Sarah POV

Ever since I adopted my daughter, I've been in a non-stop battle, constantly updating my adoption papers to prove I can offer a stable upbringing. Here's the kicker: I'm a human living in a werewolf society, a young, single mother. And my daughter? She's a werewolf cub. After years of red tape, I finally had every form locked down, foolproof.

"Sorry, this doesn't meet our standards," the officer stated icily.

"Why not? Give me a valid reason," I said.

“What are you? Nanny, maid, babysitter? You don't have a steady job, do you?” The werewolf cop tossed my proof of income onto the table then picked up the adoption papers.

“Yes,” I admitted calmly. “I do any job that can provide a stable life for my daughter.”

Whether as a nanny, babysitter, or maid, it was all about earning enough money. I didn’t have better options, despite my degree in childhood education. As I said, I'm human, and few schools would accept a human teacher.

“I plan to apply for a teaching position once Chloe is old enough,” I said, pulling out my degree certificate to prove my qualifications. “Given my human status, if hired, my salary and work hours might not support raising a child.”

With a snap, the cop threw the file on the table, his werewolf eyes filled with icy skepticism. “Can you explain why this child was left on your doorstep six years ago?” he demanded. “You know, we've received multiple reports claiming you're a human trafficker, a child snatcher.”

“I've proven my innocence countless times already. I have complete adoption documents and enough evidence to show I’m blameless.” I've answered these accusations many times, each time with a more solid chain of evidence. I was practically bulletproof, as the cop probably realized when he fell into a brief silence after reviewing my papers.

Six years ago, Chloe was left on my doorstep, swaddled with just a card listing her name and birthday. That night, I'd just received a job offer to become a teaching assistant—a total surprise, and then I found Chloe.

At first, I took her to the orphanage, but it was mostly filled with human kids. It was understandable that these kids, bearing the brunt of injustice, might lash out at an innocent werewolf baby. I knew about their unfair treatment, but I couldn't let the tragedy continue. When I discovered wounds on Chloe’s body, I made up my mind to adopt her, no matter the cost.

Perhaps fate meant for Chloe to be left at my doorstep. I eventually turned down the teacher assistant offer, as the modest salary from that busy job couldn't support a child. I chose Chloe and was ready to give her everything—love, a family, companionship—things I never had growing up in an orphanage myself.

I thought I had everything perfectly under control until the cop spoke again, “If you're not married or holding a single, steady job by next month, we'll assume you don't have the conditions to raise this child.”

“What?” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “I thought no law said a single mom couldn't raise her own child. My income proof and savings totally meet adoption standards. I don't think you would treat a werewolf mother this way!”

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” the officer stated coldly. “Based on your documents, I see too many instabilities. If you don’t marry or find a stable job with a sufficient income by next month, we’ll judge you unable to continue caring for this child.”

As the werewolf left, I sank back into my chair, watching the clock’s second hand tick slowly. I realized it was time to pick up Chloe from daycare.

What should I do? Maybe I should find a man to marry just for show, but I don’t trust strangers. And finding a job immediately would be nearly impossible in this society too prejudiced for humans.

I put all such thoughts aside because it was time for Chloe to come home.

At the daycare, surrounded by mother wolves, I was the only human, subjected to their scrutinizing glances.

“Why is there a human here?” one werewolf mom asked her friend. I tried to ignore it.

“Oh, maybe she's a nanny. ”

“Oh, you guys don't know? She has a werewolf baby.”

I didn’t care about the mother wolves' opinions. Waiting for Chloe to finish her day at daycare was all that mattered to me. I could almost hear time passing, children packing up their crayons, books, and small toys. As they walked out of the classroom under the teacher's gentle instructions, they ran toward the daycare gates.

From afar, I heard Chloe’s cheers, and I smiled, waiting for my life's greatest love to jump into my arms.

“Maybe she stole the kid.”

“Who knows? She’s just a nanny, Child Protective Services might take away her custody rights soon.”

Their words stung, and I indeed faced such a predicament. These mother wolves discussed me as though I couldn’t hear them, as if I were invisible.

A little whirlwind burst out the front door of the kindergarten, ran down the short path, and leapt into my arms. Chloe, pink-cheeked and laughing, her short blond hair flipping about in the breeze, emitted a tender howl of protection for me that took those werewolf mothers aback.

“Alpha?” one of them murmured in disbelief.

Yeah, I thought. My little bundle was an alpha, and she was happy to have me as her mother. Take that, I mentally sent to all those condescending ladies.

I looked Chloe over, instinctively checking for scrapes or whatever else might be out of place after hanging out with werewolf children for several hours, but she looked right as rain, from her glowing blue eyes to her adorably smiling lips.

