Anya
Thirty-five excruciating minutes watching her son’s body contort in pain. Brandon never really hurt himself, and she rarely ever had to comfort her boys if they fell or scraped a knee.
This…this was torture.
The need to run to him and help him was so strong, but Toby held her back. She couldn’t hold back her sobs. With each crack she heard, every grunt in pain, a memory of her holding Brandon as a baby played in her mind.
Brandon wasn’t screaming, and he seemed to be taking it all in stride, but it didn’t matter.
Until it happened.
What was the baby she held in her arms the night Cam brought them to her, had grown into the young man she was raising, had fur spanning his limbs. His arms and legs were elongating into something else.
He was a beast.
Anya
