My adopted son’s real father is a werewolf.
And he just showed up at our door to take him back.
Five years ago, I pulled a four-year-old boy from a burning orphanage and raised him as my own.
I didn’t know he was a werewolf, and I didn’t know his father was still alive.
Now an Alpha werewolf is standing on my porch, staring at my son like he’s seen a ghost.
My little boy hides behind my leg, peeking out at the stranger.
He tugs my skirt, and he whispers, “Mommy, why does he look sad?”
The Alpha drops to his knees right there on the porch and reaches out a shaking hand.
He looks up at me, his voice breaking, and he rasps,
“Where did you find my son?”
