Raised by Wolves

by Bridget Essex

  I don't want to fight her. I don't want to fight her, but I have little choice.

  My mother is relentless. Look at the lengths she went to to ensure that this would happen! She basically kidnapped my girlfriend.

  I take a breath, brace myself, and lunge.

  I propel myself off the grass with my back feet, my front paws tucked under my shoulders. I'm going to have to use my teeth.

  And I do. I snap right by her face, and my teeth connect with something soft and furry. I grind my jaws down, and I turn my head, ripping.

  It was the tip of her ear that I caught between fang and tooth. When I rip, a small tear happens, and her ear begins to bleed.

  And when I say “small,” I mean it. The cut itself is perhaps a quarter of an inch—it was the very tip that I snagged in my teeth—but this is technically “first blood.”

  And the werewolves surrounding us, our family, lift their noses to the air, scenting that blood. They know that I drew it, and they know that my mother hasn't gotten a drop of mine yet.

  I'm not getting cocky. Also, the taste of my mother's blood in my mouth makes me second-guess what the hell I'm doing. But, still, I try to keep my focus, try to keep every bit of my attention on my mother.

  But it's hard. Especially since Loren is on the outskirts of this, Loren who had no idea until today that werewolves were real, and here she is now, getting her taste of real werewolves. Real werewolves who are going after each other's throats.

  That can't be the type of werewolf she was thinking of when she started writing her novel.

  Speaking of throats, my mother aims herself for mine now. She's fast, cutting through the air with her sleekness, and she's suddenly there, body slamming me with her right shoulder so that I fall to the ground on my left side. My mother is standing over me, lifting her head, ready to tear into my throat.

  But I roll out of the way. Somehow, I will my aching body to move, and then my mother descends, grabbing a mouthful of...grass.

  A small snicker comes out of my cousin Jimmy's mouth before he can stop himself, and my mother, snarling, turns toward him, setting him in her sights. But she's got bigger fish to fry.

  I body-check her now, and because she was looking toward Jimmy, she didn't see me coming. It's obvious, but I'm learning that it's not good to be distracted in a fight.

  Because I slammed against her so hard, we both go rolling end over end, and when we stop moving, we're up on our paws instantly, both of us raking our claws over each other's shoulders, standing up on our back legs now and snapping at each other's faces so viciously, and with such strength, that it's all I can hear, our jaws clanging together, our teeth scraping, our fangs sharpening against fangs. It's this stalemate moment that can't last forever, and when I push against her with my paws, she finally gets me.

  I'm moving too quickly for her teeth to really sink in anywhere but the side of my face. And they do. Her incisors press into the skin on my right cheek, and suddenly pain is blossoming in my head as she bites down. It's not enough to do any severe damage, I think, as I bound away from her, shaking my head like a dog who just got hit on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper...but, my God, does it smart.

  My mother throws back her head and howls, a single, mournful note that—to the outside observer—would simply be the beautiful melody of a lone wolf. But I can hear her, can hear what she's saying, and I crouch down, snarling.

  It's a howl of victory.

  There's a lot of instinct that goes into making of a werewolf. We are, for the most part, pure instinct, the wolf within us making up our heart and spirit, the human making up the body that we use the most. But the wolf is the closest thing on the surface inside of us: the thrill of the hunt, the need to run, to scent the air, to pound the earth with our paws, everlasting and dominant inside of us.

  And when I hear my mother howl that smug, ecstatic howl...something inside of me, well, snaps.

  All of my life, my mother has pushed me to be something more than I was. I saw what she was like when she ruled our pack, and I wanted no part of that. I wanted no part of bullying people into doing what I wanted.

  But as I listen to that howl, I wonder...is that how a pack is supposed to be led? Is that the best way of getting anyone to do what you want: bullying them?

  I never knew my grandmother, but the few times that my mother spoke about her, the look of derision on her face, the sneer, would always give me pause. She always told me that my grandmother was weak, that she didn't make a good Alpha. But I have no proof of that. My mother said that she was kind to her pack, but when she used the word kind, she snarled it, like an insult. To my mother, kindness—and happiness—were the same things as weakness.

