Protected by the Wolven (Mated to the Monster: Season 2)
1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Z oya
If only I could catch my breath, I could think. But I can’t stop running. What if Max wakes up from his drunken stupor and notices I’m gone?
Luckily, it’s almost a full moon. There’s enough light for me to make my way through the streets, even though it makes me an easier target for the type of people who are still awake and up to no good at two in the morning.
It’s everything I can do not to give up, stop my forward motion, and sit on the curb and cry. But I’m not that person. I don’t give up. It’s my greatest strength—though it just might be the reason I’m in this trouble.
Think, Zoya, think.
I slow to a jog and force my brain into gear. Max has a car and I’m on foot. If he wakes up, it will be easy for him to find me. I don’t even want to think about the punishment he’ll mete out if he discovers me.
A person in different circumstances would go to the police, but Max still hasn’t married me and my 90-day fiancée visa has expired. The authorities will send me straight to jail. Although I’ve been in the U.S. for five months, I don’t know a soul. Max hasn’t introduced me to even one of his family or friends, and he forbade me to leave the house or talk to the neighbors.
In front of me, a ten-foot-tall, barbed wire fence stands like a silent sentinel. We’ve driven by this place often enough that I know where I am—the Integration Zone where the Others are housed.
Even from my hometown outside of Bakhmut, Ukraine, we know about the Others. Over a quarter of a century ago, five thousand Others simply dropped onto the desert near Los Angeles. They were like something out of a storybook: nagas, orcs, minotaurs, and wolf-type males they call wolven.
They were rounded up and placed inside this fenced area. To this day, they’re barely allowed outside the boundary unless it’s to work, although those rules have loosened lately.
I stop all forward motion and stare at the fence and beyond to the crumbling apartments inside. It’s a crazy idea, but perhaps sneaking into the Zone is my only hope. It’s the one place Max would never think to look. I hear even the human police don’t go inside, at least not often.
My hammering heart has nothing to do with how many blocks I just ran and everything to do with my fear of what’s behind that foreboding fence.
My mind throws me scrolling pictures of towering minotaurs, scaly talking snakes, and terrifying, fanged wolf-men. It’s both sad and terrifying that scaling this chain-link fence, topped with razor wire, is a better option than returning home to the man who beats me every time he drinks—which is almost every night. Crazy as it sounds, though, it’s not only the better option. It’s my only option.
I recall being in the car late one night, coming home from the bar where Max made me wait outside all night. We drove down this very street and I saw one of the humongous orcs rolling up a piece of the chain link and sliding under it to leave the Zone. I remember exactly where it was.
After finding the spot in the fence, I struggle to lift it. It’s much harder than that powerful orc made it look. By the time I muscle my way underneath and am on the other side, I’m filthy and panting with effort.
Though I know I’m not safe, I breathe freely for the first time since Max backhanded me on my third night in this country. How is it that being on this side of the barbed wire fence, locked in this hellhole of an Other ghetto, feels safer—and freer—than being on the other side?