She beamed at me, and we took each other’s hand as we turned for home. The wind caressed my hair, and in that moment, I felt supremely happy.

“When I grow up,” Chloe said, “I will be a strong and brave werewolf, just like my father.”

“You absolutely will,” I said, wondering if she were going to ask me yet again about her sire.

“And then nobody will dare bully my mommy.”

My pre-loaded agreement with whatever she said stalled in my throat. I felt battling waves of sorrow, that she should feel the need to protect her mother, and joy, that she should welcome the need to protect me, battle in my heart. I searched desperately for something to say.

But it turned out I needn’t have gone to the effort. Chloe was pulling my sleeve toward a storefront displaying a half-dozen wide-screen TVs.

I recognized the man on the screen instantly, not needing the slug line beneath the image to tell me it was Zane Cavendish, the famed alpha werewolf, by all accounts a workaholic, and definitely #1 World’s Most Handsome Male Werewolf, though personally I would put him up against males of any species. He had crisp black hair and those silver-blue eyes typical of an alpha werewolf.

He was also something of a mystery, Mr. Cavendish, basically a recluse. He’d had twin girl babies, one of whom had disappeared several years ago, setting off a media frenzy that had driven him from the public eye.

Chloe was jumping up and down with excitement now and pointing at the screen.

“What is it, honey?” I asked.

“That’s my father!” she yelled. “That’s my daddy!”

Sarah POV

My mouth fell open as I stared into Chloe’s excited silver-blue eyes. Then I looked back at the TV screen to see the same color in Mr. Cavendish’s eyes. Their shape was somewhat similar as well, which was perhaps why my daughter thought he was her father.

Those werewolf mothers had a lot to answer for, I thought as I carefully knelt down to take Chloe in my arms as tenderly as I could. I had never been able to admit to her that her biological father, and I presume her mother as well, had abandoned her on my doorstep. I just didn’t know what that knowledge would do to her gentle heart.

Cringing inside, I continued the falsehood I was using to protect her.

“I’ve told you,” I said. “Your father is working overseas. He’ll return soon.”

She shook her head at me, then tucked herself under my chin as her little arms tightened around my neck.

“That man on the TV is quite famous. You’ve seen him before on TV. But he cannot be your father. Do you understand?”

I felt her nod, but I could tell she was feeling wronged.

“You know, I know a little girl whose birthday is coming up very soon.”

“You do?” she asked, looking up at me through her lashes.

“I do. And you know what? I think this is a very special, very wonderful little girl who deserves something special.”

“What?” she asked, thoroughly distracted, thank the goddess.

“How about a day at LunaWorld?”

“Yes!” She jumped back to me for another hug. Then we both laughed and talked about the amusement park (including whether Chloe were now tall enough to ride the big roller coaster) as we walked the rest of the way home. Mr. Cavendish wasn’t mentioned again.

However, our smiles faded as we saw a man waiting in the little courtyard outside our apartment. His face wasn’t familiar to me, but I recognized that look in his eyes and his somewhat smug manner. He was a werewolf from Child Protective Services.

Chloe and I walked up to him without faltering, though Chloe did squeeze down on my hand in hers.

“Ms. Astor,” he said to me, then looked down at my daughter with a smile. “And you must be Chloe.”

“I am,” she said with a nod.

He squatted down to her eye level. “My name is Mr. Alcov, and I’m from CPS. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes, Mr. Alcov.”

“I’m just here to ask you a few routine questions. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, Mr. Alcov.”

I had to suppress a smile as he went on to ask her whether she were happy living with me, if she got enough to eat, and if she had any new clothes or toys. Chloe kept her answers short, not caring if the man from CPS squatted down for her or not.

He stood then and looked at me sternly. “You have been reporting your income as around $3,000 a month before taxes. Is this still correct?”

“Yes, Mr. Alcov,” I said.

“That’s lower than we would like. Remember that if your income does not remain consistent, we will have to revisit whether you are suitable for being Chloe’s guardian.”

“She is my legally adopted daughter, Mr. Alcov. Please refer to her that way.”

Chloe giggled, then looked innocent. The werewolf left soon after.

Inside our home, I led Chloe into the kitchen where the dinner I had made earlier was being kept warm on a heating pad. We ate, then we went next door and I left my daughter under the care of a neighbor Chloe was fond of so I could go to my evening job.

“You be good for Mrs. Thaller,” whispered to Chloe before I left.

“I will be. And I will never leave you, Mommy.”

My heart clenched, but I smiled and kissed her forehead before nodding to Mrs. Thaller, who was watching TV but nodded back, and then I went out the door, wishing very much that I could stay.

My employer, Ella, was a high-fashion model who was seldom at home, which made my job all the easier. I didn’t mind hard work, but my schedule was somewhat grueling. This evening it would just be a bit of work in the bathroom, a quick vacuum upstairs, and some cleaning in the kitchen.

