Here is the fifth chapter of The Wolf. It's the longest one yet, though there will be chapters quite a bit longer than this one, most likely. And yes, I'm up way later than I normally am.

I'd like to thank everyone who has supported this story thus far. Enjoy, and don't forget to review to tell me what you thought. I will take all feedback into consideration. And if you want to add me on Discord at Lucas the Lion#7822, I'll accept any and all friend requests as long as you're not an obvious troll.

Happy reading!


Zeus: Why did you drive north upon leaving Los Angeles? Was there any inkling you had that it would be safer?

Defendant: Well, it was the easiest way out of the city. And yes, it would be safer, since I was trying to avoid the police.

Zeus: You did not know about the Bay Area's many dangers for people like you?

Defendant: How was I supposed to know? It had only been a week since the symposium, and until that night, I thought everything Mr. Weldworth had discussed was a hoax! It was hard to process all of this!

Zeus: Fair enough. I will say, it still hurts to be called a "hoax", no matter the context, but I'll let it slide in this case. Continue.

I drove for several hours through the darkness, working the gas and brake pedals every time a car got in front of me. Of course, given that it was the highway in the middle of the night, there wasn't much need to brake.

My arm still hurt quite a bit, and I thought about how great it would be to bandage it up. The problem was that in order to do this, I would need to find a rest stop, and I'd waste valuable time doing so that I could use to get away.

Another problem was that I didn't really have a destination in mind. I could drive north all day long, but what would happen once I reached the Canadian border? I'd need to present my passport, which I didn't have, and besides, I'd run out of gas long before then.

At one point, there was a metallic noise that seemed to be coming from the glove compartment. I didn't stop to check what it was, but it didn't affect the engine, so I didn't think it mattered too much.

It was only once the sky got lighter that I ran into trouble.

Traffic slowed considerably, and the fuel tank was running close to empty. I would need to stop and get gas soon, and doing so would expose me to the police. Indeed, the greater visibility afforded by daylight would make it harder to avoid detection.

I suppose the scenery was nice enough. Given the signs by the road, I was nearing the San Francisco Bay Area. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that traffic was picking up, but it was certainly unwelcome.

Once I reached a rest area, I had no choice but to refuel my vehicle's tank. I also got myself a donut and coffee from Starbucks, a breakfast of champions if I do say so myself. Waiting in line was nerve-wracking, and I could feel sweat dripping down my face as I paid; the barista must have thought something was up, what with that and my gaping arm wound. Oh, and the fact that I wasn't wearing a shirt.

After I got back in the car, and drove out into the highway again, traffic was once again stop-and-go, with a rhythm that had made me feel nauseous several times as a kid. Before long, it was completely bumper-to-bumper.

Ah, shit, I thought. Now I'm stuck here until something happens, and the police are immune to traffic laws. They're going to catch up to me unless something changes drastically.

A few minutes later, after which traffic had not moved another inch, a chorus of car horns started sounding.

My heart raced as though I were running a 200-meter dash. My palms were slick with perspiration as I gripped the wheel. This was it; if the police had a helicopter fleet, they had just seen me.

The horns continued sounding, and they were getting closer and closer to me. I saw that one man, probably in his mid-to-late twenties, was walking along the highway through the cars.

He did not, however, look like a police officer. He seemed just as confused as the rest of us.

"What are you doing here?" I exclaimed. "Why are you in the middle of the freeway?"

"Just trying to see what all the commotion is about!" the man shouted, struggling to make himself heard over the cacophony. "Like, why the horns?"

"Your guess is as good as mine!"

The car on my left, driven by a tall woman with frizzy orange hair, rolled down its passenger-side window. The woman turned to face us.

"Apparently there's an animal running along the highway!" she shouted. "I just got the alert on my phone, that's why traffic is so slow!"

An animal on the highway. I wonder what that could be.

"This isn't supposed to happen in the Bay Area!" the man on the freeway bellowed. "Jesus Christ, you've gotta be kidding me!"

The orange-haired woman frowned. "Sadly, I'm not. The New York Times doesn't lie! They say it was a Great Dane or something like that!"

"A Great Dane" I repeated, not knowing exactly what those two words meant. "That's a dog breed, isn't it?"

