Simon Thorn and the Wolf's Den by Aimée Carter

they would turn Simon and Winter into oversize chew toys in no time. Winter clutched Simon’s hand, and he squeezed back.
    â€œMalcolm,” said the female wolf. “Look. The knife.”
    The wolf’s narrowed eyes focused on the ivory-handled knife hanging from Simon’s belt. Simon’s heart skipped a beat. “My uncle gave it to me,” he said.
    â€œQuiet,” snarled Malcolm, and Simon shut his mouth.
    Heavy silence hung in the air. Simon expected the wolf to lunge at him at any moment. Instead Malcolm examined the knife, his snout a fraction of an inch from Simon’s hand. Beside him, Winter shook so hard that he was surprised she could still stand.
    At last Malcolm tilted his head back and howled. It was a lonely sound that made Simon ache. In the distance, he heard several dogs join in, but none of them were as haunting as Malcolm.
    Finally the howl ended, and the wolf lowered his head. “Both of you, come with us. Run, and you may not live to see sunset.”
    He trotted ahead, and the others formed a wall behind Simon and Winter, trying to force them down the stone path. Winter refused to move.
    â€œTrust me,” said Simon. “It’ll be all right.”
    â€œIf you want to be their dinner, then fine,” she said, “but I’d rather not be eaten alive by a bunch of mangy mutts—”
    One of the wolves snapped at her ankles, and she yelped. “I don’t think they like being insulted,” said Simon. Winter grumbled, and at last trudged forward.
    As they made their way to the center of the zoo, Simon’s skin prickled. He had the strangest feeling they were being watched. When he looked around, however, all he saw was the empty path, surrounded by trees and the New York City skyline. There was something undeniably strange about the zoo. It was quiet—too quiet, especially for the city, and it took him several seconds to figure out why. Though the flock still circled high overhead as the pack watched warily, Simon didn’t hear any birds nearby. Not even pigeons.
    As Malcolm led them through the exit, Winter let out a muffled sob, and Simon glanced over his shoulder. For all her bravado, her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed, and she looked as though she was on the verge of a panic attack.
    â€œWe’ll do anything you want,” she said in a choked voice. “Just please don’t eat us.”
    â€œEat you?” said the female. “Look at you—runt of the litter. Runts don’t amount to much here, do they?”
    â€œI see plenty of potential,” said another, wearing a sadistic grin. “Fatten her up, and there might even be enough for leftovers.”
    Several of the wolves laughed, and Simon clenched his fists. “Stop it,” he said. “I don’t care what you do with me, but you
will
let Winter go.”
    To his surprise, the wolves grew quiet and glanced uneasily at one another. Finally they all seemed to focus on their leader.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” said Malcolm.
    â€œWinter Rivera,” she said, her voice shaking. The wolf cocked his head.
    â€œRivera? As in Councilman Robert Rivera?”
    â€œHe’s my grandfather,” she said with a hint of defiance, as if daring him to comment. Simon looked back and forth between them, trying to figure out whether Winter was telling the truth.
    â€œI see.” The wolf considered her for a long moment. “The flock has the zoo surrounded. For your own safety, we cannot let you go. However, if you follow my orders, both of you will be safe here.”
    â€œHow are we supposed to trust you when we don’t even know who you are?” said Simon.
    â€œI am not asking you to trust me. I am demanding your cooperation. Now, if you will.”
    They stopped in front of the large, old-fashioned brick building that Winter had called the Arsenal. A stairway led up to a pair of wooden doors that looked firmly