Andreas
Alone and clenching his teeth with fury, the alpha Andreas Turner drove away from his pack’s territory. The sight of the road in front of him was overshadowed by the memory of the photographs he’d seen in the investigation files.
A child. A little boy, all dark curls and big eyes, with Michaela’s sharp chin and cheekbones. Michaela had a son.
There had been pictures of Michaela walking the little boy to school, the two of them chattering happily together hand-in-hand. An uncropped version of Michaela’s smiling photograph from the broadcast showed the little boy in her lap, beaming and wearing a Happy 4th Birthday! badge. Group shots of her, the child, and that damned lawyer out eating ice cream, sitting squished up together on a park bench and laughing.
Let me say goodby