The woman nodded. "Yes. A large breed. I'm not sure what it's doing when it might get hit by any number of cars!"

"Be careful or be roadkill!" the man outside of a car yelled. "Really, what does that bitch think it's playing at?"

The others were clearly alarmed by the news, but something told me that they didn't fully comprehend it. They didn't know why I had so much more reason to be afraid than they did; granted, neither did I.

"By the way, why is your window broken, young man?" the woman asked me.

I shook my head. "I'm afraid I can't answer that question."

She looked as though she didn't quite believe me, but whatever suspicions she had were quickly forgotten when…

There was a loud, low bark, as well as the sound of quick, heavy footsteps along the asphalt. For a moment there, I was able to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, it was indeed a Great Dane. It still wouldn't be ideal to have to fight one, but at least it wouldn't be as dangerous.

Still, I decided to be proactive and look inside my glove compartment. I undid my seatbelt, since it was clear that traffic wouldn't move again anytime soon. And I climbed into the passenger seat.

The metallic sound happened earlier there. I'm almost afraid to see what the glove compartment looks like now.

When I opened it, I found the same steak knife that had been in the kitchen last night. The same one I'd used as a weapon against the wolf there.

That's weird. I'm pretty sure I didn't carry it into the car with me. It really shouldn't be there.

And yet, my eyes did not lie. I picked up the blade, which was as pristine and shiny as metal gets. It might have only been a few hours since I'd fought the creature at home, but the knife already felt unnatural to use as a weapon.

That's why they want me. If they catch me (okay, probably when they catch me), I'll want to look innocent, and that won't happen if they see me doing the same thing I was accused of in the first place.

I sat there for a few seconds, during which not much happened other than the continued honking of horns. The whole time, my reflexes were on high alert, and I was ready to pounce at any moment.

That moment came not long after.

The passenger-side window was shattered into a million pieces as a large, furry creature pinned me to the seat. Its steel blue eyes glinted with murderous intent, and it was smiling from ear to ear.

I'm not proud to admit that I screamed. However, I couldn't muster the breath to scream for very long, because the wolf had knocked some of the wind out of my body. Trying to get my breath back, I tightened my grip on the knife.

However, the creature began breathing heavily right into my face, and its breath did not smell very pleasant. Clearly, it could have used some mouthwash.

The wolf licked his lips as though intensely excited about a meal. Of course, he was excited about this meal; I would be his main course.

This realization gave me the courage and strength to push back against the wolf's stance, swinging my hips to force him backwards into the windshield.

It only bought me a few seconds, but I took this time to open the door. I had one foot out the door when I felt something warm and wet against my wound.

I realized then that the others would probably see a Great Dane licking my bad arm to make it feel better. Already that would be very much out of the ordinary, since Great Danes normally don't wander onto a multiple-lane highway. But they didn't see the reality I saw.

For a few seconds, being licked did feel good, even if it wasn't very sanitary. I was frozen in shock at the fact that I was actually being licked by a wolf. That wasn't something you experienced every day.

But it needs to be said that this wasn't fun for very long. Soon, the pain in my arm was greatly amplified; it was as though a thousand nails were protruding out of it.

I screamed again, this time in agony. As excruciating as it was, the pain gave me the strength to force the rest of my body out of the car, and the wolf then pounced on me.

"Somebody call 911!" I heard the orange-haired lady shout. "The Great Dane is attacking him!"

At least she saw it for what it was: An attack. But if anything, that made it worse, because the police summoned to the scene might recognize me as the guy who attacked the chihuahua back in Los Angeles.

Do different police departments communicate with each other like that? I'll have to research that if I get the chance.

Of course, I didn't have much time to think, for I felt the wolf's fangs scrape my back. Had I been wearing a shirt, I feel certain they would have pierced the material, drawing blood. As it was, at least some skin was broken.

This might have merely been a superficial wound, inflicted only to cause pain rather than damage, but it still made my eyes water and my vision tinge red.

I thrust my body upward, pushing the wolf off of me. I remembered the man's words: Be careful or be roadkill. They sure seemed relevant now.

Seizing the blade, I tried to stab the wolf somewhere, anywhere. It wouldn't be put down for long, but perhaps just long enough so that I could make my getaway. That would be better than nothing.

