Elijah gurgled happily as I changed his diaper, tiny fingers batting at my face. When one brushed against my birthmark, I caught it gently and kissed his palm. His own mark—a perfect mirror of mine but on the right cheek instead of the left—seemed to shimmer in the morning light streaming through the nursery window.
"He adores you," Velma observed from the doorway. "Settles faster for you than anyone else."
I smiled, gently slipping a onesie over Elijah's head. We match, I signed once my hands were free. He knows.
Velma nodded, her own domino-mask birthmark crinkling as she smiled. "Marked wolves recognize each other. Old pack wisdom says it's the Goddess's way of helping us find our people."
Elijah cooed in apparent agreement, his tiny hand wrapping around my finger with surprising st
