Untamable

Chapter 8 Strangers

Elizabeth’s POV

I quickly reach the edge of The Lone Forest, and just one step more, and I'm out of The Wood Pack’s territory. I’m free. But that also means I’ll become a rogue. I’ll have to be on my own, surviving in the wild, facing the risk of being torn apart by other rogues, dragged back as a slave by other Alphas or being slaughtered by Lycans.

Is it really worth the hassle? I ask myself as the excitement of leaving those clowns behind starts to fizzle out like cheap fireworks. I pace back and forth at the boundary like a madwoman. I accidentally brush against it and—bang!—I'm bounced back by an invisible force.

Fantastic. A divine push from the Moon Goddess? Just what I needed.

For a split second, I consider turning back, telling my pack that I’m diagnosed with cancer and living out my days in dramatic, slightly exaggerated agony, until I die. It’s not like Aiden and Cherry would dare try anything with a terminally ill Elizabeth, right?

I take a step back, but my pride screeches to a halt.

No, I can't go back.

I’m only in my early twenties for crying out loud and haven’t seen anything beyond The Lone Forest.

I don’t want to die with regrets.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and solemnly declare, “I, Elizabeth Myres, hereby willingly sever my ties with The Wood Pack this day forward and exile myself to the wilderness.”

I feel something snap inside me subtly. The feeling is hard to describe. I open my eyes, take a gutsy step forward—no force pushes back this time.

Nothing’s stopping me now. I grin to myself and begin my journey into the great unknown.

Having lived with my pack for over twenty years, I never considered that I’d need to rely solely on myself to survive in the wild. I was sure I'd adapt like a duck to water. Instead, survival isn’t as simple as I imagined and I flop like a fish on land.

First off, I find out the hard way that my sense of direction is...well, pretty terrible.

Back home in The Lone Forest, I used to strut around like I was a werewolf GPS. The tricky forest trails would leave visitors swirling like they were on a merry-go-round, and Alpha Hugh had to send out search parties for them. I thought I was top-notch at finding my way, but outside my home turf, I'm basically useless.

Everything looks the same. Every direction I turn, it’s just trees, trees, and, oh look, more trees. Turns out, I was only good at navigating because I'd walked those paths a gazillion times growing up.

Before I can finish wallowing in self-pity over my faulty internal compass, new challenges pop up. For one, I can’t hunt to feed myself—I’d always been the one in charge of the kitchen, not the hunting. And don’t get me started on the crazy temperatures. By noon, I’m practically melting, and by nightfall, I’m shivering like a wet cat.

Hunger and panic start creeping in like uninvited guests. I’ve never missed the cozy comfort of my pack more in my life. Part of me knows I could crawl back to Aiden, apologize, and he’d graciously let me back in. No joking, he is the typo of Alpha who would probably relish the chance to play the forgiving leader, basking in pack-wide admiration. Cherry would definitely laugh her head off, but Aiden’s decision would surely annoy her, so there’s that silver lining.

But then there's something else—perhaps it’s pride or just sheer stubbornness—that has me marching headstrong on this wayward journey. After all, turning tail isn't really my style... at least not today.

So, I head east, wandering alone for two days without meeting a soul. My grand meals consist of berries, berries, and—you guessed it—more berries. Just when I think I might turn into a berry myself, I luckily discover a nest with some bird eggs. I eat them up like they’re a royal feast and sleep like a baby. In the middle of the night, however, rustling in the forest yanks me awake.

I sit up, peering into the darkness like a deer caught in headlights, but everything seems normal... at first. Then I hear it—a peculiar whistling, like someone attempting to play a flute while gargling. My nerves go from zero to jittery in seconds flat.

Out of nowhere, shadowy wolves slink into view, their spooky green eyes glowing in the night. They lock eyes with me, and my brain goes into full-on panic mode. I try to stay calm, thinking, "Stay put—not every wolf out there can climb trees, right?" Right...?