There's one place that would probably do it, I thought. The brain.

I frowned. As I jumped out of the way to dodge the wolf's attack, I recalled that I didn't have the best aim when it came to darts, not that I'd had much practice. And even in darts, you generally didn't have a moving target. This would be even harder.

Still, it was worth a shot, though putting the wolf in enough pain to avoid a counterattack would also work wonders.

I waved my blade around wildly, probably looking like a madman with just pajama pants on and a steak knife in my hand. I didn't even want to know what the other drivers would think.

The wolf charged at me, but I was able to leap out of the way. In doing so, I landed on the hood of another car, whose driver swiftly honked the horn.

I fell to the ground, landing hard on my knees. Despite this, it didn't feel like anything had been broken, so I sprang to my feet, continuing my iron grip on that steak knife.

The creature howled once more, threatening to maul me, to tear my flesh into ribbons until there was nothing left of what had once been Brandon St. Lawrence. But I wasn't ready to give in, not even close.

I punched the wolf in the head, sending it reeling several feet back. It wasn't much of an advantage for me, but I still had some time to run.

And that's exactly what I did. I high-tailed it away from my partly-broken car, determined to forget that it was even on the highway in the first place. It could perhaps be replaced one day, but my life could not be.

There were more horns as I sprinted through the breakdown lane, practically hugging the Jersey barrier on the left side. I couldn't let myself get run over if the traffic happened to start up again; I hated the mental image of my body as roadkill.

I ran as quickly as I could. The wolf, thankfully, did not follow me.

It wasn't long after I got off the freeway that I ran into a tunnel. Despite the stale air in said tunnel, the adrenaline was more than enough to keep me going. I slowed to a jog, but as long as I found safety, that was good enough.

Wait a minute. Why am I going this way?

Because it's the furthest from the highway. You want to forget about everything that happened in L.A. This is the safest way for you to do that.

But that still doesn't make sense! There has to be some other reason I'd head this route!

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, or maybe that was just my exhaustion kicking in. Having just driven north for some hours, after getting two hours (or less) of sleep, it was no wonder that my body felt depleted.

My arm, too, was killing me. Ever since I'd been licked by that wolf, the area had seemed to become more and more inflamed. I was afraid to even look at it for fear of how ugly the wound must be now.

Once I was at the end of the tunnel, I was able to get a good view of what lay below.

And yes, I did say below. A valley lay out below me, consisting of varying types of terrain. Relatively small hills, fields, and thickets of trees stretched out almost as far as the eye could see. My mouth hung agape as I surveyed the scene.

Probably the most stunning part of the view was a collection of buildings. The roofs were all brick red, but the buildings themselves were made out of white marble. There was also an open plaza and a circular building with an arena.

There were plenty of other features I couldn't bother processing at that moment. I knew in the back of my mind that wolves might still be stalking me; indeed, they almost certainly were on my tail. Perhaps they were in that tunnel, able to see me at the end of it.

Okay, I told myself. Let's go, Brandon. You can do this. Just jog into that valley, and surely someone in that city will help keep you safe.

This was easier said than done. My brief rest had been enough to convince my body that I was too exhausted to continue. With each step, my head swam just a little. My arm throbbed with every beat of my heart.

Worst of all was my back. I hadn't noticed the wound there as much, but let me be clear: You don't always want your back scratched, especially if the one doing the scratching is a wolf with sharp fangs.

Now that it was fully exposed to the elements, including the rising sun, my entire back felt like it was being constantly stung by bees. I wasn't sure how the sun acted to irritate it, but that was the least of my worries.

I'd give anything to have a shirt right now, I thought bitterly. Even my dignity. If God is up there somewhere, I'll do whatever He wants me to do. Given that I was a self-proclaimed "non-praying man", that should serve as a testament to how desperate I felt.

I stumbled down the hill, my knees popping every few seconds. It was only once I reached the bottom of the valley that I saw what stood in my way.

A rushing river, probably about thirty yards wide, carved its way through the valley floor. How I hadn't noticed this river before was beyond me, but it was an obstacle nonetheless.

I hope wolves can't swim very well. Unfortunately, now I have to swim across.

