Secret Wolf

There was not a criminal in New York City who hadn’t heard of the Night Wolf, or told the story themselves.

Most assumed it was a large dog. A wolf stalking the streets of the city was impossible. Especially when some people whispered that the wolf sometimes shed its form to become human. Werewolves were not unheard of in New York, but again, those were rumors that had never been confirmed.

Violent crime had risen over the past five years. Where crimes happened, the Night Wolf appeared. It happened so often that robbers started to think twice before hitting a mark.

There was one person who wasn’t afraid to walk the streets at night, and that was the Night Wolf herself.

As Cora Chase handcuffed the last robber to the front gate of the police station, her wolf instincts surveyed the surroundings to make sure no one approached. The night was a bit chilly but quiet on this particular street.

Cora stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Tonight’s catch was three robbers total, three tall, thin men who had been holding up a bodega. She’d caught them in the act of threatening the elderly owner with switchblades. Needless to say, they’d been incredibly shocked to turn around and suddenly find a large, black wolf standing in the doorway, growling.

She clapped her hands together and wiped grime off onto her black jeans. She always wore all black clothes, including a large hoodie that covered her face, and sturdy combat boots.

Technically the police station was open twenty four-seven, so technically she could’ve gone to the front desk and told them the three criminals were outside. But she liked to let the criminals stew, chained to the fence, thinking about their life choices.

She toed the boot of one of the unconscious men. The back of his jacket was shredded from her dragging him to the gate. They all had minor injuries, nothing life-threatening. Even in her wolf form, Cora wasn’t a murderer. Even wolves had more control than criminals.

Her wolf growled in her chest as she walked away from the police station. She made sure her hood was pulled far over her head and shoved her hands in her pockets, heading in the direction of the mansions and townhomes of the Upper East Side.

Once she crossed the boundary into the Upper East Side, the scenery changed. The sidewalk was cleaner, the smell of urine replaced with landscaped lawns and flowers. The cars were fancier, parked on the curb, and watchful security guards and butlers alike traversed the lobbies and front steps of the buildings.

She paused in front of a boutique shop with a large pane-glass window. She pulled down her hood to check her appearance. She wanted to look as peaceful as if she’d just been taking a walk, not fighting criminals.

She released her ink-black hair from its scrunchie, running fingers through the waves to detangle them. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, along with her small nose. She had her mother’s heart-shaped face, and her height: 5’8”. However, her eyes were like her father’s: brown at first glance, but with copper flecks that became more pronounced when she shifted into her wolf. Despite her eyes, she otherwise looked unassuming. Which she preferred—it made it easier to travel unnoticed.

Moving away from the window, she shoved her hands in her pockets. Her destination appeared around a large sycamore tree: East Side Hotel & Restaurant, a large, four-story mansion built in the same 1920s glamour style of its neighbors. Cora had called this place home all her life, even before it was a hotel.

She moved down the alley between the hotel and the neighboring house. Both were protected by wrought-iron gates. She never entered her home through the front door anymore. That was for guests—humans and werewolves alike—and people who lived their lives in the daytime, not stalking the streets at night.

The back gate had an electronic lock. She keyed in the code—her parents’ anniversary date—and slipped into the back courtyard, careful to make sure the gate closed and locked behind her. The back door was also protected with an electronic lock, and as she pulled it open, something fell from overhead and landed at her feet.

Cora bit back a scream, assuming at first it was a roach or large spider. Then her wolf smelled something herbal. She picked it up—it was a bundle of sage secured with twine that had a few clay beads threaded on it.

“Verna,” she said with a sigh, replacing the bundle of sage over the doorjamb once she was inside. Verna Gray was an elder wolf, sixty-five, a stout woman with gray hair always worn in a tight bun. She had been the Chase family’s housekeeper and nanny, and remained the same even after the house had been turned into a hotel. Now she helped Cora run the hotel by managing the staff and keeping an eye on Cora’s two younger siblings: 7-year-old Levi and 9-year-old Pearl.

As an elder wolf, Verna had her superstitions. She may or may not dabble in a little witchcraft too, which Cora had yet to confirm but was too afraid to ask too many questions. Regardless, she loved Verna like a grandmother and appreciated her attempts to protect the house, even if they were old fashioned.

The kitchen was closed for the night, so Cora wandered through and entered the staff quarters without being disturbed. What was left of her small family lived in the wing next to the kitchen.

She paused in the hallway outside the door to their rooms. Raising her hand to her face, she kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the glass of the picture frame hanging next to the doo—a tiny ritual she repeated every night she returned home safe. Staring back at her from the frame were her parents: tall, handsome Henry and raven-haired, beautiful Charlotte. They were smiling, arms around each other, standing under a willow tree.

