Protection

It is always the same. Silence. I have learned to move like a shadow. Noise could mean death.

I was the third generation born after the virus struck. When the Outbreak swept through the world, it didn’t just kill—it transformed people. Some survivors of the fever emerged altered. The virus warped their bodies and minds, rendering them savage. Few of us remain. Humans and werewolves both hunted women for breeding, as if it were a contest. And it was; each new birth meant another fighter, or another wolf.

Staying away from the crumbled cities, I found an abandoned farm and its bunker. It was meant to protect from tornadoes. It was my home for now. During the day, I read this diary I found of the former owner. It was about plants and what they cure.

He was a first-generation survivor of the virus. I studied his notes, learning which leaves could ease pain or settle an empty stomach, which roots to chew to keep fever at bay. Each morning, I checked the crumbling garden rows for anything still growing, the names from the diary running through my mind: dandelion, wild carrot, plantain.

Sometimes I brewed a rough tea to stay warm, other days I chewed bitter greens to keep going. Without the diary and what I learned from it, I would have starved by now.

This morning dawned gray and sharp. I realized I had to hunt; I was running out of food. Just as I was preparing to leave, I heard the faint humming of a motor. Humans?

In moments like this, I never know until they shift. Hiding is what I do best. I learned how to shoot and fight until I got separated from the group I was with. Humans. Women.

Maybe surrender is easier. Sometimes exhaustion keeps me still, fear pins me flat. My hands tremble even alone; tears won't come, only emptiness. But they wouldn’t kill me; they wanted me for breeding. The thought fills me with rage, then hopelessness. I can’t remember hope anymore.

Earlier, when I read that man's diary, John, I think he was called, I discovered that one herb was perfect for eating to hide your human smell from wolves.

Since then, every day, I make sure to eat some. Still, I can’t ever be sure, are those out there humans or wolves?

Now, as I crouched in hiding, I knew whoever arrived must be searching for food. I waited, heart pounding. Soon, they’d realize there was nothing left and leave.

A moment later, after the humming faded as the motor pulled away, I crept out from my hiding place, only to see him standing there. He looked scary, his clothes ripped, and he seemed more like one of the first humans, with very little brain. Homo sapiens. Savages.

Then he whistled.

Four of them. Humans.

"Pretty one, aren't you?" one grinned, flashing three missing teeth. I steadied my grip on the knife.

"Gonna fight us, pretty girl?" another sneered.

"No. I wouldn't stand a chance." Their laughter cut off as I raised the blade to my throat. Eyes squeezed shut, I braced myself. A rough hand seized my wrist with a growl. His hand tight, I didn’t dare to open my eyes yet.

"They're gone," a man's voice murmured as he took the knife from my hand.

As I opened my eyes, the scene had shifted. He was tall, muscles taut beneath his shirt, shrouded in gloom. I knew he was a wolf, unmistakable. He smelled of earth after rain, sharp, wild, touched with iron. Black hair tangled over his brow, rough stubble shadowed his jaw. An animal musk mingled with sweat. His eyes were a piercing sky blue, glowing cold in the darkness, unyielding on mine. Anxiety prickled across my skin; every sense tuned to him, the cadence of his breath, the brush of boots on dirt. The space between us crackled, electric. I teetered between flight and paralysis.

You’re not safe here. Come with me; I will protect you…

I scoffed. "Protect me? Or pass me around like a prize?"

His gaze locked on mine. "I don’t share," he said, stepping closer. And you need a bath.

There is no water near, I said, no need to pinpoint my smelly self.

He smiled, and a dimple appeared on his cheek. Out of all the men I ever saw, this one was a nice specimen.

"You have a choice: come with me. Be mine. Or..."

"And if I refuse? Why trust you, wolf?"

"Hunter. Your name?"

"Emily." I took a deep breath. Choices were few. Hunger makes decisions for you sometimes. "Can you promise you’ll protect me?"

"You’ll be mine. I promise protection. Just trust me." His eyes glinted, searching, as if he saw something familiar in me. You’ll have to listen to me.

"Listen to you? That’s asking a lot."

"You’ll be my mate," he said, stepping closer. He was sniffing.

Everything blurred as my face turned instant red. He smiled, and his eyes seemed kind. But then the hunger might have had me hallucinate. The room was spinning…and then it was darkness. I was left wondering if he killed me before I answered.

No pain.