The river didn't look terribly deep, but it was quite powerful. A second or two after stepping in, I was swept off my feet and carried downstream for about five seconds.

Once I got my bearings again, I began swimming with a breaststroke towards the other side. The cool water felt good against my wound; it clearly wasn't salt water.

I was making progress, even if I felt dizzier and dizzier with each stroke. I was almost at the opposite bank when my foot touched the riverbed, and then I knew I could stand up.

However, once I was back on my feet, the world began spinning again. The ground shifted beneath my feet, and I was convinced that an earthquake was occurring, something I'd experienced a few times.

Climbing out of the river, I dropped to my knees once more. I looked out at the landscape spread before me, realizing that the small city was still a good distance away. It would be a Herculean task to walk there.

Come on. I can do this.

I tried to get to my feet again, but my brain felt foggy. Not only could I not think clearly, I couldn't see clearly either.

I'm going to pass out, I realized. But that's okay.

Surely once I woke up, I'd be in good enough shape to finish the trek to the city. And once I got there, I felt sure I'd be safe. Somehow.

But I barely had time to think about how odd that was before my vision darkened further until I blacked out.


Reyna always tried to maintain a strong exterior. If she betrayed even the slightest hint of trepidation, the smallest sign that she wasn't certain about what to do, the Twelfth Legion would cease to see her as a leader.

Really, she didn't blame them. A praetor was supposed to be fearless; at a minimum, they were supposed to be able to put those fears aside like they were nothing. That was the best way to deal with any situation, particularly in battle, where offense was the best defense.

The morning of July 12, 201X, Reyna was eating breakfast in the town of New Rome. It was a light meal, just an egg sandwich from the coffee shop, the same thing she usually ordered.

It had been almost a year since the war against the giants. Almost a year since Gaea had been defeated. Since then, the world of demigods had been experiencing relative stability - Pax Romana, if you will.

That's not to say that there was never anything to worry about. Even as a Roman demigod, there were always monsters to fight, though Terminus' boundary kept them in check within Camp Jupiter. No intruders entered the valley unless they were allowed to, and if they were allowed in, they weren't intruders.

In a way, Reyna's heart ached for the Greek demigods. They had Camp Half-Blood as a refuge, yes, but it didn't offer the same stability, the same permanence, that New Rome did. And that made her think about Jason Grace.

She'd broken up with him after Hera had taken him away as part of the exchange. There'd never been a falling-out between them, but now that Jason was dating Piper McLean, there existed an understanding between Reyna and her former fellow praetor that they couldn't be together anymore.

Reyna still felt bitter about what Hera had done. Even if it had ultimately been necessary to save the world, even if the prophecy demanded it, she'd rather it not have happened. After all, if you change someone's memories, you change who they are.

That morning, as the praetor was finishing up her egg sandwich, she heard a barking voice from right behind her. "Reyna!"

She turned to face Dakota, a centurion from the Fifth Cohort. The tall, buff teenager's black hair was a lot more disheveled than usual, as though he hadn't bothered to brush it. As though he couldn't be bothered to brush it.

"What's wrong, Dakota?" Reyna replied, trying not to sound frantic. "Did someone get hurt? You know, just because I'm a praetor doesn't mean I have to babysit everyone!"

"It's not that," Dakota grunted. "There's someone at the boundary!"

Reyna should have known something was up the instant she'd seen the Fifth Cohort centurion. The son of Bacchus wasn't exactly known for getting up early; perhaps he'd sensed something was wrong. Reyna, the one known for having all the answers, now had all the questions.

The praetor frowned. "How did they get here?"

"No idea," Dakota replied. "But he ended up next to the Little Tiber, on the bank closest to New Rome! We've got to help him!"

"I suppose," Reyna replied. "But what if he is an enemy? What if he's a spy?"

The centurion shook his head. "Why would he be? He literally seems to have collapsed at the entrance to New Rome. That doesn't make it look like he was confident."

"Okay then. Just in case this ends up as a battle, I'll go grab my spear from my living quarters."

A few minutes later, Reyna had retrieved her weapon. It could be quite handy - it was possible to switch it between a spear and sword according to whatever she needed to fight with.

Despite being a daughter of Bellona, the goddess of war, Reyna didn't want to battle if she could avoid it. This went for just about all Romans; at least, it was supposed to. Octavian had been a notable exception.

