Chapter 4

That’s my name.

I like the sound of it hissing across the water and into the mossy trees, like a secret only the swamp knows.

“I’m coming, Mama,” I shout as I sprint through the boggy landscape. If Mama took care of me growing up, that slowly changed after I came of age until now our roles have reversed. I take care of Mama now. So that’s what I gotta do right now, when she’s shrieking like a panther. Pushing through the underbrush, shoving aside branches, I come face to face with a terrifying sight.

A panther is attacking my mother’s human form.

I don’t think about it. I pitch the fish into the glade, shift into my wolfskin, and launch my body at the big cat. It drops Mama to fight back. Success! My canine teeth snarl and snap, trying to get purchase on the feline’s neck. I manage to sink my teeth into the puma and rip some of the skin from muscle with several mighty shakes of my head.

It’s enough. The panther lets out an ear-shattering snarl and turns tail. As it takes off into the swamp, I turn to Mama. Panthers usually leave

us alone, both the shifter and regular varieties, though maybe if they’re starving, they’ll attack. The panther shifters are as wary of us as we are of them, and besides an occasional wave from a fishing boat sliding under the trailing Spanish moss, they’ve never paid us any mind. They keep their distance and don’t bother us, even though technically, Mama says this part of the swamp belongs to them.

I don’t have time to think about why that panther attacked. Why doesn’t matter, anyway. It happened, and now Mama’s in bad shape, and it’s my job to make sure she heals. I focus on her moaning form.

“Mama,” I say, shifting back to human and crouching next to her. “Mama.” Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the catfish still engaged in a listless struggle with death. “Look, Mama. I brought food.” I crawl toward the fish, pick it up and bite off the head. Then, like a good wolf pup, I bring my morning catch, gripped in my teeth, to my mother. “Look, Mama, see? Here’s food. Eat some and get your strength back.”

Eyes closed, Mama sniffs the fish and shakes her head. “I don’t need fish, Luna love,” she wheezes. “It can’t help me. I’m afraid this is it for me.” Her voice comes out in a gurgle. Claw marks crisscross her body, and blood seeps from the jagged tears in her skin.

Don’t die on me. Please don’t die. I’ll be all alone out here.

My head whips around as I search for something to staunch the blood oozing from Mama’s side. As I search, I swat at the blood-sucking insects attempting to make a meal out of me.

A giant gator drags its body from the slew and makes its way in my direction.

You can smell the blood, can’t you, you bastard?

I toss the fish and send it flying. The gator catches it with a snap of its hinged jaw. Then, it makes an ungainly pivot and waddles back toward the water.

I scoop up Mama’s limp body with a bit of a struggle and carry her toward our house, the one I built with my own hands when I was twelve years old, according to Mama. I don’t know how she knows that.

“I’ll get you help,” I say as I scramble through the damp bog. “Don’t you die on me, Mama!”

She doesn’t answer, and I’m afraid she’s done for. I swallow hard, tears flowing down my cheeks before I offer the suggestion that comes to mind. I only dare speak it in a small voice, and only then because I’m not sure she’ll hear. “Maybe the other wolves can help?”

A fierce growl emerges from my mother’s throat, and her eyelids pop open, staring at me from a long-ago time and place. “No wolves. Never the wolves. They killed your father. Never trust a wolf!”

“But Mama. I don’t know what to do,” I say, rounding the bend with a noisy splash through the swamp water. “I don’t know how to fix something this bad, and I can’t lose you!”

I sniff up my tears and scramble up the bank toward our house, out of breath from carrying her weight.

Mama’s breathing comes weak and shallow “You’re eighteen,” she wheezes. “That’s full grown in the human world, and you came of age as a wolf a long time ago. I raised you as best I could. It’s time to let me go. Remember all I’ve told you.”

“No!” I cry, kicking in the door to our home. As I enter, I lurch to a

halt.

There’s someone in our house.

Fear bolts through me like lightning strikes. The intruder is a woman

with long, glossy hair the color of the night, like the panthers. Is she another one here to finish us off? What did we do to offend them?

“Are you a wolf known to the panthers as Looney Luna?” she asks. “Who wants to know?” I say, backing against the tin wall. My arms

shake with the effort of holding my mother’s body, so I squat and gently lay Mama down. Then, I move in front of her to protect her.

The panther-haired woman shakes her head and gives me a look I can’t decipher. “I’m Ama, and I came to fetch you. Our Alpha has requested

your presence.”

