Page 79 of Raised By Wolves

“And she saw them right back,” I mutter. Whoever that wounded guy is, he’s lucky to be alive.

Waylon, who’s the only one without a gun, starts walking toward us. “I don’t think anyone here actually wants to shoot anyone, do you?”

Actually I’m pretty sure Reginald Hardy would love to put a bullet through my guts. Finish the job his kid couldn’t.

The chief comes forward to stand next to Waylon. “No, they don’t,” he says. “Disarm, everyone. That is an order from the Kokanee Creek chief of police.”

The guns get lowered. Slowly. Reluctantly.

Wendy lowers her rifle, too. But she doesn’t let go of it. “Who are you, and what are you doing on my property?”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” the chief says, “this is a national forest. It is not your property.”

Wendy just stares at him. He stares right back. They have the same steely-eyed gaze.

That’s when Thing 1 and Thing 2 come shooting out of nowhere, right into the middle of everyone. They’re so involved in their joyful, ferocious game of tag that they’re oblivious to the intruders.

Hardy’s gun lifts.

You can kill a wolf on sight. You can kill a wolfbabyon sight.

It’s murder. And it’s legal.

“No!” I scream.

Beast rockets out of the trees, a black blur with snapping teeth. Those are her children, and she’s going to protect them no matter what.

By the time I realize what I’m doing I’m already running, rushing toward Beast, screaming and waving my arms. Trying to protect her, the larger target. Beast pivots sharply away, spooked. A shot rings out. A crater appears in the ground near her tail, a puff of dirt rising above it.

“Kai!” Wendy screams. “Get out of there!”

I don’t listen. They’re not actually going to risk shooting a girl, are they?

“Go, Beast, run!” I yell. She darts away, but turns back, hesitating. Meanwhile I’m trying to grab the Things, but they dodge me, thinking it’s a wonderful game. Thing 1 bites my hand. Thing 2 snarls and dances. They’re getting so big—

The chief is hollering, too. I hear another shot.

I duck as the bullet slams into a nearby tree trunk. Hardy’s taking aim again. “Come on, you little fuckers,” he seethes.

Then suddenly someone steps out in front of him. Someonehas put his body between the end of a rifle and the wolves. And that person is Waylon Eugene Meloy. Loner, speeder, weirdo, heartthrob.

I feel a surge of gratitude so powerful it almost brings me to my knees.

Waylon’s voice is strong and smooth. Unruffled, despite everything, just like the day I first met him in jail. “This is not what we came for,” he says to Hardy. “We’re on thechief’smission. You can murder things on your own time.”

Hardy’s so shocked he doesn’t even have a response. The chief hustles over and puts his hand on the rifle barrel. He presses it down so it’s pointing at the ground.

“That’s enough, Hardy,” he says. “You let those wolf babies grow up.” Then he says to the rest of the men, “Anyone who fires will be arrested.”

Hardy turns away with a vicious curse.

My hand is bleeding. I start to cry. I don’t know whether it’s from pain or fear or relief. Thing 1 whimpers at my feet. Thing 2 sniffs the air; she catches the scent of my blood and licks her lips.

The chief turns back to Wendy. He’s calm but furious. “Now that we’re not shooting at each other anymore, who the hell are you, and why do you have my kids?”

CHAPTER 60

“YOURKIDS?” WENDY says.

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