  Maybe that's why I could never be the type of daughter she wanted. Because I was too happy with my lot in life. I was content, and my mother couldn't understand it. She was always pushing me to want more, and the only thing I wanted... Well, I've already got that.

  I've found love.

  Now I have everything.

  I stand there, looking at my mother, and I realize that she has neither love nor happiness. She's always reveled in her schemes and plans. And I suppose she must have felt some form of happiness when she realized that she could use Loren against me, could use Loren in order to force me to fight. Yeah, when she planned this charade, it must have given her a lot of joy.

  But what other joys does my mother have? The rest of the pack fears her. They've always feared her. My mother really is a lone wolf, but not in the way she intended.

  She thinks she's alone by choice. But I think she's just lonely.

  And, in that, I'm already more powerful than my mother. Because my family may be zany and ridiculous, but I still love them, and I know they love me. We're a pack. We help each other We're there for each other.

  I stand, huffing air in and out as my mother howls, and realization moves through me from the very tip of my tail to the end of my nose, realization that comes in a wave so powerful that I'm made breathless by it.

  I finally figured out what that word—family—actually means, Loren had told me. They're the people who love you and support you—no matter what. Pretty simple.

  I'm surrounded by family. By family that has, for far too long, been under the rule of someone who thought “love” and “power” were the same thing.

  But they aren't.

  I lower my head, and as my mother turns toward me, ready to leap at me, ready to bite into my neck with her enormous fangs...I use every last bit of strength moving through me—and I barrel into my mother.

  Again, we roll end over end, but this time, my force was too much, too powerful. And when the dust settles, when our bodies stop moving...it's done.

  My mother's neck is in my mouth. I hover my teeth over the skin and fur, and I take a deep breath.

  The fight's over.

  I...won.

  Ma realizes it at the exact same moment that I realize my move actually worked. We're both stiff: me standing over her, neck bent at an awkward angle to maintain light pressure around her neck with my jaws, and her lying on her side in the grass, tense, waiting for me to make my next move.

  Waiting, I'm assuming, for my jaws to tighten and close.

  But that's not how life has to work. That's not what daughters do to mothers, even mothers who threatened their girlfriends. I release my jaws, taking a step back, and at the same time, my mother and I transform into our human selves.

  Aunt Grace is there, then, with her old fur coat, draping it around my shoulders, and Uncle Kyle takes off his suit jacket and hands it to my mother. We both shrug into these garments while watching each other warily.

  “Well, then,” says my mother, sitting back on her heels on the lawn, her mouth in a tight, thin line. “I suppose...that's it. It's over. You won. Congratulations, sweetheart—I told you you always had it in you.”

  I groan, then sit back on my heels, too, wrapping my arms around myself. I can feel my cheek bleeding, dripping blood
down my chin, from where my mother's fangs grazed my face, but I don't wipe away the blood. Likewise, my mother's ear is bleeding, blood that runs down her neck, pooling onto my uncle's jacket. But she doesn't wipe it away, either.

  “We just need to stop this,” I tell her then, and when I say this, I wave my hand around, to indicate all of us. “We're a family,” I tell her, shaking my head.

  “Of course we're a family,” says my mother in exasperation, but I shake my head again, a little more emphatically this time.

  “No more bullying. No more orders, like we're in the Marines or something. The Alpha rules by being the family matriarch. Not the family dictator.” I say every word crisply, enunciating it loudly enough for everyone surrounding us to hear.

  “Well,” says my mother, raising a brow, “however we're ruled is up to you now. Since you're Alpha.”

  “Not yet,” I say, shaking my head and standing. And then, one hand holding the coat closed in front of me, I cross the space between us and offer my hand to my mother, still crouching on the dewy grass.

