mastered walking yet. As a wolf pup, he can already run. Thus we fenced the yard so that he’s got a safe place to play, about twenty feet by thirty feet, the werewolf version of a playpen. He loves it, and he’s almost always outside. And the beautiful thing about werewolf children who can shift is that they can play in the snow without needing to be bundled up. The only concern is if Shane shifts to his human form while he's outside. A baby's naked skin can't suffer the exposure for long, which means he needs to be watched when he's playing.
Finn joins me in overseeing my toothy son, letting Shane nip at his boots before he bends and retrieves a rope toy, one that’s frozen solid so it’s more like a rope brick. He tosses it and watches Shane bolt after it, woofing madly. “Can I talk to you?” Finn asks.
“Sure.”
He sidles up to me. He shifts his weight, scuffing his boot. “You and Sue are using an IUD, right?”
I raise my eyes to his. “Yeah.”
He grips the back of his neck and avoids my eyes. “Does it ah… Does it cause you any damage?”
I snort. “Strings got you?”
He throws his hands out. “Yeah! Feckin’ thing stabbed me right in the dick!” He grabs his fly. “That uterus guard has a bite like a cobra. I still have a red spot.”
I look for Shane and find him clawing and chewing bits off of the snowman Maggie made with Liam yesterday, unaware of the subject of our conversation. Still. “Don’t show me—” I tell Finn, grimacing.
“I’m not showing you! I’m gesturing. Anyways,” he meets my gaze and implores me. “How did you fix it? Tell me there’s a fix because this can’t be repeated. My cock’s developed a phobia—which is the cruelest thing in the world. The doctor promised us it was effective birth control, but she didn’t tell us it was because I’d be afraid to ride my wife—”
I hold up a hand, trying not to smirk even as I’m snickering. “They soften up. The strings. You can tuck them up past her cervix so the most you’ll feel is their loop, like a tail, but they won’t be able to nail you again.”
Finn sags in relief. “Jaysus, Mary, and Jacob, thank fuck.”
A midnight blue Dodge truck pulls up to the house. It’s ours, and Ginny exits from the driver seat. She got her license a few months ago; she didn’t feel ready to get behind a wheel before now, even though Susan offered to take her out to practice. But when I started learning, so did she.
And then Ginny turned around and taught Hudson.
Hudson, who put in the official request to join our pack, and was approved. Every werewolf can tell that he and Ginny are destined mates, even without the Claddagh promise ring that she wears on a chain around her neck.
Hudson wears one too.
The two have kept very private, with no announcements about their engagement, although the pair did sit down with Susan and me to get our blessing for them to marry when they turn eighteen.
Because we like and trust Hudson, and can see he’s a good match for her even if there wasn’t a near-visible matebond between them, of course we gave it.
Charlotte exits from the passenger side of the truck, and Ginny opens the back door on the driver’s side to help Maggie from her car seat.
“Ladies,” I call, giving them a nod. I meet Charlotte’s eyes in particular, and she grins at me like always, because she worked hard and made a lot of cookies over the last year to ensure I was conditioned to give her my direct gaze. Even if I can’t maintain it, she’s trained me to send her eyes at least a brief glance. An unintentional side effect of my conditioning though? Every time I look into her eyes, now I get hungry for cookies.
Finn waves. “You pups are looking savage.”
“You are,” I agree. Sweater dresses in jewel tones, black leggings on all of them, and puffy winter jackets in white and pink for Charlotte and Maggie. Ginny has no jacket at all, which is typical and understandable. She loves the crisp air, same as any werewolf.
“Thanks,” Ginny calls, boots crunching until she reaches the paver stone path that’s stringently salted (with paw-safe salt, of course) so that nobody slips and dies. The ice storms in December are nothing to mess with, and it’ll only get worse