Page 43 of Untamed

“That’s generally where clothes go before they become mine again.” His mouth almost moves at one corner, but the bond is still sore between us. “Keep it.”

“I was going to. You left it where I could reach it.”

Arlo gives me the look that answer deserves and steps sideways to let me pass instead of brushing against me. I notice the missing touch all the way back to the den. By the time I drop the laundry onto the blankets, I’m angry that I noticed it at all.

That evening he leaves food outside the den because I stay in bear form through dinner. The bowl is still warm when I finally pull it inside, and there is no note beside it because Arlo knows I would hate one. I eat every bite. When I push the empty bowl back into the hall later, it is gone before I fall asleep.

On the third morning the examination memories come back hard enough that I wake with my claws buried in the blanket. My first instinct is to go find Arlo and push my head into his hands until he gives me the familiar rhythm I know will quiet everything. I stop at the den doorway instead. His bedroom door is open down the hall, and I can hear him moving inside.

He feels me through the bond. I know because he stops moving too. Neither of us crosses the distance. After a while I back into the den and curl around one of his shirts until the memory loosens on its own.

Later that day another Council guard comes to the house. This time I move close enough to the den entrance to see Arlo at the front door without being visible from outside. He plants one hand against the frame and does not let the guard put a boot over the threshold.

“Graves requested Orion for a medical review.” The guard sounds bored, as though the last week did not happen inside this house. “It’s mandatory.”

“Then Graves can request me.” Arlo’s shoulders never move. “Orion isn’t going anywhere with you.”

“That isn’t your decision. Graves expects compliance.”

“Try me.” Arlo closes the door before the guard can answer. He stands there for a second with his forehead against the wood, then turns toward the hall and sees me watching from the den.

Neither of us says anything. I am still wearing his black shirt, and his scent is strongest at the collar where I have rubbed it against my face for three nights. Arlo’s eyes drop to it, then return to mine. The anger is still there between us, but so is everything else.

He looks like he might come closer. I almost ask him to. Instead I back into the den before either of us can make the first move for the wrong reason, and Arlo lets me go without following. From inside the blankets, I hear him turn the deadbolt and check the front window twice.

I lie down in the middle of his stolen clothes while he moves through the house on the other side of the wall. Another set of boots passes on the road outside, and Arlo’s voice comes from the front room before I can get up. “Keep walking.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Arlo

Iwake because something in the bond has gone wrong. It isn’t gone or broken, but it has stretched so thin and quiet that for half a second I think Orion has finally learned how to sleep without dragging half of my nervous system down with him. Then my hand hits the empty sheet beside me, already cold, and the bond runs away from the house in one narrow line toward the trees.

My eyes are barely open when I’m out of bed. The first pair of tactical pants I grab is inside out, and I manage to fix one leg before giving up and dragging them on while I move. My fingers miss the button once. By the time I hit the path barefoot, the front door is banging against the wall behind me and pine needles are biting into my feet hard enough to make me faster.

Orion is already halfway to the perimeter, his bear moving between the pines with none of the frantic violence I know too well. He isn’t tearing at bark or stumbling through a spike, and his head isn’t swinging wildly for a threat only he can see. He’s walking in a straight line, huge shoulders rolling under dark fur as every step carries him toward the fence and the white sweep of security lights cutting through the trees.

“Orion!”

One ear flicks toward me, but he keeps going.

The quiet in the bond isn’t absence. He’s holding himself down so tightly that all I can feel is the narrow, deliberate force driving him forward. The closer I get, the clearer his intention becomes. He knows where the fence is, knows the guards will come, and knows exactly what a three-hundred-pound feral bear moving through a restricted zone will look like to men waiting for an excuse to put him down. He thinks if they kill him, they’ll stop using me to control him.

“Stop.” My lungs burn in the damp morning air. “Orion, turn around and look at me.” He doesn’t even break stride.

A sweep light crosses his back, and another catches the side of my face before sliding away. Somewhere beyond the trees, boots pound over packed earth. I shove everything I can through the bond, not some vague attempt at calm but myself: smoke and leather, anger and terror, the hard pressure of my presence so he can’t pretend he’s doing this alone.

He’s almost at the warning posts when I cut in front of him and plant both feet in the dirt. Orion jerks to a stop so close that his breath moves the bare skin of my chest. The fence hums behind me, low and electric, and for one terrible second his gaze stays fixed over my shoulder instead of on me.

“No.” His head lowers, and I shove both hands into the fur at his chest. “You are not doing this.”

He shifts one shoulder, trying to angle around me, and the movement nearly knocks me sideways. I dig my heels into the ground and follow him until there is nowhere he can go without putting me under his paws first. The restraint he’s been holding over the bond cracks enough for his resignation to reach me, along with the conviction beneath it that I would be safer without him.

“You think this fixes anything?” I grab harder, fistfuls of fur twisting between my fingers. “You think I’m safer with half a bond and your death stuck in my head every time I close my eyes?” His whole body flinches beneath my hands.

“If you go into that fence, I go with you whether I want to or not. Maybe not with a bullet in my chest, but I go. You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

A growl breaks in his throat and collapses into something rougher. Examination lights flash through the bond, followed by blackouts, the word specimen, and the Doctor’s eyes sliding from Orion to me. Underneath all of it is the same fear turned outward now, fixed on every way the Collective can reach him through me. He has decided the only way to stop that is to take himself away from them first.