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Julie Hall thinks the hardest part of single motherhood is sleep deprivation and the constant search for dropped pacifiers, until her four-month old baby transforms into a wolf pup.
How could Carson be a Werewolf? He hadn’t been bitten. Not by a Werewolf, not by a dog, heck, not by a mosquito. Julie sets out to find Carson's father and demand some answers. Instead, she discovers a Werewolf pack haunted by a grisly string of murders--and soon realizes she and her baby are the next targets.
Heart in my mouth, I rushed into his room only to stop dead in my tracks when I saw something furry wiggling in the faint light slanting through the window. What the hell?
I crept toward Carson’s crib, mind frozen and adrenaline flooding through my body to deal with this unknown threat. Was a rat attacking my baby? Did feral a cat find a way into the house? A weapon—I needed a weapon, but my wild glance around the room revealed only baby paraphernalia. Every muscle in my body tense, I held my breath and stepped quietly, so I didn’t frighten the strange animal into violence. Small whining noises, snuffles, and the scratch of scrabbling claws came from the crib.
I peered down over the crib rail and, at that moment, the clouds moved so moonlight clearly illuminated the creature in my son’s crib. A wolf, unmistakably a wolf pup, with grayish-silver fur standing fuzzily askew, black nose questing in the air, tawny eyes framed by perfect black eyeliner. When the pup saw me, he gave a happy little wriggle and whined more loudly.
The wolf pup’s gaze met mine and, in an instantaneous rush, I knew him and I understood somehow this was Carson. This wolf was Carson. Here was my Carson, here was a wolf pup, here was my baby, and he started to whine more desperately and paw at the crib slats. Everything else shut off—the questioning, the panic—in the face of my baby’s need.
So I picked him up. He snuggled against me happily, nuzzling me with his wet nose, breathing in my scent, licking absently at the sleeve of my nightgown. My mind froze in panic, but my body functioned on autopilot. I walked around the room, bouncing him gently, singing a bit of a lullaby, just as usual. And, just as usual, his eyes grew heavier and his body soon felt lax with sleep. When he was well and truly out, I carefully laid him back in his crib and tiptoed from the room.
As I closed the door behind me, careful not to make the slightest noise, the pent-up adrenaline left my body and I started to shake, my muscles weak and watery, my head whirling. I slid down the wall, hugged my knees to my chest, and focused on not hyperventilating. I pressed my forehead to my hands, feeling my palms break out in a cold sweat. After a while, I stood up gingerly, opened the door to Carson’s room, and looked in.
No, I wasn’t insane. A wolf lay in Carson’s crib. Carson was a wolf. Carson was a… I glanced up at the moon, framed perfectly in the window, and silently closed the door again.
I walked down the hall to the bathroom, poured myself a glass of water, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Yes, still me. I picked up my glasses from the bathroom counter and the room snapped into clearer focus. My eyes stared back at me from within the green frames, looking about as shocked as I felt.
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