The whistling strikes again. Suddenly, a shape drops from above, landing like a ninja on the tree trunk. And just like that, I get booted off the tree by a mysterious figure. I let out a yell and crash to the ground with all the grace of a spilled bowl of soup. I glance up, the figure is a woman with a whistle dangling around her neck. She has a grin like a cat with a cornered mouse and sends another tune into the night. That’s when the wolves start moving toward me. Oh, boy.

It dawns on me that she’s ordering the wolves with her whistle.

Fuck me. What the hell is going on now? !

Wolves are pack creatures, sure, but this is next-level teamwork.

No time to ponder further. I scramble to my feet and make a break for it. With every step, leaves crunch and twigs snap, all blending indistinctly with the pursuit behind me.

I’m aware I can’t outpace these speed demons—without the ability to shift my human legs are no match. But the will to survive overrides every rational thought. The growls intensify, and panic propels me forward until I skid wildly, landing in a slick mud pit.

As I flounder to stand, the wolves surround me. My heart sinks, fantasizing this could be my unfortunate finale. But instead of leaping forward to make me their dinner, the lead gray wolf stalks forward, growling low. I am on my knees again, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

“Get up,” says the whistling lady beside the wolf, her tone as flat as a bored librarian.

Unsteady, I find my footing, caught in a tight ring of wolves.

“Don’t even think about running, sweetheart,” she orders, giving me a cheeky wink brimming with mischief. "You know better than that.”

After a hefty gulp, I toss my escape plans into the mental trash bin. Now is not a good time, not when I am helplessly outnumbered and out-clawed.

The woman eyes me with curious interest, handing over a blindfold. “Put this on. If you're worried about tripping, just grab my shoulder.” I follow her instructions, stumbling along as if we're in a three-legged race. Finally, we come to a stop, and she whips off the blindfold. We're in front of a cave that opens up to a waterfall.

The place is crawling with wolves, lounging on the rocks like they're at some kind of luxury spa retreat. As I step in, every wolf seems to clock my entrance. The ones below stand up at attention while the ones perched above stick their heads out, curiosity written all over their furry faces. Ignoring my inner urge to start waving a white flag frantically, I manage to stammer out, “Uh, where am I?”

Avoiding my question, the whistle lady waltzes through the pack, giving a casual brush to the wolves, who purr like oversized kittens. Giggling, she saunters into a tent at the side like she’s clocking out of her day job.

Meanwhile, the waterfall roars on, cranking up the tension in the air. Suddenly, the wolves disperse on some unspoken command. In a blink, I'm left standing alone with one particularly shaggy wolf. It shifts into a tall woman carrying an aura of pure authority that screams "I am the leader". Draped in white, she strides toward me, her gaze could probably melt steel.

“Welcome,” she declares, her voice smooth and commanding.

Caught off guard, I nod like a bobblehead. She tilts her head, asking, “Got any clue where you are?”

Terrified and clueless, I shake my head vigorously. “Go on, take a guess,” she encourages with a smile that hints she's in no rush.

Hesitantly, I venture, “Sapphire Lake Area?”

She chuckles like I’ve told a cute joke. “That’s where you’re headed?”asks the leader.

“Yes,” I confess like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

“No such luck,” she smirks. “Not quite there yet,” she says, giving me a once-over and remarking, “You don’t have a wolf.”

“Yeah,” I confirm.

“Did your pack kick you out?” she probes.

“Nope,” I respond, “I made the call myself.”

Raising an eyebrow, she challenges, “Nobody chooses to go rogue. ”she counters, looking at me like I just declared the sky is green.

“I get it,” I say with a shrug, “but I’ve got cancer, and the clock’s not exactly ticking in my favor.”

“No fated mate swooping in to save the day?” she presses.

“I haven’t bumped into him yet,” I smile wryly.

With a nod of understanding, she asks, “What’s your name, and where did you come from?”

“Elizabeth Myers,” I say. “Used to run with The Wood Pack.”

“The berries and nuts from The Lone Forest are delightful,” chimes in the whistling lady, popping out of the tent.

“Thanks,” I say politely, “but if I eat one more berry, I'm going to turn into a jam jar.”