“Love you,” Cora murmured, ignoring the pang of sadness in her chest and sneaking into the room. She knew her parents were still with her, even though they weren’t alive; yet the pain of their murder would never leave her. It was the sole driving force behind her nightly missions.

As she quietly checked on her sleeping siblings and went into her room, she shed her clothes and the names that followed her on the streets. Night Wolf. Beast. Monster. There were a lot of names she went by. The policemen probably gave her a few unflattering ones, too, since they didn’t actually know who left criminals chained to their fence every night.

She went through the routine of hiding her clothes, washing her face, combing her hair, and staring at her reflection... and the coppery eyes that weren’t quite human.

Cora and her wolf were one and the same, and together, they would protect her family and avenge her parents’ death.

The next morning dawned with a red sunrise. Verna opened Cora’s curtains, violently waking up her surrogate granddaughter with a burst of light.

“Verna!” Cora groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. “Why?!”

“Get up. There’s news.” Verna turned from the window, hands on her hips, face pinched with grief. “The Hawkins family was robbed last night. Wilfred Hawkins is dead.”

Cora scrambled out of bed, blood turning to ice. “What?”

“The pack will want answers.” Verna looked over Cora’s appearance with concern, as if searching for hints that she’d been out the night before. “Who’s going to give them?”

Cora wasn’t technically the Alpha of the East Side pack. That position had been in question ever since her father, Henry, had been killed five years ago. The title of Alpha fell to his eldest son, her older brother CJ—but then CJ had been killed a year after their parents. Young Levi was technically next in line, but he was only seven, and the East Side pack had a rule that the Alpha had to be at least eighteen. They were also still a pretty traditional pack, with the Alpha line passing from father to son, brother to brother. Cora would have to put up a fight if she wanted the position for herself.

Instead, Cora had chosen a group of close family friends and confidants, and together they had filled the void of pack leader as well as they could for the last few years. One of those confidants had been Wilfred Hawkins, a doctor that provided care to the entire pack and had been close with Cora’s parents.

The Hawkins family lived in a posh townhome a block down from the Chase family. They were an elderly couple, empty nesters living alone. She couldn’t imagine how scared they had been last night when the robbers broke into their sanctuary.

She pushed down the panic rising from her stomach. Who would stand with her in front of the pack? Who was left? Steadily, over the last few years, she’d lost her closest supporters, all of whom had discussed taking the name and pressure of Alpha off the Chase orphans. She wished she’d agreed to it now. Why she’d been holding out so long, she didn’t know.

“I’ll figure something out.” She reached for her phone on the bedside table. “I just need time. And don’t tell Levi and Pearl.”

Verna nodded. “I’ll do my best, but you know the staff. They gossip and forget children have ears.”

For the protection of the Chase family and any visiting werewolves, the hotel was only staffed with members of the East Side pack. Normally that was something she was grateful for, but as Cora left her bedroom and travelled the staff quarters to the back door, it was hard to ignore how everyone stared after her. They whispered behind her back, and she knew what they were thinking: who’s going to protect us now? This young girl, her seven-year-old brother, or her elderly housekeeper? Not the best odds for a pack being targeted for robbery and murder by human gangs.

As Cora got dressed and put on a modest face of makeup, a more human problem confronted her in the form of her messy desk. It was covered in a weird mixture of crime reports, missing persons flyers, psychology textbooks, and homework notes. Buried in the pile somewhere was her beat-up laptop. Cora was a psychology student at NYU, taking most of her classes online, which was the only thing that helped her keep her grades and attendance up. However, recently it had been harder to focus because one of her professors had been killed. His death was ruled an accident, but Cora doubted it. Murder followed her like a shadow.

It was a chilly morning, a typical October in New York. Cora chose leggings, a dark red turtleneck sweater, faux fur-lined boots, and her black puffer coat. She pulled a matching red hat (knitted by Verna) over her dark hair. With her she took her small knapsack-style backpack that had her emergency supplies of extra clothes, first aid supplies, protein bars, and water bottle. It was hard to know when she would come back, and if she would need anything should she shift into wolf form or pick a fight with some robbers.

The street was transformed from last night. New Yorkers dressed in designer coats and boots walked tiny dogs, got into towncars, chatted outside of mansions, and walked between boutiques and coffee shops. The Upper East Side was a picture-perfect snapshot, but Cora knew what was underneath. She saw none of her pack on the street that morning. They were staying in their homes out of fear.

She dialed the most recent number in her phone as she walked.

“I need your help,” she said.