My head whips around to gaze at my mother. If Mama didn’t bark out a retort, it means she’s unconscious… Or dead. I reach out and shake Mama’s still form. “Mama. Mama. Are you with me?”

Mama lets out a low moan, indicating life still thrums through her veins. But she doesn’t speak.

“Didn’t you hear me?” the Ama-woman says, speaking in Mama’s hurry-up tone.

“Of course I heard you,” I snap. “I’m not deaf.”

“Then let’s go.” Ama stands tall and steps toward the door, and something in her commanding presence makes me want to quake. But I stand firm, for Mama.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one who should leave.”

I cross the packed-earth floor in two steps and reach for one of the plastic water jugs I use to catch rainwater. I pour water into my favorite cup, a tall, red plastic glass that you can see through when you hold it up to the light, that I found floating in the swamp one day after a flood. Maybe it’ll let the light shine from Mama again, too. I turn and make haste back to her side. Crouching, I lift her head with one hand and try to get her to drink some water with the other. “Come on, Mama. Just a little water.”

The water simply drips onto her face and pours off her chin.

“She needs more than water,” Ama says, crossing her arms and raising her chin.

“Are you a healer?” I ask hopefully. She hasn’t attacked yet, so that’s a good sign, but I don’t know her, and Mama told me to never trust strangers. Everyone’s a stranger, so I don’t trust anyone.

“No,” says Ama.

“Then you should probably shut up.” I use my index finger to pry open Mama’s lips, then pour a little water into her mouth.

A violent coughing attack ensues.

“Shit, shit,” I say, setting the glass of water to the side. I help Mama to sit up and whack her on the back a few times, desperation making me cry again. “I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do!”

Mama collapses in my arms as her blood pools on the dirt floor.

“Damn it.” I press my fists to my stinging eyes, my mind reeling. I know how to deal with Mama’s moods, her quiet spells, her thinking things are out to get us. I know how to bandage scrapes and put poultices on bruises and swellings and snake bites. But this… There’s too much blood.

“I can help you,” the Ama woman says.

I lift my tearstained face. “What can you do? Are you a shaman? A witch?”

“No,” Ama says, tipping her head to the side, but not like she’s curious. She doesn’t look interested or sad or scared Mama will die. Her expression isn’t anything. “But I know a healer. She can help your mother.”

“Why would you do that for me?” I ask, my eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Are you a panther? One of yours just did this to us, so why are you offering to help?”

She huffs out a breath. “I’m a wolf.”

My back stiffens and my heart races. This is what Mama warned me about all my life, the moment I’ve been taught to avoid since I could speak. “Wolves lie,” I whisper. “And murder their own kind.”

A flicker of something—surprise? confusion?—flashes across Ama’s face like a summer storm. “I’m here because you have something my Alpha wants,” she says, going back to her non-expression. “And that’s why I’m offering to help.”

“What do I have?” I ask, giving a panicked glance at the four walls, the leaky tin roof, and the bed of rags.

Ama stabs her finger at me. “You.” “Me?”

She rolls her eyes up and then back down. “Yes, you.”

“Then you’re shit out of luck,” I say. “I can’t go anywhere with a wolf. Mama says so.”

“Suit yourself,” Ama says. “But from the looks of things, your mom won’t be saying anything for much longer.”

Desperation claws its way to the surface of my heart. I want to be a good wolf pup and obey my mama, but I also don’t want her to die. It’s my job to protect her. I’m the caretaker now, and I have to take care of her the way she did when I was young. So, I make a split-second decision.

Swallowing hard, I nod at the she-wolf. “Then save her. I’ll come with you and see what this Alpha person wants. But then I’m taking her home. Deal?”

“I’d like nothing better, but I’m afraid it’s not up to me,” Ama says with a sigh.

I don’t want to go without a deal, but nothing in my life has prepared me for this. Cuts and scrapes, even broken toes, are healed by our wolves, but serious injuries like Mama’s are another matter entirely. And dealing with other people, well, that’s even further from my experience than injuries.

But what choice do I have? I need to save Mama, the way she’s always saved me. If Ama’s lying, and this is a trap, I won’t be surprised, but the wolves can’t do anything worse than what’s already been done. Mama is dying. If I go to the wolves, even if it’s against her orders, at least I’ll know I did everything I could. If I don’t do anything, she’ll surely die.

So I make the decision to help her, even if that means doing the very thing she always warned me against, even if it means walking straight into the enemy’s lair.