My Son Brought Home A Stray Puppy — But It Was Actually The Shape-Shifting Daughter Of My Runaway Ex
Part 1
My ten-year-old son dragged a wild wolf into my kitchen.
Dan cradled the sandy-colored beast against his chest like a newborn.
The animal stayed suspiciously still.
Those amber eyes tracked my every movement with unnerving intelligence.
I wiped my flour-covered hands on my apron.
“Dan, that is a wild predator.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a wolf,” he whispered.
He adjusted his glasses with a trembling finger.
I knelt to examine the thick coat and pointed muzzle.
Dan hadn’t smiled since we moved to this secluded mountain town three months ago.
I had inherited this crumbling inn from my great-aunt.
I dragged him away from the only life he knew in the city.
He spent his afternoons reading alone in his room.
He never complained about the drafty windows or the endless chores.
He never asked for anything.
A small bandage covered the animal’s front paw.
Dan had used the first-aid kit from the upstairs bathroom.
The wolf let out a soft whine.
It rested its chin on Dan’s thin shoulder.
Those amber eyes seemed to plead with me directly.
“Just for tonight,” I caved.
Dan’s face lit up with the brightest smile I’d seen in a year.
He scurried up the stairs to our apartment above the inn before I could change my mind.
I returned to kneading dough for the morning breakfast service.
My hands worked the flour rhythmically on the wooden counter.
I worried about how I would pay the heating bill next month.
I worried about Dan eating lunch alone in the school cafeteria.
The old floorboards above me creaked.
A heavy thud rattled the kitchen ceiling.
Then came a distinct, high-pitched human yelp from Dan’s bedroom.
I dropped the dough.
I grabbed the heavy wooden rolling pin from the counter.
I took the stairs two at a time.
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I kicked Dan’s bedroom door open.
The wolf was gone.
Dan stood frozen in the center of the room.
He stared wide-eyed at his open closet.
A little girl with wild red hair huddled among his winter coats.
She looked about nine years old.
She wore Dan’s oversized blue sweater like a makeshift dress.
She clutched the sleeves tightly in her fists.
Her freckled face was pale with panic.
“Where are your parents?”
I demanded.
I tightened my grip on the rolling pin.
I scanned the room for an intruder.
The little girl bit her lip.
“I don’t have a mom.”
“Where is the wolf?”
I asked Dan.
The girl stepped out of the closet.
“I’m the wolf.”
I stared at her.
I looked at Dan.
Dan nodded slowly.
“I’m a shifter,” she blurted out.
She closed her eyes.
Her face scrunched up in deep concentration.
The oversized sweater collapsed onto the floor.
The sandy-colored wolf pup stood in her place.
It wagged its tail hesitantly.
My rolling pin clattered to the hardwood floor.
My brain short-circuited.
Magic didn’t exist.
Werewolves belonged in horror movies.
Yet a shape-shifting child sat on my son’s rug.
The wolf whined and nudged Dan’s leg.
Dan patted her head.
“She says her dad is really strict and she couldn’t shift back,” Dan translated.
“You can understand her?”
I asked.
“Kind of,” he mumbled.
I rubbed my pounding temples.
A sharp ringing echoed from downstairs.
The front desk bell chimed repeatedly.
Brenda’s frantic voice carried up the stairwell.
“Megan, get down here right now!”
I pointed a shaking finger at the wolf.
“Nobody moves.”
I rushed back down the stairs.
The lobby smelled of rain and expensive cedar cologne.
A tall man in a dark tailored suit stood at the reception desk.
His broad shoulders blocked the afternoon light spilling through the entrance.
He ran long, elegant fingers through his dark hair.
I knew those hands.
I knew the exact weight of them against my skin.
Ten years melted away in a single heartbeat.
He turned around.
Amber eyes locked onto mine.
Craig.
The man who vanished a decade ago.
The man who promised me forever and then disappeared without a trace.
The man who left me pregnant and completely alone.
My breath hitched in my throat.
He took a step toward me.
The air in the room suddenly felt too thick to breathe.
My vision blurred at the edges.
My knees threatened to buckle.
He looked older, harder, with lines of exhaustion etched around his mouth.
“We’re fully booked,” I choked out.
Craig slammed his hands on the desk.
The polished oak shuddered under the impact.
“I’m not looking for a room.”
His voice carried a desperate, gravelly edge that sent shivers down my spine.
He pulled a crumpled photograph from his coat pocket.
He shoved it across the counter.
“My daughter ran away.”
His jaw ticked with suppressed panic.
“I tracked her scent to this building.”
I looked down at the photo.
A little girl with wild red hair smiled back at me.
I stared at the photograph of the little girl hiding in my son’s closet, then up at the man who destroyed my life ten years ago.