She followed Dakota through the golden plains that stretched towards the Little Tiber. Thanks to the relative state of peace Camp Jupiter had been enjoying, the weapon almost seemed to belong to a different time.

Once they'd gotten close to the Little Tiber, Reyna saw that a small crowd of legion members had gathered. Some of them were children, while others were clearly in their teens if not twenties. They all, however, had one thing in common.

All of these people were whispering to one another about what must have happened. Nobody got into the camp without permission, and yet it seemed that law had been broken here.

Sure enough, on the near bank of the river, there lay a tall young man, perhaps eighteen years old (a year older than Reyna.) He wore nothing but a pair of soggy pajama pants; his bare chest was exposed to the morning sun.

The unconscious boy's fluffy brown hair was also matted, and there was an overall stressed look on his face, even though he could not see Reyna and Dakota. There was an overall air of hardship about him.

Probably the most distressing feature on his body was his left arm. More specifically, a gaping flesh wound (which might have been a bit more than a flesh wound) lay exposed to the elements. It wasn't bleeding very quickly, but it only added to the overall appearance of suffering.

"We've got to get him to the infirmary," Reyna urged curtly.

Another centurion, a dark-skinned girl Reyna recognized with frizzy brown hair, glared at the praetor.

"Are you crazy? He must be a spy; how else could he get in without Terminus detecting him?"

"I'm worried about that too, Hazel," Reyna admitted. She hated to show any sign of fear, but a praetor must also be honest with those they serve. "But I'm inclined to show this young man mercy. Does he look organized enough to be a spy?"

"He's wounded," a girl in her early teens said, glancing at Hazel. "I don't think he would have done that to himself, would he?"

Hazel Levesque frowned. "We don't know. It's entirely possible he sustained that wound fighting Terminus. But where is Terminus?"

Terminus was the god who provided Camp Jupiter's security. He was known for being incredibly friendly when legion members abided by the rules, but that kindness went out the window as soon as a regulation was flouted.

He normally guarded the camp in statue form, but now that Hazel had mentioned it, Reyna didn't see the bust anywhere.

Just because the statue isn't here, that doesn't mean we're unguarded. Terminus' blessing does not know distance.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder about the implications. In that regard, she shared Hazel's concern.

What was perhaps more concerning was that the legion might be quick to blame the Greeks if this boy was indeed a spy. Although the Greek and Roman demigods had parted on somewhat good terms, tensions still remained. After all, last year, the two camps had been at war; that sort of thing wasn't forgotten easily.

"I don't know where Terminus is," Reyna admitted, realizing that Hazel and the others were expecting an answer. "But we can't just leave this young man to die. If he turns out to be an enemy, that's fine; we can always kill him then."

"But it's not fine," another voice insisted. This one was male, and it belonged to another centurion: Frank Zhang.

"I'm the praetor here" Reyna said flatly. "And that means I get to make the decisions. I share the worries you all have, but I think we should show him kindness before we make a decision on whether or not his life shall be spared."

The other legion members looked a bit uneasy, but they also all seemed to understand that Reyna's decision was final. Her opinion was the one that mattered, because ultimately, she was the leader.

"Okay. I need someone to grab a stretcher from the infirmary, then come back down here. And then our strongest people will carry this young man to our hospital. Once he regains consciousness, we will question him. But we won't kill him yet."

After Reyna barked out those orders, Dakota sprinted towards New Rome, presumably to the infirmary. Most of the others left, presumably to return to their barracks, but a few legionnaires stayed to see if they could help.

The praetor took all of this as a good sign. She'd done a good job, in her mind, of radiating an air of authority. The legionnaires trusted her and saw her rule as legitimate, and at the end of the day, that's all she could ask for.

In the back of her mind, however, Reyna couldn't help but wonder if she had made the wrong decision. If the rest of the legion saw taking this young man in as a serious misstep, her days as a praetor were numbered.


To be clear: This story takes place a year after the events of The Blood of Olympus. I prefer to pretend that The Trials of Apollo doesn't exist. So if there was any need for clarification, there you go.

Also, there will be more canon characters in this story; Reyna and Dakota won't be the last of them.