Page 58 of Wolf Queen Ruin
“They have children with them,” I murmured.“In this place.”
“Their choice is likely between desperate hardships at home or possible death here,” Damien said.
“They’re heading straight for a swamp,” I said, recognizing the terrain ahead of them from our map.“There’s a safer route about half a mile east.”
“Our mission requires discretion and speed.Involving ourselves with their journey accomplishes neither.”Despite his words, something in his expression softened.
He was right, of course.And yet…
“I’m not saying we adopt them,” I said.“Just a course correction.Five minutes, tops.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but after a moment’s consideration, he nodded.“Quickly, then.But we approach carefully.I’ve seen cartel scouts use similar groups as bait.”
“Got it.”
We descended to intercept the group, who reacted with initial alarm and suspicion.Understandable, given the dangers of the Gap.Their leader, a weathered man, regarded our high-end gear and appearance with particular wariness.
“We have no money to rob,” he said flatly in accented English.
“We’re not here for that,” I assured him.“You’re heading into dangerous terrain.There’s a safer path.”
I indicated the eastern route on their rudimentary map, explaining the hazards they would avoid.
The group conferred in rapid Spanish, asking if this was a trap, a kindness, or a way to delay them while authorities or traffickers were contacted.
While they deliberated, Damien scanned our surroundings with predatory focus, his body positioned slightly between the group and me—not interfering, but ready to move if necessary.
Finally, the man nodded.
“Thank you,” he said simply.“Why help strangers?”
Unbidden, I thought of Aria, my daughter, clutched tightly to my chest as we navigated our own uncertain future after being cast out from the pack.
“Because the jungle doesn’t need any more ghosts,” I choked out through the sudden knot in my throat.
While Damien kept a watchful distance, I helped redistribute some of their heavier items and gave them purification tablets for water from our supplies, any assistance that wouldn’t compromise our mission but might increase their chances.One of the children, a solemn-eyed girl of about six, presented me with a bracelet of colored threads from her wrist.I accepted the gift with tears in my eyes.
“We need to move,” Damien reminded me gently as the group prepared to depart.
I nodded, waving off the migrants’ additional thanks.
As we continued our own journey, Damien watched me with an unreadable expression.
“What?”I finally asked.
“Your instinct for survival extends beyond yourself.”
I fingered the simple thread bracelet now around my wrist.“Everyone deserves a fighting chance.”
“Even vampires in werewolf territory?”
“Yes, even you, but only if you don’t bring out any more fangs from the jungle except for the one we actually need,” I said with a smile.
He laughed, the sound widening my smile even more.“Deal.”
We traveled until dusk before finding a suitable campsite beneath an outcropping that offered some shelter.As Damien set up the same security perimeter as the previous night, I organized our supplies and prepared a cold meal of energy bars and dried fruit.My thoughts kept returning to the migrants—their desperate determination, the children’s quiet resilience.
“They probably won’t make it,” Damien said as he joined me.“Less than thirty percent of migrant groups that size complete the crossing successfully.”
