Iris
“His smell,” I murmured half-absent, breathing deeply. Now that she said it, I could notice the change as well, it was subtle, but it was there.
“What, Mon Ange?” Jean-Luc asked, his worried eyes roaming from me to our son.
“He doesn’t smell like a werewolf anymore. He… Sapp and I can’t smell his wolf,” I replied, half in shock and half in grief. Although part of me still hoped Andre’s wolf would be okay and my senses were wrong. They had to be!
“Iris,” a concerned-looking Laurel almost ran into the room and crouched down on my bedside, pressing her forehead against the side of my face and sighing, as she wrapped an arm around my shoulder, “My Goddess! I was so worried when I heard, how are you? And your baby?” she asked, looking intently at my nursing baby. He was still in pa
