Page 1 of Protected By the Wolven

Chapter One

Zoya

If only I could catch my breath, I could think. But I can’t stop running. What if Max wakes up from his drunken stupor and notices I’m gone?

Luckily, it’s almost a full moon. There’s enough light for me to make my way through the streets, even though it makes me an easier target for the type of people who are still awake and up to no good at two in the morning.

It’s everything I can do not to give up, stop my forward motion, and sit on the curb and cry. But I’m not that person. I don’t give up. It’s my greatest strength—though it just might be the reason I’m in this trouble.

Think, Zoya, think.

I slow to a jog and force my brain into gear. Max has a car and I’m on foot. If he wakes up, it will be easy for him to find me. I don’t even want to think about the punishment he’ll mete out if he discovers me.

A person in different circumstances would go to the police, but Max still hasn’t married me and my 90-day fiancée visa has expired. The authorities will send me straight to jail. Although I’ve been in the U.S. for five months, I don’t know a soul. Max hasn’t introduced me to even one of his family or friends, and he forbade me to leave the house or talk to the neighbors.

In front of me, a ten-foot-tall, barbed wire fence stands like a silent sentinel. We’ve driven by this place often enough that I know where I am—the Integration Zone where the Others are housed.

Even from my hometown outside of Bakhmut, Ukraine, we know about the Others. Over a quarter of a century ago, five thousand Others simply dropped onto the desert near Los Angeles. They were like something out of a storybook: nagas, orcs, minotaurs, and wolf-type males they call wolven.

They were rounded up and placed inside this fenced area. To this day, they’re barely allowed outside the boundary unless it’s to work, although those rules have loosened lately.

I stop all forward motion and stare at the fence and beyond to the crumbling apartments inside. It’s a crazy idea, but perhaps sneaking into the Zone is my only hope. It’s the one place Max would never think to look. I hear even the human police don’t go inside, at least not often.

My hammering heart has nothing to do with how many blocks I just ran and everything to do with my fear of what’s behind that foreboding fence.

My mind throws me scrolling pictures of towering minotaurs, scaly talking snakes, and terrifying, fanged wolf-men. It’s both sad and terrifying that scaling this chain-link fence, topped with razor wire, is a better option than returning home to the man who beats me every time he drinks—which is almost every night. Crazy as it sounds, though, it’s not only the better option. It’s myonlyoption.

I recall being in the car late one night, coming home from the bar where Max made me wait outside all night. We drove down this very street and I saw one of the humongous orcs rolling up a piece of the chain link and sliding under it to leave the Zone. I remember exactly where it was.

After finding the spot in the fence, I struggle to lift it. It’s much harder than that powerful orc made it look. By the time I muscle my way underneath and am on the other side, I’m filthy and panting with effort.

Though I know I’m not safe, I breathe freely for the first time since Max backhanded me on my third night in this country. How is it that being on this side of the barbed wire fence, locked in this hellhole of an Other ghetto, feels safer—and freer—than being on the other side?

Chapter Two

Zoya

Only now do my emotions catch up with me. Although I’ve been fantasizing about running away for months, I never imagined how terrifying this would be. I’m alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Stop Zoya. Concentrate. Decide on your next steps.

Normal people don’t seek out strangers to marry from thousands of miles away. Desperate people who have no other viable options are the ones who do that. I’m one of eight children and my parents’ farm was hit hard by the Russians after I left home. I can’t ask them for help. They’re struggling with other, more life and death, issues.

I’m sure I’m wanted by the U.S. authorities. At least that’s what Max has been telling me. He brought me here on promises of undying love and a life of ease. Then he abused me, kept me penniless and locked inside the house, and refused to marry me. I’m now on an expired Visa and have nowhere to turn.

Ridiculous and tragic as it is, my only hope is that one of the inhabitants of the Zone will harbor me until I can sort things out. My hands are fluttering in anxiety and my mouth is dry. My heart is pounding in my chest and my thoughts are flying in a thousand directions.

Forcing myself to hang onto my fragile hope, I walk the quiet streets of the Zone. I live only a few blocks away in one of the shabbiest parts of the city. The pictures Max sent of his house looked like a palace to a peasant like me. Of course, those pictures, like the pictures of the man himself, were lies.

Even Max’s cluttered, cramped apartment seems like a palace compared to this. This is a ghetto. I understand, though. These people fell to Earth with nothing but the clothes on their backs and have had few opportunities since then. As old and run-down as these dwellings are, they look clean.

I don’t know what to do other than to wander aimlessly as I try to sort out my options. At least Max can’t hurt me here.

“Halt!”

Blin!I haven’t been inside the fence for ten minutes and someone has already found me. I sink to my knees as I put myhands high in the air, my heart fluttering fast and loud as a drum.

“Who are you? What do you want?” a deep male voice snaps from behind me.

---