Page 80 of Raised By Wolves

“Chester, this is Wendy,” says Holo. He stands there with his hands on his hips, his pants reeking of fish guts. “Also known as Lupa.”

“Lupa,” the chief says. “Like the wolf who raised Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome?”

Wendy nods. “Kai gave me the nickname when she was six. We read a lot of Roman myths back then.” She gives a flick of her fingers. And the wolves—Harriet, Ben, Bim, and Beast—materialize from behind rocks and trees. Their hackles are raised. A low growl comes from Beast’s throat. Harriet’s, too. The Things run and take shelter between their mother’s legs.

“You can probably see why Kai called her that,” Holo says helpfully.

The men shift nervously. But they don’t raise their guns.

Harriet’s growl gets louder. She bares gleaming teeth. Takes a warning step toward the group of men. Several of them flinch. Retreat a little ways.

“She doesn’t like you because we don’t like you,” Holo explains. “Well,” he adds, “we don’t like most of you. We like Chester and Waylon.”

“If you like me,” Waylon says, “does that mean this terrifying beast won’t maul me?”

“Probably,” Holo says. “But you never really know.”

“Wolves,” Wendy says softly, “it’s okay.”

Harriet lowers her ears and sits down on her haunches. Bim and Ben fade into the trees. Only Beast remains standing, her lips pulled back in a warning grimace.

“You can control them,” Waylon says, his voice full of wonder.

“It is not control,” Wendy says. “I suggest actions to them, actions which they are free to take—or not. We have an understanding.”

“Amazing,” says Waylon softly. He looks over at me. “You were telling the truth the whole time.”

“Part of it,” I manage. I’m clutching my wounded hand. And I’m trembling as the horror of the situation sinks in.

They’ve found our home. Ourwhole liveswe kept ourselves hidden, and now they’ve found us, and it’s my fault.

All of this is because of me.

Grief twists in my stomach like a sickness.

“What’s your full name, Wendy?” the chief asks.

Wendy gazes at him with her dark, wise eyes. “Wendy,” she says. “Only Wendy.”

Just like I am only Kai, and Holo is only Holo. What did we need two names for? For years upon years, we were the only people we knew.

“Are you their mother?”

Wendy hesitates. She looks at us. There’s so much love in her eyes that it hurts. I’m dying to know what she’s going to say, and she’s about to answer when the chief asks a different question. “Wait, let me rephrase that—did you give birth to these children?”

And Wendy shakes her head.

No.

“How long have they been in your care?”

“Thirteen years.”

The chief’s head drops. “Jesus,” he mutters to his feet.

I’m sorry you had to find out this way, I think.

He looks up at Wendy again. His eyes are cold. “Do you have a right to keep them in your care?” he asks. “Are you their legally appointed guardian?”

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