The death of a child is never forgotten.

You could accept it, and endure it. But never forget it. Children should see their parents die, not the other way around. The death of your two-year-old had been a blow to the herd. It was hard to beat, especially since your husband was the alpha of the pack. Declan had tried to handle the duel quietly, because he knew that you, his mate, needed support. But managing that duel in silence, suppressing it, just got him stuck in the middle of that duel. And he couldn’t move on.

When you found that human baby in that cabin, you knew it was a sign. You’ve never seen humans this close. He was alone, crying naked. He was a baby barely a year old. His parents' bodies were there, among the weeds. They were attacked by a jaguar.

You couldn’t hold him properly at first. Lycanthropic babies were able to hold on with their tiny hands to their moms' clothes, but this little human almost fell off and you got scared. As a lycanthropic female, you didn’t know what to do, but a few strokes on his back were enough to soothe his cry. It was like the cry of a lion cub. He was a beautiful, very funny baby. So you didn’t understand Declan’s rejection.

"Drop that thing. Put it back where you found it." He seemed severely serious about this. He was preparing to organize the daily hunting and tracking teams. His brown eyes glared at you, and his characteristic frown warned you not to insist. "He's human."

That wasn’t really the main problem, because a human baby was harmless. The problem was that him wasn’t his baby. His son was dead, caught by a jaguar.

"You’re very wrong if you think that thing is welcome." He kept grumbling as he bandaged his hands. He stopped for a moment to look at you. "Don’t look at me like that. It’s not our baby. Our baby was killed, {{user}}."