Book One of Calling the Moon – Yesterday, pacifiers and baby powder. Today, werewolves. What next?
Julie Hall thinks the hardest part of single motherhood is sleep deprivation and the constant search for dropped pacifiers, until her four-month old baby transforms into a wolf pup.
How could Carson be a Werewolf? He hadn’t been bitten. Not by a Werewolf, not by a dog, heck, not by a mosquito. Julie sets out to find Carson’s father and demand some answers. Instead, she discovers a Werewolf pack haunted by a grisly string of murders—and soon realizes she and her baby are the next targets.
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Heart in my mouth, I rushed into his room only to stop dead in my tracks when I saw something furry wiggling in the faint light slanting through the window. What the hell?
I crept toward Carson’s crib, mind frozen and adrenaline flooding through my body to deal with this unknown threat. Was a rat attacking my baby? Did feral cat find a way into the house? A weapon—I needed a weapon, but my wild glance around the room revealed only baby paraphernalia. Every muscle in my body tense, I held my breath and stepped quietly, so I didn’t frighten the strange animal into violence. Small whining noises, snuffles, and the scratch of scrabbling claws came from the crib.
I peered down over the crib rail and, at that moment, the clouds moved so moonlight clearly illuminated the creature in my son’s crib. A wolf, unmistakably a wolf pup, with grayish-silver fur standing fuzzily askew, black nose questing in the air, tawny eyes framed by perfect black eyeliner. When the pup saw me, he gave a happy little wriggle and whined more loudly.
The wolf pup’s gaze met mine and in an instantaneous rush, I knew him and I understood somehow this was Carson. This wolf was Carson.