by H. D. Gordon
“You’re a clever little Wolf, Dita Silvers,” my father growled in my head, though I could tell that I’d piqued his interest, and that his anger toward Demarco was being replaced by lust for the prospect of Carmen. “You’re the only one of the whole litter who’s worth a damn,” he added. “Can’t be sure if the rest of the shitheads are even mine.”
This was a private joke he liked to share with me, though I never gave any indication I found it funny. We both knew all six of the young Wolves in this house belonged to him. Devon, Demarco, and I shared a mother. Delia’s mother was a working lady who’d moved to the coast shortly after Delia had been born, and the twins belonged to Jodi, who was about as worthless as a mother could be.
We belonged to no Pack, and our family name, Silvers, was as common as they came, as was the case with most all the Wolves who lived in The Mound. The descendants of Dogs—Wolves who’d long ago been forced to fight to the death to entertain the wealthy—and other slaves. Mutts was what they called us, a derogatory term that reminded us of our class and kept us in our stations. It was a word we often called each other, but could lead to brutal fights or even death if an outsider used it in front of us.
I tipped my head to my father, telling him to go on, and requesting that he take the back door so as to avoid another confrontation with Demarco. With a swish of his tail, my father brushed the side of his large body against me and I ran my fingers through the thick fur on his back.
“Only for you, Dita,” he grumbled, and inclined his head to Jodi before slipping through the hallway and out the back door.
I followed him and watched as his large form disappeared into the tightly packed and pitiful houses that made up The Mound, heading in the direction of The Row.
When I returned to the front room, Jodi was glaring at me from her spot at the table. She was on her third smoke since I’d arrived, and she’d refilled her glass a few times as well.
“Where did you send him?” she asked, her voice slurred. Her dark, curly hair was a mess on her head, and her once-pretty face was now leathery with the consumption of so much Wolfsbane, tobacco, and moonshine.
“To cool down,” I said evenly, and reached into my pocket to remove the notes and coins I’d earned that evening. Slapping them down on the table in front of her, I added, “I know exactly how much it is.”
Jodi sneered up at me, her lipstick smeared on her large teeth. “Of course you do,” she replied, her glassy eyes returning to the earnings.
I left her to it, knowing that I would check the books in the morning to make sure she hadn’t shorted us. My fatigue was catching up with me as I exited through the front door of the house, and I bit back a yawn and small growl of annoyance that wanted to escape me.
As I knew they would be, Demarco, Devon, and Delia were out on the porch, waiting for me. The boys had shifted back into their human forms. Demarco was shirtless and his shorts were ripped, and he was bleeding in various places.
My jaw clenched as a little fear flashed behind Demarco’s eyes when I met his gaze.
“He started it, D,” he told me. “You know how he can be. He’s such a son of a bitch!”
I held Demarco’s stare for a moment before turning toward Delia. Waving her over to me, I placed a kiss on her forehead and sent her inside to bed, reminding her that she had lessons in the morning as well. Delia rolled her eyes, which I noticed she’d lined with charcoal around the lashes.
I decided to let the eye roll slide, and once she’d shut the door behind her, I turned slowly back to Demarco.
“I’m sorry, D,” he said, but snapped his mouth shut when he saw whatever expression was on my face. Or perhaps it was my lack of an expression. More than a few had commented on the deadpan stare I adopted when I was unhappy.
“How many times are you going to apologize before you just listen to me?” I said in a voice so smooth and low that Demarco didn’t have time to duck before I slapped him hard on the back of his head.
He cringed and rubbed at the spot I’d hit. Devon, the oldest sibling beyond me, stood watching silently, his arms crossed over his wide chest and his handsome face impassive.
“I know, D. I’m sorry,” Demarco repeated.
I raised my hand to slap him again, and he flinched. I sighed, squeezing the raised hand into a fist before dropping it to my side with some effort.
“You know how hard I’m working, Marco?” I asked. “You understand that I’m trying to get us out of this place? Why are you making things harder for me? I told you to stay away from father. I told you not to respond to his taunts. I told you not to make me leave The Row early for this bullshit. Didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you these things?”
Demarco nodded, looking as sheepish as he very well should. “You did. I’m sorry, Dita. It won’t happen again. He tries so hard to get under my skin. He hates me, and I hate him. I can’t do this shit no more. I need to get out of here.”
I nodded slowly. “And go where?”
Demarco sighed, and though I would not let him know it, I sympathized with his struggles.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The coast maybe. Or north. Hell, anywhere but here. I fucking hate him so much.”
I pointed to the dirt path that led out of The Mound. “There’s the door,” I said.
Demarco only shook his head, his jawbone standing out as he clenched his teeth and crossed his wiry arms over his chest.
Releasing a low breath, I placed my hand on the back of his neck and drew him toward me, resting my forehead against his.
“I just need a little more time,” I told him. “Soon, I’ll have enough. I’ll have everything set up to get us out of here; somewhere father won’t find us, away from this wretched place and everything that comes with it. But I need you to be patient, Marco. Can you do that for me?”
