Kayla
I felt like I was going to be sick.
She was even more beautiful than ever. Perfect in every way—the pristine picture of a werewolf woman, a mother who looked as if she had been sent here by the Moon Goddess herself.
Anna was laying in the hospital bed, propped up by pillows, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders like a cloak. She looked radiant despite hours of childbirth, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes sparkling with unbridled joy. Hell, even the room smelled like f*****g flowers and scented candles, not sweat and afterbirth.
And in her arms was the baby.
Nicholas’s son.
He was tiny but not as tiny as I expected for a premature baby, his little face scrunched up as he slept, and his fingers curled into fists. He was beautiful, perfect in every way,
