Raised by Wolves

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

JAIL IS NOTHING like the forest. I can’t sleep here. I almost can’t breathe.

I lie awake on a sticky mattress that stinks of urine and rotting food. A TV is on down the hall. I hate TV and everything about it. The drunk, who chose to stay in this awful place, moans and talks in his sleep.

I toss. I turn. I twitch. I’ve never been locked up before. I’m an animal in a cage, and it sucks. I’m cut off from dirt and trees and sky. Who could live like this? We have to get out of here.

What would a wolf do?

I hear a sound from another bunk. My ears prick. Wolves hear everything.

It’s Holo. He’s crying, but he’s doing it softly because he doesn’t want me to know.

I hate hearing those frightened whimpers. But he wouldn’t want me to comfort him, because crying is weakness. And in nature, weakness is death.

I close my eyes and breathe slow and steady. I imagine I can smell the forest. The river. The ancient rocks that hide our home from human eyes. I imagine I’m back there, miles away from this cold, stinking cell…

“I won’t pretend it’s the height of luxury, but maybe it’s better than a wolf’s den?”

I wake with a start.

The police chief stands on the other side of the bars, grinning. What’s he got to smile about? I sit up and rub my eyes. I’m freezing cold. The napkin blanket had fallen off in the night.

I grab it and wrap it around my shoulders. It’s itchy. It smells like pee, too.

“Lacey brought you something,” he says.

I blink. Notice Lacey standing off to the side. She’s short, with shiny black hair that falls past her shoulders. She lifts the lid of the basket she’s carrying and says, “I don’t know what you like, sweetheart, so there’s a little bit of everything.”

Sweetheart? Why’s she calling me that? She doesn’t know me from a tufted titmouse. But her voice is like honey, melting and sweet.

“She made lemon poppyseed muffins,” the chief says, “and these little—what do you call ’em, Lacey?”

“Egg bites,” Lacey says. “With cheddar and bacon.” She peeks into the basket. “There’s fruit, too, and a couple of bagels…”

By now Holo’s jumped up from his mattress. He’s pressed against the cell’s bars, drooling at the food. Literally. Act more human , I almost say. But we’ve never worried about that before, so maybe we shouldn’t start.

Dougie’s still snoring, but Waylon across the way sits up and says, all smug and slow, “Ya’ll going to share?”

Lacey turns to him. “Well, hello, Waylon, I didn’t know you were in here, too,” she says. “Let me guess. You didn’t see the speed limit sign.”

“Oh, I saw it. I just didn’t agree with its message.”

“The gray hairs you must give your mama!” Lacey exclaims.

“She’s got the salon on speed dial,” Waylon drawls.

The chief unlocks our cell door and opens it just enough for Lacey to slide the basket through. Holo snatches it from her fingers faster than you can blink.

We sit side by side on my rock-hard bed and dig in. I’ve never had a lemon poppyseed muffin before. It’s amazing. It’s also so sweet that it makes my teeth hurt. Holo shoves three egg bites into his mouth at once and chews with his mouth open.

“Looks like you appreciate my cooking,” Lacey says. She sounds like this makes her happy, though I can’t understand why she’d care.

Animals devour whatever they can as fast as they can. Wolves will gorge themselves on a kill until they can barely even move, because they don’t know when they’ll get to eat again.

Holo smiles at her, crumbs all over his face.

“If I smash up the Grizzly, can I get a muffin, too?” Waylon asks.

The chief says, “Treats are for first-timers only,” and then he smiles at me again. All warm and kind, like he thinks we’re friends .

That dumb smile just sends me over the edge. If I had fangs I’d bare them. Instead I lash out with words. “You’re trying to fool us into thinking you’re on our side, cop, but that’s not going to happen. We’re not stupid.”

“I know that, Kai,” the chief says.

“No, you don’t know it,” I growl. “But you will.”