Demarco squeezed his amber eyes shut, his light brown skin still flushed from his fight with our father. “Only for you, Dita,” he said, unwittingly echoing our father’s words to me.
“Good boy,” I said, and kissed his forehead before shoving him toward the west. “Go sleep at Rocco’s tonight. I’ll come get you in the morning.”
Demarco sucked his teeth, his shoulders sagging in the manner only teenagers seem capable of. “Rocco’s house smells like shit,” he complained.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “This is The Mound, Marco. The damn land itself smells like shit, and crashing at Rocco’s is better than risking father slitting your throat as you sleep, no?”
Grumbling, Demarco bid us good night and started off in the direction of Rocco’s. Devon and I stood in silence for a moment, watching until Marco disappeared between the rows of dilapidated homes that resembled our shack. These homes were little more than wood, sheet metal, and fabric that stretched on for miles in every direction on the dry, dead land that locals called The Mound, even though the terrain was more bowl-shaped.
Home to the poorest and lowest class of Wolves, most of the world thought the inhabitants of The Mound were all drunks, drug addicts, and criminals. And they weren’t entirely wrong, despite the fact that the more I learned about the world, the more I concluded that this was not a result of the poor Wolves’ own agency, but rather a result of the unseen powers, entities, structures, and systems that kept us in our place.
For this many of the population to be sitting so low, did that not mean that a smaller group of the population was sitting very high? While I struggled daily to provide the basest of needs for my family, were there not Wolves who commanded massive amounts of wealth and power at their fingertips?
Of course there were. I’d seen them ringside on fight nights, with their fancy clothes and enormous bets. I’d even sold Wolfsbane to more than a few, and they usually just went ahead and bought me out of my stock. No pooled money to get a dime bag for these Wolves. No, they took everything they wanted, and as much of it as they wanted.
I didn’t hate them for it.
I wanted to be them for it.
My siblings and I had been born losers, there was no doubt about it, but we would not die that way.
I would see to it.
Chapter 3
Sleep found me after I’d managed to clear my mind enough for it to descend. As usual, I slept sitting up in the corner of the back room, where the twins, Delia, and Devon slept soundly on the mattresses on the floor.
Two long-barrel revolvers rested across my lap; the only such weapons owned by anyone from The Mound, which I knew for a fact. They were relicts of a long lost civilization. How my father had come across the guns, I didn’t know, but smart bet would be that he’d gained them in some act of brutality and violence. It didn’t really matter, anyway. I’d convinced him to give them to me, and I’d used them to do what needed to be done for the family. Their weight across my thighs was a comfort in the dark, wee hours of the morning.
I awoke with a stiff neck and dry mouth early the next day, rising before the others, as was usual. As I pushed to my feet, blinking and rubbing my eyes to clear my vision, I checked the timepiece in my pocket. Like clockwork, I’d awoken an hour and a half before the sun would rise.
Walking quietly over to the mattress that held Ada and Analise, I stared down at the twins in the pale light of the early morning. Delia lay beside them, her arm draped over their little bodies and her hair fanned out on the mattress.
Though I never spoke of it aloud, this was one of my favorite moments of the day. Watching my three little sisters sleep, their faces so relaxed and innocent, was a tiny enjoyment I made sure to thank the Gods for, if nothing else. For all the bad I’d seen in this world, my love for my siblings reinforced my hope that there was equal good.
Perhaps one just had to search for it.
I attached the revolvers around my waist with the special belt I’d paid good money for, slid on my knee-high, black boots and black suit jacket (which concealed the revolvers rather efficiently around my hips) and quietly exited the cabin.
The sun was still below the horizon, but the blue of early dawn had replaced the black of deep night, and the residents of The Mound were mostly sleeping, and would remain so for a while. Most of them had only just fallen into their beds, drunk or high or both.
Personally, I didn’t partake in the substances, save for on special occasions and to calm my nerves when dealing with my father. In my head, these indulgences were part of the system that worked to hold Wolves like me down, and I saw no reason to make my already tough situation even tougher.
Everything in moderation, that was my motto, especially the things we enjoyed the most.
My first stop was the well, where the residents of The Mound drew water for their needs. Around it, the ramshackle shacks and barren, brown earth stretched on in every direction. A perk of rising this early was that the well was wholly unoccupied, and I could take my time drawing water and tending to my needs.
This morning, however, I wasn’t the only one who’d decided to take advantage of the peace.
“Good morning, Dita,” said a familiar voice behind me.
I paused in my washing and turned to see Jake. His sandy blond hair was still tousled from sleep, but his easy smile and kind eyes gleamed with appreciation as they took in my mostly naked form.
“Good morning, Jake,” I replied, and continued on in my bathing.
Blue eyes still holding me, Jake moved to the other side of the well and drew his own pail of water. We were silent for a while as we went about our tasks, but even my stoicism couldn’t keep my gaze from being drawn to his tall, tan, and muscular form.
He grinned when he noticed me watching, and I scoffed and rolled my eyes, turning and giving him what I was sure was a spectacular view of my backside.