She laughs, a sound that the wolf leader mirrors with a smile. “Have you really cut ties with your pack?”

“Yep,” I nod firmly.

“Why? If you find your fated mate and recover, you could go back.”

“The odds are too slim,” I shake my head. “And I don’t want to go back anyhow.”

“Why not?” inquires the whistling woman, wolves around her mirroring her curiosity.

Wait a second—is that popcorn she’s holding? Either I'm hallucinating, or she’s got an actual popcorn bucket. The buttery aroma floats my way, and my stomach rumbles loudly enough to be heard over the waterfall.

Noticing my ravenous expression, she graciously extends the popcorn. “Want some?” she offers with a grin.

Without waiting for another invitation, I take it eagerly. “Thank you,” I mumble, barely pausing before shoveling buttery goodness into my mouth. It’s a popcorn waterfall of my own making.

“Wow,” she observes, eyebrows raised in mild amusement.

“She’s clearly famished,” the wolf leader comments. “Catherine, could you get her something more substantial?”

“I already gave her my popcorn,” the whistling woman protests.

“Something nutritious,” the leader insists, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

Catherine chimes in with a playful nudge, “What she really needs is fried chicken and a cola. Steamed broccoli isn’t gonna cut it for shock therapy.”

"We’ll discuss it later," the leader decides. Once Catherine heads off, Maggie turns her focus back to me and continues, “So, why not head back to your old pack? They weren’t awful to you, right? Is it guilt making you stay away, not wanting to feel like a burden?”

“No, not really,” I reply, dismissing the concern with a wave. “I used to fret about that, but Alpha Hugh convinced me otherwise. He always said that life finds a way.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Maggie says warmly, offering her hand. “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

I shake her hand with a nod. “Pleasure to meet you,” I respond, feeling a bit buoyed by the friendliness.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Maggie replies with a smile, like we’re long-lost pals reconnecting at a reunion. "So, what made you decide to ditch your pack?”

“Well, the pack was mostly supportive, but my love life was like a shitty romance written by someone going through a mid-life crisis,” I admit, rolling my eyes so hard I can almost see the back of my skull. “You know the drill: fall for the wrong guy, buy into his sweet promises, and then he waltzes off with his fated mate. Next, my Luna title vanishes.”

“Quite rare,” Maggie comments with raised eyebrows. “I mean, Alphas sticking to their fated mates is about as standard as bad weather at a picnic. It is odd that he would marry you in the first place, especially considering you’re wolfless.”

“I know,” I agree with an exaggerated sigh.“But my dad died saving my ex’s father, which made him feel stuck honoring family obligations.”

“I get it,” Maggie nods thoughtfully. “Are you thinking about revenge?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I say, my grin widening. There’s something almost liberating about admitting it out loud.

Maggie chuckles, leaning in with the kind of curiosity usually reserved for juicy gossip. “And what’s your ex’s name?” she inquires.

“Aiden Hopkins,” I announce.

“Echo, jot down that name!” Maggie commands.

“Got it, Maggie,” comes a voice from above. Only now do I spot a cluster of tents perched on the rocks.

Just then, Catherine brings me a plate of steamed broccoli. I must admit she’s right. I still crave fried chicken and cola. Yet I dutifully eat it all as a gesture of thanks.

“Someone was really starving,” Catherine remarks with a smirk. Then she asks, “Was there anything interesting I missed?”

“Not really,” Maggie says, “a very classic, old tale.”

Catherine grimaces, “What a pity.”

“Sorry for bombarding you with questions, Elizabeth,” Maggie apologizes, “but in these harsh wilds, trust is precious. We had to make sure you’re a friend and not, you know, plotting our downfall.”

I nod understandingly and casually ask, “But you all are super nice. Who’d even want to be your enemy?”

They exchange glances. Maggie clears her throat, “Thanks for the compliment, but as you’ve seen, we’re rogues.”

The moment the word "rogues" leaves her lips, my hair stands on end in full-on shock, as my fork crashes onto the plate with a dramatic clang.