Chef Pierre made Ella’s food, which he usually left on warm in the oven or cold in the fridge, depending on the dish, nodded to me without a smile as I entered the spacious and state-of-the-art kitchen. His knife seemed to blur as he chopped up a quantity of vegetables, his werewolf reflexes nimbly keeping his fingers out of the way.

“Is Miss Ella expecting company for dinner?” I asked.

Chef Pierre shrugged, not deigning to answer my question. I supposed I shouldn’t have bothered to ask, particularly as only a few minutes later she burst into the kitchen, diamonds and teeth dazzling and a man in tow.

I could not help but be startled when I realized I recognized the man, none other than Zane Cavendish, looking just as dazzling as Ella in his own way. I covered it as best I could by quickly looking over to the cute little girl quietly walking behind him.

I smiled at her gently, thinking both that she was around Chloe’s age and that she seemed oddly familiar. I supposed I was just noticing that she looked like Mr. Cavendish, as well as a bit like Rapunzel with blond hair that hung down her back in a thick ponytail.

Ella had entered talking about something to do with a fashion spread in what was evidently a prestigious magazine and about how she was sure the photographer would be just perfect, “dahling.” I went back to work, scraping what looked like burnt sugar off the counter, but I shot a little wink at the little girl, whom I assumed was Mr. Cavendish’s well-known but seldom-seen daughter, Grace. It made her smile.

Mr. Cavendish and Grace walked through the kitchen into the dining room, the former nodding to Chef Pierre but, of course, ignoring me. I kept my distance and averted my gaze. Ella went out the door to the hall to her bedroom. I was looking in satisfaction at the clean counter when Ella rushed back in, her red face almost unrecognizable in fury.

“Where are they?” she demanded of me.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, stepping back.

“My sapphire necklace and earrings!” She pointed back toward her bedroom. “I had them out and ready to go, and they’re gone now! You give them back now, before I call the police!”

I looked around at the kitchen. I hadn’t even been in her bedroom that day, though I remembered the chef had. I looked to him, ready to plead for his help.

“Don’t look at me,” he sneered. “I’m sure she’s right and you took them. You should have never been entrusted with this position in the first place, a human, and unmarried with a child!”

I gaped at him, feeling tears sting my eyes. I turned back to Ella. “I swear, I never—”

Ella waved her hand in my face and then stepped forward to tower over me. “Spare me your pathetic lies and excuses. I’ve seen you have no car, never wear new clothes. I should never have trusted you. Now, give my jewelry back before I have you thrown in jail!”

“I swear, I didn’t take them! I have no idea what happened to them.”

Ella held her phone up, her finger poised to dial.

“No, please,” I begged. “Even just being accused of something like this could put me and my daughter in trouble with CPS! You can’t do this, please!”

She raised her hand, blood-red nail polish gleaming in the bright kitchen light, obviously ready to strike me across the face. Then a tall form was standing between us, and I heard Mr. Cavendish’s voice say calmly, “She didn’t steal from you.”

Zane POV

I confess I rarely have time for humans, though I wish them no ill will, but the need to protect Ella’s maid from what were obviously false accusations propelled me into the kitchen. Standing beside her, I could easily smell her fear and the cleaning solutions she had been using, even a whiff of burnt hair that indicated she’d been using a vacuum recently, but there was no trace, quite distinctive, of the jewelry cleaner Ella used on her baubles.

The chef, however . . .

I turned to look at him and saw his dark eyes widen as sweat burst out on his forehead. Betas and omegas constantly underestimated the senses of an alpha, though this hardly excused his stupidity or his duplicity.

“Zane?” Ella asked me, her hand lowering.

I pointed to the man’s right pants pocket. “Hand them over.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, sweating harder. “I would never do what you’re—it’s obviously the human!”

“I said, hand them over,” I repeated, bringing my alpha voice to the fore. “Kneel down, apologize, and give Ella back her things.”

With a gasp and a sob, the beta fell to his knees. “I’m, I’m sorry,” he got out, sounding strangled as his trembling hand reached into his pocket. He handed a folded handkerchief to Ella, who opened it to reveal her necklace and earrings.

I heard the maid sigh in relief, her body sagging slightly. I glanced at her ashen face to make sure she wasn’t about to faint or something, and then met Ella’s dark eyes, perfectly made up and glittering.

She looked down at the chef, who was crying openly though silently. “You are dismissed without reference. Be grateful I don’t have the time or energy to press charges. Get out of my home.”

With a toss of her blond hair, Ella performed a catwalk-worthy twirl and headed back into her bedroom. I looked to the chef but then realized my daughter was standing on the other side of the maid, clinging to her leg in a way she usually only did with me.