  “Not yet,” I repeat, a little more softly. “We'll work together for the time being. You and me. I've got a lot to learn from you,” I tell her with a noncommittal shrug, “and I'm sure...you have a lot to teach.”

  My mother and I have been at odds our entire lives. I don't expect that to stop anytime soon. And I'm certainly not going to forgive her in one day for holding my girlfriend hostage (sort of).

  But the fight is over.

  And things are going to be different from now on.

  When my mother looks at me now, her eyes are guarded, but there's something in her gaze. Something new that I haven't seen before.

  Something...hopeful.

  “You're damn right you have a lot to learn,” my mother says, but then she gives a small, sideways smile, and she takes my hand. I help her to her feet. “Well,” she says, turning to look at our family. “Who wants some after-dinner coffee?”

  There are a few weak chuckles, and most everyone starts to move back toward the house. The pack dynamic is different, though; I think everyone can feel that. And I don't think anyone knows what it means yet.

  But we'll find out—together.

  As my relatives go inside, I turn, because the only person remaining with me, out here in the backyard, is Loren.

  She stands there, her arms wrapped around herself, tears shining starkly in her eyes. I stand across from her, unsure of what to do: her heart rate is elevated, the blood's moving through her quickly, but I can't tell if she's really upset, or relieved, or some mixture of the two.

  I clear my throat. I don't want to take a step toward her. If she's in shock, if she's upset, I don't want to overwhelm her and make her shy away. But everything that's inside of me is yearning to draw close to her, to wrap her in my arms, to ask her if she's okay with this, with everything.

  With me.

  But I don't have to do that. Because in that moment, Loren's shaking her head, and then she's racing toward me, wrapping me in her arms and sobbing onto my shoulder.

  “What just... I mean...” She tries to take a deep breath, but it comes out as a sob, and I wrap my arms around her tightly, holding her close, threading my fingers through her hair as I press my nose to the top of her head, inhaling her sweet perfume.

  “It's all right,” I whisper softly, gently. “Just breathe.”

  “Are you okay?” she whispers around her sobs.

  “Yeah, baby,” I whisper, my eyes tightly closed, my entire body pressed against hers, every cell that I am thrumming because she's with me, holding me.

  I love her. I love her fiercely. And I think, hopefully, she still loves me. Even after all of this.

  A long moment later, Loren takes a step back and holds me out at arms' length. Though tears are still streaming down her cheeks, she's no longer sobbing, and her eyes are narrowed a little.

  “I'd be lying,” she whispers to me then, “if I said I wasn't freaked out.” She actually laughs a little now, but it's weak laughter. It still gets me to smile. “What's that saying? Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it.” She returns my smile. “Apparently, getting what you want is kind of...dizzying.”

  “Yeah, well. Werewolves,” I mutter, chuckling. “Who knew?”

  She holds my gaze thoughtfully. “It doesn't matter,” she whispers to me.

  I raise a brow.

  “It doesn't matter,” she repeats, taking a deep breath, “because there's only one thing that really matters.

  I watch her closely. “What really matters?”

  “How I feel about you. You—all of you. Human, wolf, whatever. Becca Swift,” she murmurs, taking my face in her hands, rubbing her thumb gently across the blood, wincing a little... But then she looks in my eyes and holds my gaze. “I love you,” she whispers fiercely. “I. Love. You.”

  I draw her close, and then her mouth meets mine. She is soft and warm and gentle as she kisses me; I guess my being wounded is making her think she should be extra gentle. But as I kiss her a little harder, she responds likewise. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her, and drinks me deeply, smiling against my mouth like we're both sharing a profound, beautiful moment...

  And we are.

  She breaks away, holding my gaze with her glittering green eyes. There are still tears, unshed, along the corners of her eyes, but she looks so content, so happy, when she looks at me now. Exhausted, too, maybe, but the contentedness—that must be what I look like, too.

  “You make me feel safe,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around my neck again, drawing me down to her so that our foreheads press together. “You make me feel wild. You make me step out of my stories and live in the real world—a real world which, I know now, contains werewolves.”

