“My mother told me a story. She said that not all wolves are bad. Some wolves are protectors. They watch over little girls and little boys while they sleep, keeping the bad things away.”
Kira furrows her brow and argues, “But wolves eat people. That’s what they do in all the stories.”
“Not the protector wolves. They only eat the monsters. That’s their job. To hunt the things that try to hurt the people they care about.”
She considers this for a long moment, turning Rex over in her hands while her small mind works through the logic.
“So, there’s a wolf protecting me?”
“There’s always a wolf protecting you. Even when you can’t see him. Even when you think you’re alone. He’s there, watching over you.”
“Is he watching right now?”
I glance toward the window, where the St. Petersburg night presses against the glass. “He’s very close right now, making sure no monsters get through.”
Kira follows my line of sight, then looks back at me with wonder on her tear-stained face. “Are you my wolf, Pyotr?”
The question punches straight through my ribs. I think about all the people I’ve failed to protect and all the promises I’ve broken.All the bodies I’ve buried, and the ghosts that follow me from city to city, from nightmare to nightmare.
But this small girl is looking at me like I’m good. Safe. Worth believing in.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m your wolf.”
She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes tightly. “I knew it. I knew you were special the first time I saw you.”
I hold her until her breathing evens out and her grip loosens. Gently, I lower her back onto the pillow and tuck the blanket around her shoulders. Rex gets positioned under her arm, standing guard against whatever dreams might come next.
“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” Her mumbles tell me that she’s already halfway there.
“I’ll stay.”
Her eyes drift closed, and she’s breathing deep and steady within minutes. I sit on the edge of her bed, watching her sleep, thinking about wolves and monsters and the lies we tell children to help them feel safe.
Sometimes, those lies are the only protection we can offer.
Daria is standing in the doorway when I look up.
Tears track silently down her cheeks. She stands there, watching us, with something broken and beautiful written across her face.
I don’t know how long she’s been there. Long enough to hear the story about wolves, judging by her reaction.
Neither of us speaks.
I hold her gaze across the darkness of her daughter’s room, and she holds mine.
14
Daria
The walk to Kira’s school takes twelve minutes when the weather cooperates.
The weather is not cooperating today. Sleet falls in diagonal sheets, turning the sidewalks into an obstacle course of gray slush and hidden ice. Kira clings to my hand, and her new boots splash through puddles while she chatters about the art project she’s going to finish today.
“We’re making paper snowflakes, Mama. Mrs. Antonova said mine was the prettiest so far, but I haven’t finished yet because I wanted to add more sparkles. Do you think Pyotr would like a snowflake? I could make him one with extra sparkles.”
“I’m sure he would love that.”
“I’m going to make it green, because green is his favorite color.”
