“Ian,” I call, wrapped in my favorite knitted white blanket on Victor’s couch, “come on baby, back away from the TV. You’re going to burn your eyeballs out, standing that close.” Ian is standing with his nose inches away from the tv, his hands pressed against the screen. He barely blinks and I thin
The same blurry photo flashes on the screen. “Persons close to the family are now confirming that this is indeed Evelyn Ortega, a psychologist and single mother who was, until yesterday, a Rogue member of James Willard’s pack. “However,” the reporter continues, a certain amount of glee now in her v
Victor and Amelia sit quietly at a little table that the Betas have moved into their bedroom for this special occasion. The room is filled with candle light and white roses, soft music plays in the background. Amelia twirls her fork absently in her linguini noodles, staring at the wall. “Are you…e
“Because they’re attacking me, Victor,” Amelia shouts, frustrated, angry tears filling her eyes. “You get to be the big bad Alpha, with his wife and his side piece, but I’m the one who everyone is laughing at!” “Don’t pretend you’re so innocent, Amelia,” Victor says, standing up from the table and
The Kindergarten classroom is a whirl of activity and, frankly, I welcome it. We’ve all been cooped up in Victor’s house for a week, keeping the boys home from school, but finally the media outlets have relented, turning their attention to more interesting subjects. Or, at least subjects who were wi
When I get to the auditorium, I peek through the red burgundy curtain out at the crowds. Most of the children at the twins school are human, with human parents, so I scent the air quickly, seeing if I can detect any wolf’s presence in the room… No, no hint of his cold tobacco and whiskey smell. But
I smile and nod at him, understanding. Part of me feels the same way. He holds my eyes, smiling at me, and I almost blush at the love I see on his face. “Do you think you’ll ever want more kids?” he asks. I sit back in my chair, surprised by the question. “Um,” I say, considering it. “I don’t know!
“I’m hoooome!,” Amelia sings as she breezes through the door. It’s late, nearly 10 o’clock. She stops, suddenly, in the foyer, looking around at her house. It’s an absolute wreck. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “What happened.” There are toys, clothes, nerf darts and discarded plastic weapons all over