  “Yeah, but...” I begin, but she's shaking her head, reaching up and pressing a finger against my mouth. She smiles softly at me then.

  “When I was a little kid, I had no idea that there were people living in other countries, people whose lives were vastly different from mine and my friends'.” She takes a deep breath. “But then I learned to read, and I found out about continents and cultures, and my understanding expanded.” Her gaze is bright as it holds my own. “Yesterday, I didn't know werewolves were real. Now I do. And I love one of them with my whole heart.”

  “You sure?” I whisper, feeling my heart grow within me.

  There's such an impish smile on her face as she leans back then, raising a single brow, that my heart can't help it: it skips a beat.

  “I'd never cry wolf about something like that,” she says then, delivering the joke while trying her best not to laugh.

  “Aw, man,” I mutter, pressing my forehead against hers as I chuckle, too, all the energy of the past hour draining out of me until I feel as weak as a kitten. “That's a good one. This is going to be a new thing, right, wolf puns?”

  “Oh, it's going to be such a thing,” she promises me, reaching up and pressing her warm palm against my cheek. “I've already got a few more saved up.”

  I shake my head, turning and pressing my mouth against her palm, inhaling her. “Nope,” I whisper, my heart fluttering in my ribs, “you've got to tell me another one now.”

  “Well,” she says, as we turn and start to head back toward the house, my arm wrapped around her shoulders, our bodies so tightly pressed together that you wouldn't be able to insert a sheet of paper between us. “Say we're going to a party. Like, a dinner party,” she says with a grin. When she chuckles now, it sounds tired; we sag against each other. “I can say that we've had a howling good time.”

  “Oh, God, that's terrible,” I groan, but I'm laughing, too. “And great, I have to admit.”

  “I've got more,” she tells me then with a big smile. “And I'll come up with new ones every day. So many wolf puns and jokes, you'll get sick of them!”

  “No,” I promise, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I won't.”

  “Hey, Becks!” Rob calls out
from the sitting room.

  “Coming!” I call to him.

  And, together, Loren and I walk out of the darkness, into a house of wolves.

  It doesn't sound like everyone's happily ever after...but this one's mine.

  The End

  More from Bridget Essex:

  - A Knight to Remember: Holly, a librarian, is starting to believe that love is impossible to find. But one night, during an unusually vicious storm, magic and romance appear in Holly’s backyard in the form of a mysterious, gorgeous woman…wielding a sword.

  - Date Knight: Holly and Virago are back in this sequel to A Knight to Remember. Here, Virago is called back to her world—and she takes Holly with her. What follows is an adventure and love story to transcend time!

  - Forever and a Knight: Follow along on the adventures of Josie, a shock jock DJ from Boston, as she falls through a portal into another world...and on top of the woman of her dreams...who just happens to be wielding a sword. Set in the same world as A Knight to Remember and Date Knight.

  - Falling for Summer: On the twentieth anniversary of her sister's drowning, Amanda returns to the lake where she grew up to face her past...and unexpectedly meets Summer McBride.

  - Wolf Queen: When they were teenagers, Amber and Stevie were so deeply in love that nothing could drive them apart. Until the one night, when Amber needed Stevie to be there...and, instead, Stevie disappeared without a trace...

  - The Guardian Angel: When Erin's life is saved by a gorgeous woman who swears she's Erin's guardian angel...things begin to get complicated.

  - The Vampire Next Door: (Co-written with author Natalie Vivien) Courtney's book store is failing, and she thinks her girlfriend might be cheating on her...Courtney doesn't even think she believes in love...that is, until she meets the vampire next door.

  - Don’t Say Goodbye: Maxine “Max” Hallwell has spent her entire life making the safe, responsible decisions. When her best friend, Jo, introduces her to her new girlfriend Fiona, a stunning, charismatic cake decorator, Max realizes that making safe decisions might have cost her the woman of her dreams...A heartwarming, poignant romance.