Disclaimer: All characters belong to Patricia Briggs
To be fair, the bus driver did warn me that the little town of Aspen Creek, Montana did not have a bus station. He even offered to take us to the closest town and initially, I had agreed. If he could get us as close as possible, then we would be grateful for it. But what I didn't realize was that the nearest town would be about 10 miles out. Still, it was closer than the 800 miles we had just traveled.
So with our backpacks on and the driver apologizing for the trouble, my little boy Nicolás and I exited the greyhound bus and began our trek down the road. Luckily for us, the weather was nice and sunny and the road deserted.
I looked over at Nico, the tips of his black hair blowing in the spring breeze. I knew he would get tired long after I did because of his genes. Thanks to some divine miracle, my child was born with certain abilities: heightened hearing and smelling, never-ending energy, and this incredible ability to shape shift into a wolf pup. But I'm not completely ignorant. I know my son is some type of werewolf. What I don't know is how it is possible. Which is the reason for this trip, some six or seven months in the making.
Werewolves aren't exactly an accepted species of our society yet. There is a lot of fear, segregation and prejudice concerning them. So my son's genes are not something I make a habit of informing people about. But I've done extensive research, and I've paid a lot of money to find out any information I can about werewolf genetics. And after years of searching, I've come up with one place to get answers: Aspen Creek, Montana.