam my palm against the wall once, hard enough to sting, and leave it there. "I'm fucking tired of knowing better after I've already got somebody on the ground." My teeth still ache with the edge of the shift. "I knew you were fine."

"Good. Then remember that part." Arlo folds his arms. "I'm not spending the rest of my life wondering whether you're going to break somebody because I'm angry. If I need help, I'll fucking tell you."

I stare at him. He does not soften the words because I look miserable, and that helps more than reassurance would have. My hands are still shaking when I cross the kitchen and stop in front of him. "I need you."

Arlo's gaze drops once to my hands and comes back to my face. "What do you need me to do?"