A low growl emanated in his belly, and I grinned because I knew he couldn’t see the expression. By the time I glanced over my shoulder and met his stare, my expression was neutral again.
“Always teasing, Dita,” Jake mumbled.
I quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t just tease.”
Jake considered this, his handsome face appreciative as his eyes ran the length of me. “I was hoping you’d come by last night,” he said.
I shrugged, suppressing a sigh. “I got busy.”
“You’ve been busy a lot lately.”
Rolling my eyes, I snatched my towel from where it was hanging on the edge of the well and began drying and clothing myself with renewed urgency.
“Don’t start this shit again, Jake,” I said as I pulled on my shirt and black, fine-cut jacket, buttoned my pants, and slid on my boots. Buckling the gun belt around my waist, I added, “I told you from the start how things were.”
Jake finished up his grooming quickly so that he could hurry after me. “Yeah, you did,” he said, “but I guess I just thought…”
When he didn’t finish, I looked over at him.
He shrugged.
I paused in my escape to study him. He really was a handsome Wolf; tall and lean and good-hearted, even. There was an innocence to him that was a rare find in these parts, a light to his soul that had been the main reason I’d refused to get physical with him for many moon cycles, despite his insistent efforts. I knew myself well enough to know I would only dim that light in him, only shadow it with darkness.
But a few weeks ago, I’d been very upset after a particularly violent altercation between my father and Demarco, and I’d gone down to The Row for a drink to take the edge off. Jake had been at the bar, and after a few rounds, I’d allowed him to take me to an old barn in one of the neighboring fields, and I’d had my way with him.
It was a decision I was slowly learning to regret, and the look in Jake’s eyes now only solidified it. I could see that I was going to end up breaking his heart, because I would not be able to give him what he wanted.
To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure I even had it to give.
I turned to him, and whatever expression was on my face made his fall in disappointment.
“I know,” he said, before I could speak. “You’ve got no feelings for me and never will, right? Cold-hearted Dita. No getting past your walls.” He shook his head. “It’s my fault, really. I knew going in.”
His words stung, as it was the second time in half a day I’d been called cold, but I gave zero indication of this. I spread my hands. “Guess you got it all figured out, then,” I replied.
Jake only looked at me.
“Don’t fuck things up, boy,” I said flatly, my voice low. I was not talking about our relationship, and he knew it.
He sighed. “I wont,” he said between clenched teeth. “I want to get out of this cursed place as bad as you do.”
Mostly satisfied with this answer, I nodded once and carried on my way.
I could feel Jake’s gaze on my back as I slipped between the rows of makeshift homes and released a heavy breath.
This would mark the start of what would turn out to be a very, very long day.
The brown sacks in which I’d been packing the twins’ lunches were beginning to fall apart, and would need to be replaced soon, but for now, I filled them with the dried meat, fruits, and vegetables I’d bought from the market the previous afternoon.
Once this task was complete, I passed my snoring father where he’d blacked out on the couch only a handful of hours before, and Jodi, where she slept in the old recliner near the fireplace where we cooked our meals, and went into the back bedroom to rouse Delia and the twins.
As usual, the twins roused more easily. They quietly pulled on the clothes I’d washed and set out for them as Delia rolled over to her other shoulder and ignored me.
After more prodding and several shushes from me (if our father was harsh on good days, he was downright cruel when woken from a drunken slumber) I forced some breakfast in them, and we made it out the door.
T
he sun was now making its appearance over the horizon, and the promise of a lingering fall hung in the humid air. The people of The Mound were mostly still sleeping, and only a few of the other youngsters even bothered attending school.
Ada and Ana walked a couple paces ahead of Delia and me, their puffs of curly brown hair floating like clouds above their little heads. They were quiet this morning, likely still shaken from last night’s fiasco, and they held hands as they moved silently down the dirt path that led out of The Mound.
“Why do I have to go to lessons?” Delia asked as we followed behind. “Most of the others don’t go.”
I’d noticed that she’d painted her eyes with charcoal again this morning, and debated telling her that twelve was too young for cosmetics, but decided that of all the battles I’d been facing lately, this was one I would let slide.
For now.
“We’ve been over this, Delia,” I replied, letting a little exasperation show. I looked over at her, reminding myself that it was not her I’d long grown weary of. “I thought things were going well at school. Did something happen?”
I watched my little sister carefully as she decided on her answer. With a sigh, at last she said, “It doesn’t matter.”
The sounds of our boots scuffing over the dirt and the pitter-patter of the twins filled the space between us for a few moments. I continued staring at Delia. We were both aware that I wanted a fuller answer, and that I would get one.
With a heavy breath that made her shoulders sink, Delia said, “The other kids know where I’m from, that we’re poor. They make fun of me for it.”
Inside the pockets of my jacket, my hands clenched into fists, but my expression and posture remained otherwise neutral.
“What are their names?” I asked.
Delia looked up at me now from beneath her dark lashes, and I didn’t miss the spark of fear that flashed behind her eyes. She was not afraid of me, but rather, of what I might do.