Page 18 of Untamed

“Is everything still as loud?” I ask once I’m done.

“Not as bad.” Orion rubs the heel of his hand over his chest, then glances down at himself and toward the open patch of rug. “I still want the bear, though.”

I shift my feet out of his way. “Then shift. You don’t have to explain why.”

Orion steps into the open stretch of rug beside my feet, lowering himself as fur pushes through along his arms. His hands widen into paws, his shoulders climbing as the bear rolls back over him until several hundred pounds of brown fur are pressed against the couch. He circles once before dropping with his muzzle directly across both of my boots.

I look down at the weight pinning my feet. “You could’ve picked literally anywhere else on the rug.”

One ear flicks, his muzzle staying exactly where it is.

“Alrighty, then,” I chuckle as I drag the book back into my lap and open it to the page I abandoned earlier.

Chapter Eleven

Orion

The rumble of the tires vibrating through the floor alerts me to the Council car’s arrival. My head comes up from my paws, the quiet in the house changing with it. Arlo is at the table behind me with one of Kael’s folders open, but he doesn’t turn toward the window.

The front door opens without a knock. Two guards stay near the threshold while Graves walks in as if he has every right to be here, the smell of leather, starch, and cold air following him into the room. His eyes move over me first, then the folder beneath Arlo’s hand.

“Mr. Maddox. I trust the week has been productive.”

Arlo closes the folder. “We’re managing.”

His voice stays even, but anger runs hot through the bond beneath it. There’s something colder under that anger too, something that sharpens when Graves looks at me, and I know before either man says it that this visit isn’t about checking whether I’m eating or sleeping.

Graves walks farther into the room. “The Council is concerned by the lack of formal reporting on Orion’s transition. You’ve been remarkably quiet.”

“You have the notes from the dart removal.”

Graves reaches for the folder. Arlo puts his palm over it before his fingers touch the cover.

“Those are your notes,” Graves says. “Not an independent assessment.”

“They tell you he survived.” Arlo’s hand stays where it is. “That should be enough.”

Graves finally looks at me properly, though his attention still feels more like measurement than recognition. I smell the chemical residue from the Council car on his coat when he comes closer, and my claws press into the floor before I make them stop. He talks about muscle retention and accelerated shifting while looking over my shoulders and legs as if I’m not listening.

“His name is Orion.”

Graves turns his head toward Arlo. “I’m aware.”

“Then use it.”

The guard nearest the door shifts his weight. The leather around his holster creaks, small enough that nobody else should care, but the sound cuts through me anyway. Arlo hears it too; his eyes flick toward the man and back before Graves speaks again.

“Orion, shift. We need to confirm cognitive stability in human form after the Feral spike.”

I stay where I am. Graves waits, and the irritation coming off him grows sharper when I give him nothing.

“He answered you,” Arlo says.

Graves’s mouth tightens. “An animal that refuses basic direction isn’t stable.”

Arlo is on his feet before the last word settles. The nearest guard reaches toward his weapon, and my lip lifts from one tooth as the smell of fear spikes at the door. Arlo steps between us, not blocking my view so much as forcing the guard to look at him first.

“Take your hand off the gun.”