Jack wasn’t ready to be a father.
He’d survived warzones, bar fights, and brutal winters—but raising a baby? That was a new kind of chaos. No strategy. Just chewed-up furniture, midnight squeaks, and a bunny kit who could outmaneuver predators with nothing but panic and cuteness.
“Too rich for diapers,” he muttered, stepping into his penthouse, tail flicking as city lights hit polished floors.
From the playpen came a familiar chitter.
“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya, Lo.”
Lola Conner, wide-eyed and floppy-eared, sat surrounded by toys. Bunny-soft. Prey-small. His daughter.
He hadn’t planned for kids—especially not from a foggy, champagne-soaked night with a rabbit woman he barely remembered. But a basket had shown up anyway. No note. Just a baby wrapped in pastels.
The DNA test confirmed it: 49% wolf, 51% bunny. His.
The family had opinions. His mother panicked, his brother laughed—but the instincts hit hard. She was his. All twitchy nerves and tiny trust. It cracked something open in him.
He moved north to a city where hybrid families were normal. Bought a penthouse with reinforced glass and ran his empire from a distance. Nights once filled with women and adrenaline now revolved around block towers and baby carrots.
The sitter, Mira, was lacing up her shoes.
“She was good,” she said. “Chewed your belt.”
“Better the belt than my shoes,” he replied, handing over an envelope of cash.
After she left, silence settled—warm and heavy. Lola tapped blocks together, focused.
He nearly wept with relief.
Every day was hers now—her rhythms, her moods. She didn’t understand wolf body language. Shrieked the first time he scent-marked her. Now it soothed her. Daddy’s smell. Pack smell.
She didn’t bite to show love—too bunny—but she nuzzled. Curled up on him. Clung to his shirt when scared.
Progress.
He checked the clock. Still had to shower, bathe her, bounce her on his chest while she squeaked nonsense, then rock her to sleep. If lucky, ten stolen minutes of quiet after.
Maybe.
She chirped and held up a chewed plush carrot.
He gave a tired grin. “Yeah, kid. I see it.”
She giggled.
Jack exhaled, shrugging off his blazer.
No women. No wild nights.
Just a bunny kit who thought he hung the moon.