LOGINThree months later, the campus still smells the same—old books, cut grass, and the faint chemical tang of the lecture-hall whiteboards.
I slip into my usual seat near the back of the anthropology seminar just as Dr. Patel starts reviewing the final section of post-Exposure integration theory. No one stares anymore. A few classmates nod. One of the Luna Chaser girls from last year gives me a small, almost shy wave. I return it and open my laptop.
Callum’s second birthday falls on a clear autumn afternoon, the kind where the light turns everything gold and the air smells like woodsmoke and fallen leaves.The entire pack has come.They fill the big clearing behind the lodge—enforcers, elders, healers, the younger wolves who still tumble over each other like oversized puppies. Tables are loaded with food. Someone has strung simple lights between the trees. A ridiculous number of balloons bounce against the branches every time the wind moves. Callum stands in the middle of it all in a tiny blue sweater, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and announces his opinions at full volume to anyone who will listen.Rowena sits on a low bench nearby, directing traffic with the calm authority of someone who has raised half the pack. She catches my eye over the crowd and smiles—the soft, knowing smile she has worn more easily these past months. When Callum barrels into her legs for the tenth time, she lifts him without complaint and settles him on he
Three months later, the campus still smells the same—old books, cut grass, and the faint chemical tang of the lecture-hall whiteboards.I slip into my usual seat near the back of the anthropology seminar just as Dr. Patel starts reviewing the final section of post-Exposure integration theory. No one stares anymore. A few classmates nod. One of the Luna Chaser girls from last year gives me a small, almost shy wave. I return it and open my laptop.Halfway through the discussion my phone vibrates against my thigh. I glance down.Kieran: [photo] Callum has somehow gotten an entire strawberry yogurt on his forehead and is laughing like he won a prize. Kieran: Your son is a menace. Kieran: Also he said “Mama” again this morning. Clear as day. Kieran: Come home soon.I bite back a smile and type back quickly. Me: Tell him Mama’s almost done. Don’t let him eat the yogurt out of his
The lodge feels different in the late afternoon light.It’s not necessarily quieter—there are still voices echoing in the halls, the sound of the younger wolves sparring in the distance, and Callum’s loud laugh coming from the kitchen—but the tension is gone.The air feels lighter. I walk down the main corridor with a mug of tea, and for the first time in forever, nobody stops me to report a breach or a scent on the border. It’s weird, almost unsettling, how normal it feels.I find Kieran in the small library overlooking the training yard. He’s perched on the edge of the heavy desk with his sleeves rolled up, skimming through the last of the research notes we’re archiving.When he hears me, he looks up, and the smile that hits his face is slow and genuine.“There you are.”“Here I am.” I set my mug down and s
Sunlight spills across the kitchen table in uneven gold stripes. Callum sits in his high chair, both fists full of mashed banana, and announces something loud and incomprehensible to the room at large. A blob of banana lands on Kieran’s forearm with a wet splat.Kieran looks down at it, then at his son. “That was deliberate.”Callum grins, showing four teeth, and does it again.I lean against the counter with a mug of coffee and fail to hide my smile. “He’s got your aim.”“He has your timing.” Kieran wipes the banana off with a dish towel, then reaches over and gently pries a sticky fist open so Callum doesn’t wear the rest of his breakfast as a hat. The toddler immediately tries to grab his father’s nose instead. Kieran lets him, making a low growling sound that sends Callum into a fit of high-pitched giggles.
Three days after Laura dies, we bury her under the old oak at the edge of the eastern meadow.It is a quiet morning. The sky is clear. The air smells of turned earth and the last of the summer grass.Kieran stands on one side of me, Callum balanced against his hip. I stand on the other, fingers laced tightly through Kieran’s free hand.The pack forms a loose circle around the grave—enforcers, elders, healers, the younger wolves who have only ever known me as the human who became something more.Laura was not a wolf, but she had earned their respect. One by one, they step forward. Some place a small stone on the earth. Some murmur a few words.A few of the older ones who remembered her bringing food during hard winters rest a hand briefly on my shoulder as they pass. No long speeches. Just presence.We also honor the
I have not left the chair beside her bed.My hand is still wrapped around hers. Kieran has stayed the entire night, sometimes standing, sometimes sitting on the floor with his back against my legs, a constant solid presence.Elara dozes in the corner for twenty-minute stretches and then checks the monitors again.Laura’s eyes open slowly. This time they are clear.She looks at me for a long moment, and the faintest smile touches her mouth.“There you are,” she whispers.My throat closes. “I’m here. I’ve been here the whole time.”“I know.” Her fingers tighten weakly around mine. “You’ve always been stubborn about that.”Kieran rises and steps closer, quiet, giving us space while still remain
Where the hell did that car come from?One second, I'm laughing at the barista's dumb joke, stepping off the curb without looking. Suddenly, I felt the headlights blinding me, the engine roaring, and the tires screeching as the car swerved.Then him. Kieran's body slams into mine from behind, hard
Elara is still talking about increased patrols and wolfsbane toxicology, but her words fade as my attention locks onto the girl at the coffee counter.Sienna Hart.When the sun is shining, she looks different. She seems softer, wearing a simple dress, and her hair tied back casually. She is not try
The music dies mid-beat.I push up on my toes, trying to see. People are running for the exits, others frozen in place, their wide, horrified stares fixed on the back of the club.Oh God.A werewolf, torn apart mid-shift. The body is caught between forms, human limbs twisted at wrong angles, fur ma
Most people in Harrowgate know better than to mess with werewolves.Not me.They dominate my hometown. The packs control all illegal activities. If something illegal happens in Harrowgate, you can bet a werewolf is behind it or getting a cut.Some people pretend not to see it. Others complain that







