3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

L ash

I’ve been doing this job for years. It’s part of our Wolven Warrior program where we patrol our own streets. I’ve broken up some drunken fights and scattered young lovers about to get themselves into trouble. I’ve never, in all these years, encountered a human wandering our streets alone at two in the morning.

She’s a slip of a thing, though it’s hard to tell with her squatting on the cracked pavement, her trembling hands raised in a pitiful attempt to avoid attack. My first thought is to escort her to the front gate, which is manned 24/7 by the National Guard. Rather than handling it myself, it would be easier to have them sort this out and dispatch her.

But the pathetic way she asked for help tugs at something inside me. I’ll hear her out. When I reach to help her up, she startles and tries to crab-walk backward.

Though she’s trespassing, doesn’t belong here, and deserves no kindness, I pitch my voice into its most soothing tone and tell her, “I won’t hurt you. Let’s get you to the Wolven Warriors security office. You can tell me what you need help with.”

There’s something about her terrified posture and how plaintive her wail was when she begged for help that keeps my irritation from rising. If her demeanor was different, I would think she was being uncooperative.

Her hands are still in the air as she sniffles back tears. Her smoky, anguished scent scorches my nose. It’s an unpleasant smell made all the more distasteful coming from such a delicate female.

She pointedly keeps her gaze from me. I understand. Most humans have never been in the presence of an Other. Here I am, a wolf-like male. I imagine my wolf-like ears, fangs, and bushy tail are freaking her out.

Bending my knees to make myself appear smaller, I reach out again. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” This time, she accepts my hand and lets me help her up.

“I’m Lash.” Releasing her hand, I step in front of her. I imagine she’ll be more comfortable without my gaze on her as I lead her through the streets of the Zone. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the security office. We’ll see if I can help you.”

When she doesn’t follow right away, I turn to see what the problem is. Though I’ve been trying to keep my gaze from her, afraid the predatory gleam would terrify her, I can’t help but inspect her more closely.

Whether male or female, most Others are large. The orcs and minotaurs are the biggest, but the nagas are even taller than us when they’re excited and standing to their full height. Wolven are more wiry, less broad, than the others, but I’m told our strength is that of three human men. This female is small, even by human standards. She’s not just tiny, she looks far too thin.

As a nearby streetlamp, broken and flickering, comes back to life and illuminates us, I almost let her hear my gasp. Anger, hot, white, and powerful, flashes through me when I see how her delicate flesh is marred by bruises in a rainbow of colors from fresh blue-black to fading sickly yellows.

“You’re safe with me. I’ll help you.” It’s not easy to let my guard down and I’m not known for my compassion. But seeing this fragile woman, blue eyes wide in fear, lower lip puffy and bruised, fills me with the need to fix whatever her problem is.

She hesitates a few more moments as she searches my expression for sincerity, then lowers her gaze to the ground and moves to follow me.

I’ve lived here all my life, well, since I came to Earth. I was only three when the night sky erupted and strong strands of some unknown substance wrapped around me, yanked me away from everything I knew, carried me through space—and possibly time—and dumped me in the Mojave Desert. The journey from An’Wa is just a hazy, terrifying memory.

Luckily, Loosh, an elderly neighbor, was pulled to Earth the same day. Without a moment’s hesitation, she raised me with as much love as though I were her own blood. My chest still feels hollow when I think of her, though it’s been years since she joined the Goddess.

As I look around, I try to see the streets of the ten-square-block area of the Integration Zone as a newcomer would see it. Crumbling apartment buildings, cracked sidewalks, and the abject poverty of people living in this ghetto with little more than meager government handouts—unless they’re lucky enough to find work outside the Zone at less than minimum wage.

That’s why I consider myself lucky to work for the Wolven Warriors program. We may not make much money, but at least I have meaningful work protecting my people. The threat isn’t from one species to another. We’ve all bonded against the bigger threat—humans. Especially the Purists whose sole mission seems to be to foment hatred and demand what they call “blood purity.”

“Here we are.” I climb the few steps to our office, punch in the code, and open the door for her.

Wolven claimed this building shortly after we arrived. We weren’t deputized or given power by the human authorities, we just decided that protection would be our mission. Until recently, we were simply called security. Now we call ourselves Wolven Warriors and even painted a sign on the door.

Perhaps the name scares her, because when she reads it, a soft, fearful grunt escapes her and her forward motion stops.

Trying to distract her, I ask, “What’s your name?” Honestly, I don’t know where this new tone of voice comes from. It’s calm, soothing, designed to put her at ease.

Perhaps it works, because, although she pauses, she finally answers, “Zoya.”

“I imagine I’m scary-looking, Zoya. But I was out on patrol when I found you. My job is to make everyone safe. That includes you.”

Her expression changes. At first, it’s so subtle, I barely notice it. Then her chin quivers and tears escape her pretty blue eyes.

“Come on in. I’ll see how I can help you.” Something about my offer makes my chest expand. I like the idea of providing aid to this scared, battered wisp of a human.