Page 7 of Abandoned By My Alpha Husband

The lobby was spacious, marble floors polished to a shine. Two young female wolves staffed the front desk. One on the phone, the other sorting files.

"...yeah, East City again." The one on the phone lowered her voice. "Fifth one, right? This time, it was a pure-blood noble. Scene was apparently horrific... organs ripped out..."

"Oh, God." The other gasped. "Is the Butcher Squad insane? They're getting bolder."

"Who knows? They say they're increasing patrols, but does it help?" The first one hung up and sighed. "I heard they're not just killing pure-blood wolves anymore. Now they're going after humans, too. Something about purifying bloodlines... bunch of lunatics."

I held the baby tighter, pulse racing.

The Butcher Squad.

I'd heard of them. They hunted werewolves. Brutally. Supposedly, they hated everything connected to werewolves, thinking they contaminated the world. But now they were killing humans, too?

"Hello." I approached the desk. "I... I found this baby on the street."

I couldn't say he was mine.

"You're looking for help?" one girl asked gently, looking up at me. "We offer long-term or short-term childcare services—"

"No." I cut her off, voice shaking. "I'm not keeping this child."

There. I said it.

The two girls exchanged a glance. No surprise or shock on their faces—clearly they'd seen this plenty.

"I understand." One stood. "Please come with me."

"No, no." I set the baby on the counter. "I'm leaving. Please, you have to take good care of him—"

I turned and ran out. I was afraid that if I stayed one more second, I'd completely fall apart.

My vision blurred. Tears streamed uncontrollably.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I rushed out of the building, down the steps. Sunlight stabbed my eyes. I kept my head down, walking forward, wiping tears with the back of my hand.

A black Lincoln drove past.

My steps suddenly stopped.

That scent.

Cedar and amber.

Even though the car had already passed, that familiar scent pierced the air, drilled precisely into my nose. My sense of smell—always freakishly sensitive—kicked into overdrive.

It was him.

The man from that night.

My body instantly stiffened, all my senses focused on that retreating car.

My heart started racing wildly. That scent awakened bodily memory—his touch, his kiss, every mark he'd left on me.

Maybe... maybe I should give the baby to him? He was his biological father. Better than strangers adopting him, right? And he drove a car like that—surely he could provide material comfort and education—

What if he remembered me? Maybe we could build a family?