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The Alpha said, “His father?”
I was drawing at the kitchen table. They had given me all the crayons I could ever want. There were markers too, but they were mostly dry because their caps were missing.
“Hunter,” my mother whispered in a choked voice. “I thought he was… I thought that he was my—”
I looked up to see she was crying. I could taste it at the back of my tongue. There was a sour scent in the air, like something had spoiled.
I didn’t recognize it then for what it was.
Later, I would know.
It was shame.
Before I could go to her, the Alpha rose and wrapped her arms around my mother. She held on tightly and told her that she understood.
The sour smell faded after a little while.
We had months. Months where we were stationary and it seemed like we had found a place to belong. We were like a tree, and our roots were growing into the dirt, getting stronger as the days went by. Our bed began to smell like us. It was nice.
It didn’t last.
Everything burned.
I woke to the smell, and it wasn’t like shame.
It was fire.
Wolves were howling.
My mother lifted me from the bed.
Her eyes were wide and panicked.
There was a loud crash from somewhere in the cabin, and I heard the shouts of men. It was the first time I’d heard a male voice in a long while, because the Alpha didn’t allow men in her pack. She said she had no use for them and winked at me, telling me that I was going to be the exception. It made me the happiest I’d been in a long time, because I’d be a good man. The best there ever was. My mother told me as much.
We went out the window. It was dark when she dropped me to the ground. One of my bare feet landed on a rock, and it cut me.
I cried even as it slowly began to heal.
My mother covered my mouth with her hand as she lifted me up.
She ran. No one could run as fast as my mother. I’d always believed that.
But on this night, she couldn’t run fast enough.
The tree she took me to was old. Ancient. Denise had told me that it was special, that it was the queen of the forest and protected all that it towered over.
In the spring, foxes came and had their kits in the hollow at its base. It was empty when my mother shoved me inside it. There were dead leaves and grass inside, and it was soft.
My mother crouched low, her black hair hanging around her face. She had soot on her face, her hands. She wore glasses even though she didn’t need them. She said they made her feel better about herself. Smarter, somehow. She thought it was silly, but I’d never seen anyone more beautiful.
She said, “Stay here. Whatever you do, whatever you hear, you don’t leave until I come back for you. Even if you hear someone calling your name, you don’t move. It’s a game, little wolf. You’re hiding, and you can’t let anyone find you.”
I nodded because I’d played this game before. “Quiet as a mouse.”
“Yes. Quiet as a mouse. Here, hold these for me.” She took the glasses off her face and set them on my own. They were too big and sagged onto my nose. She reached out and touched my cheek. “I love you. Forever.”
And then she shifted.
