Alpha Single Daddy

Fresh from leading the werewolf pack to a resounding victory in reclaiming the borderlands,I was suddenly bathed in a newfound aura of honor and power. As I stood there, basking in the afterglow of our success, my phone buzzed, shattering the momentary peace. A selfie from my son, Cupid, materialized on the screen. One glance at his face, marred by a deep - set frown and a look of abject misery, and my heart, which had been forged into an unyielding steel through countless savage battles lurched violently My initial impulse was to tell Cupid that in a few days, upon my return to the werewolf stronghold, I would whisk him away to the most enigmatic and breathtaking valley within the pack's domain. My eyes locked onto the faint, yet unmistakable bruises that mottled his skin, some purple, some green, like a macabre map of pain. Instantly, a sense of foreboding gripped me. I treaded carefully, choosing my words with the utmost caution. But his responses were disjointed, a jumbled mess of half - formed thoughts and evasions. Before I knew it, the conversation abruptly ended, and he ceased to reply, leaving me in a state of growing anxiety. Determined to uncover the truth, I decided to delve into his "werewolf social sphere." I scrolled through the posts. And then I stumbled upon a post from my adopted son, Bran. It was a photo of his room, and in an instant, my blood ran cold. There, perched on Bran's bedside table, was the Transformer toy that Cupid had cherished above all else. It was his constant companion, a source of comfort in the darkest of times. I could still vividly recall that fateful day when Cupid, as a young pup, accompanied an elder on a long and arduous journey to a distant land for a sacred ceremony. He had wept inconsolably for three long days and nights,all because his beloved toy was left behind. From that moment on, no matter where Cupid ventured, we made it an unbreakable rule to ensure his Transformer toy was by his side. And now, here it was, in Bran's possession. ​ I hastily dialed my wife about the whereabouts of the Transformer toy. However, she merely scoffed . "Our son is already three years old. He's a little man now. Isn't it natural for him to lose interest in that old toy? Perhaps Cupid no longer wanted it and gave it to Bran." "Don't be silly," And with a sharp "snap," she abruptly ended the call. My wife had always been dotingly affectionate towards Cupid. When he was a baby, even the slightest scrape or bruise during playtime would reduce her to tears. The memory of Cupid's inconsolable weeping for three long days and nights when he was separated from his Transformer toy, followed by a severe illness that left him bedridden, was seared into our mind. There was no way she could have simply forgotten such a significant event. But in the past two years, her attitude towards Cupid has seemingly changed completely, turning unusually cold. Cupid was accidentally scratched by his opponent while practicing the Wolf 's combat technique, with a long gash running across his arm. In the past, she would have rushed over immediately, looking at the wound with heart - wrenching concern. But this time, she merely cast a cold glance and said indifferently, "Go and have the witch doctor take care of it yourself." I decided to immediately set off back to the Wolf Castle.