Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose. “Aura knows that Blackwood Forest is our territory. She ventured into rival territory, risking herself to leave the baby where we’d find it. She didn’t want it to die. She wanted us to find it.”
Finn sighs. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
“So what?” Reed’s usual humor is replaced by stress and tension. “She thinks we’ll be great daddies? Gregory can’t want that child… the way it was created…” He shakes his head, lines bracketing his mouth. “So, we’re supposed to raise it alone. Scarlet’s leaving unless we can convince her otherwise. This baby isn’t guaranteed a new momma with its three daddies.”
Finn snorts. “I’m trying to imagine Nixon changing diapers.”
“You think I can’t?”
He shrugs. “This morning started out spectacularly, but it’s taken a weird turn.”
“You think the goddess wants us to raise this baby… this female?”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is the woman in there is waiting for us to tell her what this is all about. Whether it’s the right time or not, we have to tell her about the world she’s stumbled into. Then, we work out what to do next together.”
I inhale deeply. The weight of legacy, of pack politics, and all the complexities of being a shifter in a human world sits heavily on my shoulders. But so does the need to protect what we’re building with our mate and find a way to handle a child that is a gift to the world, even if it isn’t ours.
Scarlet’s already claimed more of my heart than I thought any mate ever could. And, from the way she’s looking at that cub, I think she’s lost her heart, too.
“Let’s go.”
I lead the way back inside, ready to face whatever comes next.
Everything we’ve been hoping and dreaming about is now at stake. I don’t know what Scarlet will choose when she learns the truth of who and what we are, but I know this: the goddess is watching us now, and whatever she wants will come to pass.
21
SCARLET
I sit in the office surrounded by the familiar scent of fresh lumber laced with the faint tang of sawdust like my studio at home.
The baby sleeps in my arms, a perfect little angel with red curls and cheeks so soft, they seem too fragile to be real. My fingers trace the curve of her tiny cheek, marveling at how peaceful she looks nestled against me.
I’m a stranger, but she doesn’t seem to care.
But why was she alone in the forest? My mind lurches back to that moment when she was a wolf cub, her fur slick as she trembled and whimpered and then, impossibly, shifting into this perfect human shape in the span of a heartbeat.
Did I imagine it? Was it a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and adrenaline?
My breath catches. It can’t be a werewolf, can it?
I snort quietly, embarrassed by the thought, recalling teenage fantasy novels about high school werewolves, tales I wrote off years ago as nonsense.
But then I think of Finn wandering off into the trees, drawn by an unknown, and the dog-wolf returning in his place.
More wolf than dog, although I didn’t want to admit it at the time.
Something’s going on here.
Muffled voices filter in from outside: Nixon’s controlled baritone, Finn’s low rumble, and Reed’s sharper edge. They all sound tense as they debate what will happen next. My grip on the helpless baby tightens.
Any normal person would have dialed the police the moment they suspected an abandoned infant, waiting for them to dispatch a worried social worker to swoop in and declare the child safe. But this? This is far from normal.
I shift the baby so she nestles closer. Her tiny fist unfurls and curls around my finger, and my heart splits open, like a ripe fruit fallen to the ground.
No. She’s not just an abandoned child. She’s... something else. An abandoned changeling. A miracle clothed in flesh and unanswered questions.
But how did Finn know she was out there?
“Scarlet?” Finn’s voice at the door interrupts my thoughts.
I look up, adjusting the child as he fills the doorframe. His expression flickers from hope to fear and finally to wary tenderness. He’s such a soft-hearted man.
I swallow. “She’s not human?” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
“Not entirely.”
Behind him, Nixon’s shadow looms, and then Reed’s. They fill the office with their tall, muscular frames and their intensity.
I close my eyes, cradle the baby close, and steel myself for whatever comes next. Because whatever they decide, I know one thing for sure: she’s safe in my arms, and I don’t want to let her go.
Nixon’s shoulders are curved like he’s carrying the burden of centuries of worry. His eyes find mine, intense, but not unkind. The baby stirs against my chest, her cheek nuzzling my collarbone, and I tighten my hold without even thinking.