The maid seemed to realize this at the same time and looked down at my daughter with concern, then with a smile, then with a puzzled look I couldn’t interpret. While we weren’t watching, the chef shot to his feet and raced out the door.

“What’s your name?” I asked, needing to know at least that much about a human woman my daughter was holding onto so trustingly. Also, there was another scent I picked up on her, something painfully familiar I couldn’t yet name. It smelled almost like Grace, which might explain why my daughter had glommed on to her.

She looked at me, and I was struck by the odd thought that she was quite pretty, for a human. Her eyes were bright blue and her hair, undyed, was deeply black, pulled up into a large, tidy bun. After so often in Ella’s sparkling company, it took me a moment to realize the odd quality of the maid’s face was its modest application of makeup.

“Sarah Astor, Mr. Cavendish.”

I nodded, unsurprised she had recognized me, but before I could say anything, Ella had swept back in, the sapphire jewelry that had led to the trouble refracting the light at her neck and ears. She looked down at my daughter with a little frown, obviously noticing her arms around the maid—around Sarah’s leg.

“Daddy,” Grace said very quietly, which was her usual way, “that was scary.”

“It was,” I said, smiling down at my daughter. “Would you like to go home?”

Grace nodded, and I heard Ella exhale in frustration. But when I looked up at her, she smiled with understanding and nodded. “I’m sure that was difficult for her. Theft is such an ugly crime.”

I couldn’t help thinking a little less drama from Ella would have made everything considerably less ugly, but Ella was a good friend of mine, not to mention the sister of my late and dearly missed wife, so I just nodded and went to the door.

“I’m leaving now, Miss Ella,” I heard Sarah say. “I will not be coming back.”

“That’s your choice, of course. If the agency calls, I will let them know you didn’t steal from me.”

There was a noticeable pause before Sarah responded with just a trace of sarcasm, “That’s very kind of you.”

I left then and went down the elevator to the lobby with Grace in tow. But I found myself lingering after that. When Sarah emerged from the double door a few minutes later, she seemed surprised to see us standing there.

“Ella said you have no car,” I explained. “I’m sure you’re quite capable of taking the bus, but considering tonight’s upset, perhaps you would allow me to drive you home?”

The human woman looked tempted for a moment, then torn, then smiled. “I admit I’m eager to get home to my daughter. Thank you very much.”

I escorted her out the door and into the car waiting for us near the entrance to Ella’s apartment building. Grace seemed happy to sit with Sarah in the back, which again I thought was odd, but even odder, she did not pull out her phone and play with it, evidently happy enough just to sit there.

Once I was belted into the passenger seat, my beta chauffeur, Ollie, started the car and asked for an address. Sarah gave the number and street of a low-income but quite respectable neighborhood, and Ollie pulled out into traffic.

“So, you have a daughter?” I asked, turning slightly to see Sarah smiling down at my child.

“Yes.” She looked at me with a trace of caution.

“I confess when I smelled a pup on your clothes I assumed you were simply a wolf child’s caretaker.”

“My daughter is about Grace’s age,” she responded, dodging my obvious question.

“What’s your daughter like?” Grace asked, which was surprisingly outgoing for her.

“She’s the cutest, best little girl,” Sarah said. “You and she are a lot alike, actually, though her hair is short in a little pixie cut. She loves to draw things, and she’s friends with everyone in her class.”

“Do you work as a maid throughout the day?” I asked, making sure to sound friendly.

Sarah shrugged, playing an odd little game with Grace’s fingers and making my daughter giggle. “I babysit as well, when my daughter is in school.”

“What school does she go to?” Grace asked.

“Pellum Kindergarten.”

I nodded to myself. It was a public school with a high werewolf enrollment. A good choice for what I assumed was a half-were child. I wondered where the father was.

“I go to Pride Academy,” Grace said.

“Do you like it there?”

Grace nodded. “Our art teacher is the best. And our computer teacher lets us play games if we finish early.”

“That sounds very nice.” Sarah pointed. “There, that’s our apartment right there.”

Ollie pulled over, and I made sure to get out of the car before Sarah could say it wasn’t necessary. In the end, all of us, including my chauffeur, walked into a small, well-kept courtyard.

Sarah stepped up to a door and knocked, calling, “Mrs. Thaller?”

A cheerful, impossible familiar voice called out from the other side, “Mommy!” The door swung open, and suddenly I was staring at Grace’s twin sister, missing these five years.

“Chloe,” I said faintly.

“Chloe? Grace asked.

“How do you know my daughter’s name?” Sarah demanded.

Rage swelled up inside me, and I grasped the wrist of this woman, this thief in front of me.

“She’s my daughter,” I told her. “How dare you kidnap my daughter?"