Anya
He had this girl…in his arms. Rubbing her face across his chest. Was that something wolves do? Rub their faces on chests?
All thoughts of that whole multiple mate talk repeated in her mind. But Heather has been here all this time. Has he been keeping her a secret too?
That mother-f*****g-monkey-brain-no-balls-two-faced-lying-sack-of-burning- crap-on-a-Tuesday-morning-in-July.
“Anya, wait, it’s—”
She turned and stormed off. This was supposed to change things. That envelope with the baby pictures and s*x.
Somehow, seeing one’s mate and father-of-your-child holding another woman was putting a damper on her evening. On her thoughts toward a family.
Jack had been, well, a stray—so to speak—for the past fifteen years. He had been a drifter, in some ways, going a
